All too often, treasures in a game – be they gadgets in a high-tech setting, high-powered sports cars in a modern campaign, or arcane thingies in a fantasy campaign – are about as interesting as the cardboard cut-outs sometimes used to represent them in play or on a battlemap.

While it’s always possible to overdo such things, I want to propose that you consider putting as much care into giving a personality to some of the inanimate objects that surround your PCs as you would in defining an NPC.

It’s not all that difficult.

Coins

What do the coins have stamped on them? Do the faces seem to be frowning, or smiling, or winking rogueishly, or smirking? Are they a little off-center, or stained and dirty? Take some of the terminology that you would otherwise have used to describe the surroundings where the coins were found, and apply them instead to the coins themselves.

Transport

This is one of the easiest types of equipment to give a personality. The horse that’s always willing, or always throwing a shoe; the car which develops a squeek anytime a repairman is more than 100 feet away; the wagon whose wheels behave like those of a shopping trolley as soon as they have to carry a light load. Loose floorboards, carpets that like to move, gearboxes that like to jump out of gear, cars that are always whispering “just a little faster” in your ear…

Chests & Furniture

Probably something of an anticlimax after that last section, but nevertheless, here we go. While this section will discuss Chests specifically, many of the options can be applied to furniture in general.

Chests are often considered less interesting than their contents. Why not do something sneaky the next time the PCs find a treasure map – put a false map in the chest and the real one hidden amongst the fancy scrollwork of the chest itself? Then let the PCs recieve a slightly-too-generous offer on the chest en route to their wild-goose chase and ride out into the sunset congratulating each other!

Hinges that squeek no matter how often they’re oiled. Doors and Lids whose latches catch, or with a splinter that always catches a sleeve when someone puts something in or takes something out. Chests that never quite hold as much as they look like they should (and let the PCs have fun looking for non-existant false bottoms). Chests or Mirrors with rude or disturbing motifs carved into them.

Chests that always make anything stored in them dusty or impart a musty odour, that wobble on their feet as though drunk, that groan and creak alarmingly. Chests that are greedy, always fitting in slightly more than will permit the lid to close. Chests that like to share with the world, popping open at the slightest bump when in the back of a wagon or cart, but which lock tight at all other times.

Food

Food creates strong links with people’s pasts. The right flavours and odours can transport you back to your childhood with greater immediacy than any photograph, can create a mood more tangibly than the most florid poetry. Consider the paranoia that can be wrought by an innkeeper who always happens to have a serving or two of a character’s favorite food on hand – even if he’s never met them.

Food can be a weapon to the GM – use it!

Weapons & Hilts

And, speaking of weapons – hilts that are more reassuring than usual in the grip they offer, or get slippery when a character sweats, or that are vain and demand constant polishing.

Clothing

The clothes maketh the man, according to an old saw. But what of the personality of the clothing itself? Brash, or always riding up in the back, or can never seem to keep the rain out. Buttons that will NOT stay sewn on, zippers that always catch, boots that are too worn on one heel to be quite stable, shoes that tend to trip, or that have excessively slippery soles, or that pinch the toes. We’ve all worn lots of clothing and have experienced all of these or something very much like them. I have one shirt that refuses to stay buttoned up, and another that will not permit itself to stay tucked in, and a pair of jeans that seems to change size at will, and a jacket that makes me sweat no matter how cold the room – or I – am.

Art

One mistake that I frequently make is making the artworks too fancy, too poetic if you will. Surely, some art by brilliant painters is of puppies, or the breakfast table, or his mistress. Some will be lewd, some will deliberately provoke, some will be intentionally anti-social. Some will be gauche, and some cliched, and some will simply look cheap. Just because it’s by a famous artist, and incredibly valuable, it doesn’t have to be beautiful!

Quills & Pens

Quills and pens that are miserly, holding onto their ink for far longer than they should, or that are practical jokers who like to drip or leak, or that somehow twist to make a word look like something it shouldn’t. I’ve had pens that liked soft surfaces, and others that liked firm surfaces, or that refused to work unless the surface was perfectly flat, or refused to write on the bottom of pages, or at the start of a page, or that always managed to rip or mark or scratch the paper. And I’ve had pens that kept on and on and on, long after the ink was seemingly exhausted.

Jewellery

The brooch that is always getting lost, or that has a pin that likes to stab the owner when it is being put on. The chain that is always getting itself tangled and knotted, or that always seems just a little too short. The ring that is firm on the finger until we’re not looking and then likes to make a wild bid for freedom – Gollum would sympathise!

The most rewarding experience

There are so many of these everyday ordinary experiences that are ubiquitously part of the shared human experience, that we will all recognise. It’s hard enough, making a campaign feel realistic, without taking advantage of a touchstone that we can all identify with.

When you mention a small and dingy alleyway in a modern city, you don’t have to mention the dumpsters and garbage cans – these can pretty much be taken for granted. So take the sights and smells, the grime and mildew, and apply it to the treasures and any NPCs that are present. You’ll not only find yourself running out of adjectives less frequently, you’ll make everything else more colourful and more tangible.

Make your objects seem more real, and the characters will seem more real as well. And that’s the best reward you can give your players, and your campaign, and yourself.

Bryan Howard recently submitted this tip to Roleplaying Tips:

Former PCs as NPCs

The best and easiest way to have great NPCs is to inject your old characters. The fighter who settled down and opened
a tavern, school or guild. The cleric who built his own temple.

Another way is to use former player characters who have parted ways and left the group for whatever reason. This way you already have a history and a personality for the NPC.

This is a classic tip because it’s a good one. Do you do it? If not, start.

Another past tip from the ezine advised GMs to get a copy of each PC at every level or each stage of significant improvement. By the time a D&D PC is level 20, you’ve got 20 NPCs. If the player was an optimizer, you’ve got 20 killer NPCs.

Archive both aspects of a PC: crunch and fluff = 3

Ask your players for a copy of their PCs each level. Do this also to handle absentee players so you have a recent version of their character on hand for rulings.

Reuse PCs to build your library of NPCs

With copy in hand or on disc, annotate it with personality details if the player has not already.

Note everything you can think of that defines the PC’s unique presence in the group:

• Character demeanor
• Behaviours
• Quirks
• Motives
• Favourite sayings

Combined with the stats, you have a wonderful NPC that you not only have details for, but fond memories of to draw upon when roleplaying him.

But wait, there’s more. As a sneaky GM, you will also want to record the character’s best tactics. This is where the crunch (statistics) meet an aspect of fluff (tactics) to give you dangerous NPCs. Note his:

• Positioning and movement
• Preferred attack types
• Ability and feat combos
• Tactical equipment use
• Spell picks and uses
• Skill usage

Add flaws

One thing NPCs can do well that many PCs cannot is show weakness. Nobody is perfect. Players want to be heroes, and unless your game has a flaws system, chances are the PCs show no weaknesses.

You will want to round out PCs converted to NPCs by adding a weakness or two.

Make your favourite a villain

Like parents, game masters do not want to admit they have a favourite character in their campaigns. But we do. Good GMs will ensure no preferential treatment is given. Great GMs will try to bring out the best in the other PCs. However, that one PC makes you laugh that little bit extra, or cause you to lean forward a couple inches more when he acts.

Pay homage to these PCs by turning them into villains in your future campaigns. There are many ways to turn a good PC into a menace:

• Make them evil
• Change their philosophy to “the end justifies the means”
• Give them a dilemma that forces them to make horrible choices
• Bite them with a vampire
• Give them an alignment changing or cursed magic item

Submit PCs to community sites

Pay it forward by adding these pre-built great characters to community sites to share with other GMs and help them populate their campaigns. I know of a couple sites where you can do this. If you know of others, drop us a comment:

• DM Tools
• Pathfinder Database
• d20 NPC Wiki
• Obsidian Portal characters
• Epic Words characters

There are times when an Ask-The-GM’s question doesn’t inspire one of us, or is too attached to the mechanics of one specific game system, or doesn’t have enough depth to justify a full blog post, or has already been answered by one of our articles, or for some other reason simply doesn’t suit the approach that we’ve developed for responding to enquiries put to us. When that happens, we usually simply drop an email to the person who asked the question to offer a quick answer. Sometimes, by broadening the question or generalising the specific situation described in the enquiry, we can make our replies more generally useful. And sometimes, one of us will simply grab the ball and run with it.

Recently, Johnn and I were asked,

How do you go about leveling up a character that has a level adjustment of +1, when it comes to feats? Meaning, if a character his level 2 but has an ECL of 3, does he get his level 3 feat or does he have to wait till his levels equal 3?

This is obviously in relation to a d20 system of some kind, probably D&D 3.x. It’s a very specific question about a specific game system mechanic, which is something that we try to avoid in ATGM questions. Johnn and I both agreed that it fell outside the scope of ATGMs, but I felt that there was enough to be said on the broader subject that it would make a suitable blog post. So, with Johnn politely egging me on from behind the scenes (because he wants to hear what I have to say on the subject), let’s dig in.

This question relates to three different areas of game mechanics. One is levelling up, the second is the usage of a level adjustment, and the last is relative power levels and level adjustments in general. I intend to spend most of this blog post talking about the last of these, but let’s tackle them in order:

On Levelling Up

The first question I’ve already examined, at least so far as Prestige Classes is concerned, giving the best answer that I’ve found to date in an article entitled Shadow Levels. So let’s exclude them from the subject, at least for the moment, and talk about standard class levels, and the general process of levelling up.

I’ve run a number of different D&D games over the years, and each one has had a different approach to this question.

1. My first campaign was a fairly straightforward AD&D dungeon-bash. Characters levelled up immediatly they got enough xp. This made the addition of a level seem trivial. This procedure was also used in most of the games I had played in prior to my assumption of the GM’s “hat”.
2. My second campaign was another straightforward AD&D dungeon-bash. Characters had to level up by returning to town. This proved inconvenient during play. The few campaigns I had played in that didn’t follow the instant-power-up approach had used this method.
3. My third AD&D campaign was so short-lived that no-one got to level up.
4. My fourth AD&D campaign started off as a dungeon-bash but quickly grew to embrace a larger realm. It attempted to compromise between the two standard approaches by defining critical points in each character classes’ progression, when the character gained significant new capabilities; at such times, the character had to be trained appropriately by someone who already had mastered such abilities (defined as having had them for at least ten character levels) in order to acquire them for themselves. In the meantime, they got all the upgrades of the new level except those for which they specifically needed to be trained (you can see the first glimmerings of the Shadow Levels concept emerging here). This meant that at regular intervals, the party would have to locate suitable individuals for training, but most of the time gaining a level did not interrupt the adventure in progress. This worked well in general, but some characters were affected with a disproportionately high frequency.
5. My fifth D&D campaign was the first Fumanor campaign. It was designed as an AD&D campaign, then became 2nd Ed before the start of play, and ultimately became D&D 3.0 after a brief interlude as Rolemaster. With spells from D&D 3.5. (And if that sounds complicated, it was!) Levels were acquired using the instant-power-up approach to enable the campaign plotline to proceed without interruption, but this was a source of constant aggravation to me because I later realised that the halt to acquisition of levels when a character maxes out his experience is supposed to be a game-levelling feature within the system*.
6. My sixth D&D campaign took the system I had used in the fourth campaign and updated it to accommodate D&D 3.0 and 3.5. This system worked reasonably well.
7. My seventh and eighth D&D campaigns are sequels to the first Fumanor campaign, and I’ve written about them many times before here at Campaign Mastery. They inherited the instant-power-up of the preceeding campaign, but with a modified system of dispensing XP, which I discussed in A Different Experience. The result has been a more reasonable rate of progression in levels, which has avoided the problems of the first campaign.
8. My ninth campaign also uses the instant-power-up model coupled with the shadow levels idea and the amended XP procedure. Before the modified method of xp award calculations was introduced, it was suffering from the same problems as the first Fumanor campaign, but since this tweak was brought in, things have proceeded in a far more satisfactory and moderate manner.
9. My next campaign is expected to to be primarily interdimensional in scope and will be an Epic-levels campaign. It will also be a sequel to the current Fumanor campaigns. For all of these reasons, it will follow the same methodology as seven and eight.
10. The 11th campaign is still nothing more than a distant one-day-maybe. I have only vague notions of what might be in it. If it ever happens, it will take the model used for my sixth campaign and update it to incorporate the shadow levels and modified xp tables – in other words, all of the above tricks will be brought together to form what is hopefully my definitive approach to the problem.

*: A game-levelling feature is a rule or rules that are designed to keep character power levels from exploding too quickly. In this case, either you interrupt the scenario for characters to train, or they forego experience once they max out until they can break away from the scenario to do so. The problem is that players get unhappy if they can’t earn xp any more, and even more unhappy if they can’t get what they have ‘earned’ for umpteen weeks play, ie the Level. So you either push verisimilitude to the breaking point, or you give in and go for the computer-game-style “instant level gain”.

The Mechanics Of Level Adjustments

This is where I actually address the question that prompted this article in the first place – so heads up, Enquiring GM!

Level Adjustments are defined very poorly in the DMG (page 173). Instead, it dives straight into how to use them, and even then, it isn’t terribly clear. Hence, the question arises in the first place! Wizards Of The Coast do a little better (but only a little better) in their . The easiest way to handle level adjustments without confusion is to treat the level adjustment plus the number of hit dice as levels in “monster”, ie treat the character as multiclassing without penalty. For example, A Bugbear (3HD) has a level adjustement of +1, so a 1st-level Bugbear Cleric has levels “Bugbear 3+1 / Cleric 1” and is a fifth-level character. Note that I indicate the level adjustment seperately after the “+” sign for clarity.

For his three hit dice, plus 1 level adjustment, the character gets everything listed in the monster manual entry under “Bugbear”, plus the ability to take class levels. The first character level that he takes – “Cleric 1” in my example – shifts all his numbers on table 3-2 of the PHB, “Experience and Level-dependant Benefits” from 4th to 5th level – meaning that he has a maximum of 8 ranks in his class skills, 4 ranks in his cross-class skills, gets no feats or ability increases, and needs another 5,000 XP to progress to Cleric level 2.

When the character does so, he will become a 6th level character, and will gain an additional feat.

Skill Points: The unanswered question

Note that the character HAS no class skills until he takes the character class level, all his skill purchases are cross-classed. For his first three character levels he gets no skill points – or, more properly, his skill points are pre-allocated to the skills given in the monster manual.

A more troublesome question is whether or not the character should be given a set of skill points for the level adjustment. The DMG ignores the question, and even the Rules Compendium, which is so good at clarifying various aspects of the rules, is silent on the issue. This can be debated either way without coming to a satisfactory answer, subtly changing the meaning of a level adjustment within a campaign. (I tried to define the difference for this post but ended up tied in linguistic knots and using up more discussion space than the question warrants).

I resolve this question by looking at it from a metagame perspective: Is it possible that a player would feel hard done by if they were not to recieve the skill points? Yes. In the long run, will one level’s worth of skill points make that big a difference? No. Decision made.

In effect, this principle states that before the character takes his first class level, he has “Bugbear 3+1 / Cleric 0”, and that the “extra” skill points can be used to give the character a start in appropriate class skills for a cleric. This makes so much sense that (to me at least) it fully justifies the decision made.

The meaning of level adjustments

Having clarified exactly how level adjustments can be made to work sensibly, we can start to look behind the curtain and get a glimpse of just what they are intended to symbolise.

CR vs. Level Adjustments

In theory, you could backtrack from any creature in the Monster Manual as though each hit dice was a class level, determining how many feats the creature has, how many “psuedo-class abilities” they should have, what skill points they should have, and so on.

But, in practice, some creatures have more abilities or more effective combinations of abilities than others, which is why CR is not the same as Hit Dice. And when you backtrack through, you find that you need some extra “psuedo-levels” to contain these additional capabilties. The CR is set according to game balance and has been tweaked according to play-testing experience.

So why can’t you use the difference between CR and HD to determine the level adjustment? Or simply use the CR directly for the monster levels? Because it doesn’t work, that’s why (I know – it surprised me, too – before working up this post, I had been doing exactly that and assuming it was the right answer).

As I explained in A Different Experience, each +1 CR theoretically increases a creature’s power level by a factor of 1.414, the square root of 2. A Bugbear is light on special abilities, so it only has a CR of 2 – they’re tough creatures, but not as tough as a typical 3HD creature. A Coatl, by comparison, has 9 HD and a CR of 10 – but has a level adjustment of +7.

The numbers can’t be easily reconciled – they vary independantly of each other because they are measuring different aspects of the monster construction. The Coatl is a great example to look at more closely; it isn’t that much tougher than a ‘standard’ 9 HD creature, as shown by the CR of 10, but the abilities that it has make it comparable to a 16th-level character – hence the +7 level adjustment. Except that if you probe a few other entries, you soon find that this method doesn’t work consistantly either.

The bottom line is this: I don’t know HOW the authors came up with their level adjustment values – they might have been plucked from thin air, as a “this sounds about right,” for all I know. Perhaps the technique is correct but not all abilities are created equal – I suspect this is the right answer, but just don’t know (which irritates the heck out of me).

The same can’t be said for CR by Fantasy Flight Games has a very detailed and cogent explanation of how to determine CR – and how to adjust it for additional abilities. Would that there was a similarly cogent analysis of how to determine a creature’s level adjustement somewhere!

So the key point is that the two are NOT the same thing. Not even close.

Working With Savage Species

Savage Species is a sourcebook from Wizards Of The Coast that at first glance is absolutely brilliant – and at second glance is totally redundant – and at third glance is abysmally confusing. If you look at the reviews at Amazon, you’ll find opinion similarly divided.

Here’s the basic premise: take a creature’s hit dice plus level adjustment, ie ECL, and divide everything about the creature – size, HD, abilities – up into proportional slices. So that if you looked up “Bugbear” in the book, you would find that a “4th level Bugbear” had everything that our 3+1 version using the core rulebooks have.

Then you extend those tables all the way up through the advancements shown in the Monster Manual for bigger, stronger creatures.

Sounds great, right? Except that the tables are all messed up. They didn’t stop there; they didn’t get the equity level right; and they inserted rules that require that you to advance all the way in a “monster class” before you can take a character level, and stuck absolutely no requirement for age onto things.

To make Savage Species the brilliant supplement that it should be, and a viable alternative to the method from the core rulebooks, you need to employ some house rules and a bit of research.

Start by relating the creature to a real-world creature. What you want is the growth and aging pattern of the creature. These can be radically different from one creature to another.

The next thing you need to do is decide on the typical lifespan of the D&D creature, and label the growth curve of the real-world creature appropriately. What this does is permit the determination of a required “age” (in game years) for the achievement of another level of monster “growth”.

Once you have that, you put in place a house rule that says that monster-characters must always take a character level except for the first level gained after crossing an age threshold, when they must take a monster level. Furthermore, you designate some of the growth levels as ‘optional’ so that you can have a variation in size for age. If you’re feeling generous, you might add additional rules permitting some monster levels to be brought forward or delayed, but that’s the general principle.

Typical Growth Charts

Here are eight typical growth charts. All of these have some foundation in the real world, but these were all drawn quickly using a vector graphics program, so don’t consider them gospel! These are a representative sample, not an exhaustive list – there are thousands of variations.

1. shows a straightfoward linear growth.
2. shows a species that grows quickly in its early years and then slows, having achieved 90% or so of its ultimate size.
3. shows a species that grows very slowly for a long time before suddenly rocketing up in size.
4. shows a more complex growth pattern in which an initial burst starts slow but gathers pace before the creature size stabalises for a period of time before resuming steady growth.
5. shows a stepped growth pattern, where sudden spurts are seperated by regular periods of size stability.
6. shows a slow growth followed by a spurt followed by more slow growth – this is not far off the typical human model.
7. shows an early quick growth that slows before accellerating again.
8. shows a steady, rapid growth, that abruptly slows to a different steady growth rate.

As stated above, there are many other patterns possible. The important thing is to get a reasonable graph and then relate it to the entries in a Savage Species table.

An example

Let’s look at an example (I’ll be making this up, as I don’t have a copy of this particular rulebook). Let’s say that we have a monster, the Kreetu, whose table is broken up into ten ‘monster levels’. The Kreetu will use chart F from the examples above:

The first step is to relate the growth pattern to information on the “Kreetu” table (if there were actually such a thing). This is charted on the vertical axis, assuming that the horizontal is used for age. It might be height**, or length**, or creature size**, or weight†, but the simplest answer is simply to call it “monster levels”. Assuming an 18-year maturation, since the ‘Kreetu’ are supposed to have ten of them, we get this:

The next step is to drop vertical lines down the chart to determine the age at which the ‘Kreetu’ achieve each stage of their growth:

(This is a little overcomplicated, I’m afraid I got carried away). Anyway, from this, you can determine the following:

Lvl 1 = 1.8 years
Lvl 2 = 2.8 years
Lvl 3 = 3.5 years
Lvl 4 = 4 years
Lvl 5 = 4.2 years
Lvl 6 = 5 years
Lvl 7 = 6.2 years
Lvl 8 = 7.9 years
Lvl 9 = 13 years
Lvl 10 = 18 years

From this information, you can customise as necessary.

• You could specify that a Kreetu is not mature enough to take a class skill until it reaches level 3 – that’s 3.5 years, and mandates that the character’s first three levels are in ‘Kreetu’.
• Or you could look at these results and decide that the growth rate is much faster than it should be, and multiply the numbers by three – so that 3.5 years would become almost 10 years – which is roughly the age when humans were apprenticed in medieval society.
• You could make the 3.5 year growth ‘optional’ so that at the 3.5 year mark, the character could choose to be a typical level 3 Kreetu or could take a class level and be smaller than the typical Kreetu – foregoing Kreetu levels 9 and 10. At the 4.2 year mark, this runt must take his third level of Kreetu, at age five he must take his 5th level, and so on. At the age of 13, he would achieve his full growth as an 8th-level Kreetu.
• Or you could permit the Kreetu to take Level 6 at 4.5 years instead of 5 years to get one that matures early and is bigger than the average Kreetu.
• Or you could simply give a Kreetu a six-month window, game time, in which to take the next monster level. That won’t make much difference to a youngster, but you can get a lot of adventuring done in six months of game time.
• Or simply make all Kreetu levels optional after some minimum number.

You have a wealth of options that you can make available to the player regarding his character’s physical growth. But more importantly, you aren’t forcing 20 or 50 or 200 years of growth into 2 or 3 or 5 game years, and so are getting sensible answers.

That last point is the reason why I came up with these rules. I had a player in one of my campaigns who wanted to play a treant – actually a treant variation from the campaign called a Verdonne (smaller, faster, smarter). At the rate the party were earning levels at the time, I could see that he would become a 200′ tall 20-level creature in about 6 months of game time – something that should have taken a century or two. Applying this system made the character a sapling, just short of Medium height, with total levels equivalent to those of the party. He earned 2 character levels at the same rate that they did before achieving the right age to have the option of taking a monster level. He deferred for another character level before taking an additional level of Verdonne (he wanted the Medium size, having tired of the size penalty in combat), and the d10 hit die was not to be sneered at, either (his class levels were all d4 HP).

Some additional notes:

**: Height and length are amongst the most obvious choices, and the most difficult to use. This is because height/length doubles with every size category – so a straight line would actually represent explosive growth.

†: The density of organic matter is pretty much constant, and presumably the same would be true of an elemental or a golem or whatever – only the amount would change. Therefore this is the same as the volume. To get a rough calculation of the volume of a humanoid body, it’s pi × s × s × h/4 where s is the distance from shoulder to shoulder and h is the height at the shoulders. Pi, of course, is 3.1415927.

With these changes in place, Savage Species represents a sensible extension to the method in the Core Rulebooks.

Conclusion

Once you wrap your head around what’s involved, the combination of character levels and non-humans expand your repetoire as a GM almost infinitely. There’s nothing to prevent our Bugbear Cleric from taking a prestige class to go with his Cleric levels, for example. GMs get far more use out of the potentials than any single player can, because species can be chosen that deliberately enhance the character class abilities, or which evade many or all of the vulnerabilities of the class, or that are just plain interesting.

However, the potentials are so vast that if the GM permits a PC to take such an option, he is practically mandated to take advantage of it himself, or he can find his opposition overwhelmed by a savvy combination.

Which reminds me – one of these days, I’ll have to tell you about the flaws in Dragons, and what I do about them… but that’s a subject for another Blog.

If you catch yourself telling a non-interactive game, throw a parade in the PCs' way.

“Show, don’t tell is an admonition to fiction writers to write in a manner that allows the reader to experience the story through a character’s action, words, thoughts, senses, and feelings rather than through the narrator’s exposition, summarization, and description.”
– Wikipedia

Great advice for writers. And the third dimension – interactivity – makes this even trickier to follow for game masters. Avoid falling into the trap where nothing is happening because you are telling the players what’s going on instead of them taking action themselves.

Here are three ways to avoid telling instead of showing, in the game sense:

1. Let them explore

Provide descriptions so interesting they compel players to get involved and interact.

Put things in an active state. Instead of a dresser, it’s a dresser with one drawer open and something glinting from it. Instead of a small clearing, it’s a clearing of wet grass with fresh tracks cutting through it. Instead of a drunken NPC in the alley, it’s a semi-conscious gnome mumbling something about a treasure map.

A problem arises when so many hooks are unleashed with great description you scramble to design or improvise gameplay. The solution is to end all the possibilities with quick interaction except the one or two things you want to lead on to more gameplay.

For example, the dresser drawer contains a tin handled hairbrush lovingly cared for. It’s tin, so worthless. No clues, move along. The clearing with tracks? They’re animal tracks. And the mumbling gnome – he’s dreaming in his sleep: “I wish I had a treasure map, I wish I had a treasure map.”

Think of how exciting it is on Christmas morning with all those presents that have your name on them. You know most of the presents will be dental floss and socks. But it’s still an exciting day. It will be the same with your players who get offered many tantalizing possibilities when they enter any encounter. The inviting details will get them doing things and interacting. Even the false leads will be interesting. And over time, it’s amazing how all these minor details that don’t lead anywhere build and amazingly immersive setting.

Next time a character tries to initiate play, don’t say no. Don’t say yes. Say detail. :)

2. NPCs react with realism

NPCs should take action. Dialogue is great, keep up the good work. But also make your NPCs take actions during scenes in line with their mood and personality, the situation, and what the PCs do.

If the PCs deliver bad news, the non-player character gets agitated and paces. If the news is disastrous, the NPC takes one of his potions from his belt and chucks it against the wall.

If a character mistreats an NPC, have that NPC call out for a gang of friends carrying big sticks.

When a PC gets rude, have the NPC end the conversation and sulk or hold a grudge. Either way, the character will need to make a peace offering else they get nothing else from the NPC.

When a character does something strange or breaks a social custom, have non-player characters not only cease dealing with the PC, but spread the word so future social interactions are harder for awhile.

Conversely, if a character does something altruistic, have an NPC come out of the blue in the future with a service, helpful offering or boon. If an NPC gets respect from the party, have him make it easier to deal with his friends.

It’s difficult for some players to roleplay well or seriously. If you let NPCs react like real people, without judgement or belittling the player, you show consistency and provide constant reminders and support to play the game well.

3. Villains and factions act

Make the bad guys and major players in the setting do stuff. If PCs do nothing to interfere with the plans of others, then have the setting change anyway. Create casualties, burning buildings, changing leadership, incursions, fights on the bridges, kidnappings, equipment shortages, and anything else you can think of.

The Chinese curse goes, “May you live in interesting times.” The game master’s curse goes, “May your setting be dull even if the PCs do something.”

Hopefully the characters get caught up in the action. If not, keep putting parades, drive-by attacks, riots, new construction, and mage duels in their way.

Bonus tip: rolling dice drive action

Um, this is part of the game rules, isn’t it? Unless you play diceless, dice rolls decide outcomes. Good point, but here’s the rub: if nobody’s rolling dice, then nobody’s doing anything.

There are exceptions here, especially if your GMing style is to make a lot of judgement calls. Overall though, this is a great in-game diagnostic tool. No dice rolls = no one is doing anything requiring an outcome. Chances are, you’re telling, not showing.

How do you do it?

How do you show, not tell, in games?

In the first part of this article, which is itself just the first installment of a series of articles, I discussed the execution and delivery of unique-ness in an RPG campaign, and derived a definition of doing so to a standard of perfection that was achievable in more than a hypothetical sense, that was actually a practical goal:

“Perfection in an RPG is achieved when player contributions synergise with the original vision to produce a sum that is greater than the sum of its parts”.

I then went on to list four elements that were required in order to achieve this goal, and have ended up dedicating a specific blog post to each of them (this article is a LOT bigger than was originally intended!) The second part examined the first of these elements, the initial vision, and how to achieve it; the third considered the creation of a common foundation between players and GM on which to construct the campaign; and the penultimate part discussed the use of a campaign plan to evolve the vision with the passage of game time, and in response to PC actions and choices. In this concluding part, I will examine the final element required to achieve “perfection” (as defined above):

An Evolution Of Character

There are two distinct types of character-oriented evolution that a successful campaign should encompass. The first is that characters should be changed by the events that they experience, they should grow and learn. This is not the same thing as gaining levels or skills, I’m talking about growth in personality. The characters should have triumphs, and failures, and regrets, and emotions – they should care about what they have seen and done. While this can easily be faked by a player, it’s far more satisfying to all concerned if the player actually feels these emotions when looking back over the campaign. This type of evolution is the single hardest achievement in a roleplaying game; first, the players know that it’s just a game, putting them at arm’s length from the events; second, unlike a novel or even a TV show or movie, the players are constantly stepping out of character to deal with events at a game-mechanics level.

Failure to achieve this does not make a campaign a flop; it’s entirely possible to enjoy a campaign while never reaching this level of involvement, and usually “having fun at the table” is a big enough goal to strive for – but we’re talking about achieving “perfection” here, and that means going beyond normal levels of success.

The second type of evolution of character is a way of simulating this level of achievement, by deliberately building “personal evolution” of the PCs into the campaign in the first place, as ongoing subplots. The reason for doing so is that it is easier to make the transition between faking immersion in “evolution by fiat” to actually feeling that level of emotion. If you pretend to an emotion you don’t really feel, it is easier to actually begin to feel that emotion. If you’re feeling down, forcing yourself to smile is a lot harder than being grumpy and short-tempered – but if you force yourself to smile, before too long, you aren’t feeling as depressed. (Note that this advice does not necessarily apply to more serious cases of mental illness such as Depression; I’m not a doctor, and not qualified to dispense professional psychological advice. Consult a professional!)

Evolution from relevance

In many ways, the entire objective of everything that has been written about in this series to date is to achieve the first variety of evolution of character. The initial vision was a canvas and set of pignments; the characters constructed by the players were the brush; the campaign plan was the rough sketch; and the personal involvement of the characters (and hence, hopefully, the players) is the painting. It is only through this level of character evolution that you know you have achieved “perfection” – player involvement is the yardstick of success.

This is why the campaign plan is so intent on making campaign situations relevant to PCs. The more closely a character evolves to achieve what the player wants despite adversity, the more that player will care about the PC. If campaign events matter to the character, and the player cares about his character, then the campaign events will matter to the player. At the same time, if the campaign events matter to the character, and are stimulating or emotive to the player, then they will come to care about the character. These two cycles feed on themselves and each other to elevate the campaign.

Making the campaign events matter is the objective of the campaign plan – taking the raw ingredients, the basic ideas, and making them relevant to the characters is what its’ all about.

Evolution from Reaction

In many cases, players will alter their character’s development to make them better-suited to dealing with the challenges confronting them. In D&D they may take a prestige class chosen to better respond to the challenges that the GM has put before the party; in Champions they may develop a new power, or a variation on an existing power; and so on.

While this is not the kind of evolution that we are striving for, it does nevertheless represent a devlopment of the character in reaction to campaign events. When this occurs, it is CRITICAL to achieving the overall objective that the campaign plan be revised to include specifically targetting the new capabilities of the character, so that the players effort in choosing a new direction for their character makes a difference. By choosing to evolve their character in one particular direction, the player should also be shaping the campaign’s future.

Consider the alternative if this is not done: it signals to the player that his character’s choices of development path don’t matter, which gives rise to a feeling of being on a plot train – even if the players aren’t! This is wholly negative and destructive to the campaign.

For that reason, when a player proposes such an evolution in their character, the GM should look at the consequences in campaign terms and make sure that the player is aware in general terms of the implications. If the player likes those implications, all is well; if not, then perhaps the player’s choice of mechanical evolution should be re-thought.

Evolutions that damage the campaign

It is also possible that such mechanical evolution will sabotage one or more future plotlines that the GM considers critical, by shedding a different light on events, providing a different context to decisions, giving the character the ability to easily thwart what were supposed to be difficult challenges to be overcome, or simply by providing a means of accessing information that the GM has been trying to keep hidden.

When this occurs – and it happens to everyone, sooner or later – the first reaction might be to ban the player from taking the class or power or whatever because it violates the campaign premise. This should be a last resort, and one undertaken only with hesitation. The character belongs to the player, not to the GM.

If that’s the wrong approach, what’s the alternative?

• Start by attempting to revise the campaign plan to accommodate the new evolution. If this can be done, then there is no problem, the GM can smile and say “sure, go ahead.”
• The next possible solution is containment: can the character’s new capabilities be walled off by circumstance from the critical information? If the answer is yes, then the player’s new direction simply provides the GM with more ways to connect the character to future events, and the potential damaging abilities actually become a constructive force within the campaign.
• If the campaign plan can’t be revised completely, can it be revised sufficiently if there is some handicap or re-dressing of the affected plot elements – for example, requiring the character to achieve a cetain goal in-game before the mechanical evolution can be achieved? If this approach can solve the problem, then discuss the situation with the player, don’t simply place the revision or impediment in their way!
• If you are still faced with catastrophic implications for the campaign’s long term, examine closely the consequences and implications to the character, especially those that they aren’t aware of, or are not taking into account because the player doesn’t know what the GM knows behind the scenes. It can be better to game out an attempt by the character to achieve class ‘X’ and then change their mind (without penalty) because things aren’t what the PC expected them to be. This gives a clue to the GM’s future plans that he hadn’t intended, and necessitates a revision of the campaign plan accordingly, but it can be less damaging to the campaign in the long run than the alternative. Again, this is something that should be discussed at a metagame level with the player BEFORE the GM puts such a strategy into motion.
• If none of the previous solutions will solve the problem, or if the player refuses to go along, then the GM is faced with the difficult choice of inflicting lasting harm on the campaign or banning the class outright – inflicting a different but no less lasting form of damage. Either can potentially put “perfection” out of reach. Perhaps the player can be bargained with, for the good of the campaign – revising the ability to remove the most damaging aspect of the abilities in return for some form of compensation. Either way, the GM is now in a situation of (relative) desperation, if “perfection” is to be achieved. When this occurs, it’s time to aim for something less than perfection, and ask the difficult questions of what will provide the most fun to everyone concerned?

It has to be said, however, that except in unusual and rare cases, any such circumstance is a sign that the campaign plan is not (and probably never was) as robust as it should have been. The plan should anticipate such problems and players should have been told up front, in the house rules, that specific classes or abilities or whatever are not available to PCs. If it is essential to the campaign that no-one in the party be a Mage, the GM should know that up-front and should make sure that the players know it up-front as well.

Evolution from Design

The final type of character evolution to be considered is building evolution into the campaign with the full knowledge and cooperation of the player. This works by the player deliberately designing a flawed character, one that is not quite the way they want the character to be at the end of the campaign, and by charting a “personal journey” designed to take the character from A to B in the course of the campaign.

Some of my players have grasped this idea instantly, others have had great difficulty understanding it. In a nutshell, the process is:

1. identify an aspect of the character that you want to change;
2. create a subplot or series of subplots in which the character undergoes a personal crisis as a result of this aspect of their behaviour;
3. suggest a means by which they can overcome this crisis;
4. justify the change in character as a consequence of the crisis;
5. roleplay (at least once) the process by which the character achieves that change.

A variation is to have the character end up exactly as they were, despite the crisis, after some form of fall from grace and redemption.

These key points – which shouldn’t be spelt out in great detail – then become raw material for the GM to build into the campaign, plot elements to which he can connect other parts of the storyline.

For example, a character who is “trusting” might have a simple plot arc:

1. Character meets someone socially who seems trustworthy, develops a friendship;
2. Character is taken advantage of by the ‘friend’ but does not mind (the warning sign);
3. Friend gets into serious trouble and solves it by getting the character into the trouble instead (precipitates the crisis);
4. Character resolves the crisis;
5. Character confronts the ‘friend’, and learns the life lesson that not everyone can be trusted.

If the goal was to restore the character’s innocence at the end, then some additional plot steps will do so:

6. The character becomes suspicious and mistrustful (the over-reaction);
7. Character turns away someone who approaches them for help (the foil);
8. The ex-‘friend’ (feeling guilty over what they did to the character) gets into trouble helping the foil (2nd crisis);
9. Character rescues ex-friend and foil (resolve the crisis);
10. Character’s confidence in people judgement is restored, ex-friend is rehabilitated in character’s eyes. ‘Friend’ may then leave to search for the cure to his own problems without further burdoning the character.

The GM is left free to tinker with the nature of the friend (co-worker, childhood companion, drinking buddy, employer), where and how they meet, the nature of the troubles, the relationship between foil and the other participants, and so on. He can put a number of ‘place-keeping’ encounters (ie encounters which only maintain the status quo and do not advance the plot) between the character and the other participants into the campaign in between the significant stages of the plot arc, and so on. The player gets to roleplay the friendship, the crisis, the feelings of betrayal, the overreaction, the reluctant rescue, and the resolution – all aspects of the character’s personal life and personality that might otherwise have been nothing more than a notation on the character sheet (“trusting”). He can link these plot elements to other events taking place in the campaign, in ways that fit the genre. The result is that the overall plot arc constitutes a heightened level of personal involvement within the campaign for both the player and his PC.

Player-targetted evolution

If you know your players well, and especially know of a subject on which they have strong opinions, you can sometimes be tempted to forge a bond between player and character by placing the character in a position where the solution comes from adopting the player’s attitude to the subject, or where you challenge the player’s opinion in-game in order to achieve drama, or where you outright disagree with the player and attempt to ‘educate’ them using in-game examples. I have just one piece of advice to offer about such temptations:

DON’T DO IT! EVER!!

The game is not your personal soap-box, and others may have opinions that are different but just as strongly held. You might be right, or wrong, or there may be more than one ‘right’ answer – or NO right answer. The whole thing is a recipe for confrontation and arguement, and it’s metagaming of the worst sort.

If the player makes it clear that the character has specific beliefs or philosophies, those are fair game – but never target the player.

Even then, be wary of attacking principles that the player and character have in common unless the player is mature enough to seperate his personal feelings and beliefs from those of his character – and there is only one way to know for certain, and that’s to jump off the deep end BEFORE you know whether or not you’re wearing concrete joggers.

It’s simply not worth the risks, either to the campaign, or to the friendship with the player (which can easily be affected).

In Pursuit Of Perfection

Even if you carry out everything that’s been discussed, there is no guarantee that a campaign will achieve perfection. The unknowable “X-factor” is ever-present and can derail anything at any point. But at least, if you achieve all these things:

• a vivid, unique, and uncompromised initial vision;
• a common foundation for players and GM to build on;
• a campaign plan that evolves with time, circumstance, and involvement by the players; and,
• an evolution of characters within the campaign;

…then you have a fighting chance. And, almost certainly, a better campaign.

Should there ever be something that is too big or has too much momentum for the PCs to be able to stop?

In the discussion following a previous Ask The GMs, (Giving Players The Power To Choose), James Carter asked that very question. We were talking at the time about NPCs making moves and counter-moves in the background, each trying to get themselves into a position to achieve their goals, and about the natures of those actions, some being brief and opportunist, and others subtle, preplanned, and long-term. In full, James asked, “Is there such a thing in a campaign where something is simply too big to be stopped? Even if they ‘nip it in the bud’ there, similar [possibly even unrelated] events happening elsewhere bring it about anyways – tho maybe not in the same way I had originally planned? Or is that wholesale cheating on the behalf of the DM?” At the time, I replied that there were far too many ramifications to the question to answer in the dialogue at hand, but a short and inadequate answer was, “yes, it can be reasonable to have something so big coming that even if the PCs stop one cause of a given change, other causes can produce the same result. But unless the PCs know that other forces are pushing towards the same result, it still feels like a DM’s plot train. So the only time that I would do this (even though it’s unrealistic) is if their victory gave them the necessary information to stop whatever is happening at the 13th hour in one last, desperate, act…” I also promised that, to give the question the space and attention it deserved, I would earmark it for a future article for CM; this is that article. I’ve listed the question as another Ask-The-GMs topic so that Johnn has the opportunity to weigh in on the subject, as I think he might have a different perspective to offer. So, here we go….

Mike’s answer:

The expanded answer proved to be a lot harder to write than I expected – I knew what I wanted to say, but hard trouble articulating the ideas clearly, and three times had to scrap hundreds of words and start from scratch after writing myself into a literary cul-de-sac. When I was finally getting on a roll, a system crash wiped out the almost complete draft. Why is the subject so hard to discuss? Because the terms of reference actually change as a campaign progresses, and what is the right answer at one point becomes completely the wrong answer at the end. Sounds confusing? It can be – and hence the need for exceptional clarity.

The Early Campaign

In theory, a campaign is quite a straightforward thing – a succession of plotlines of increasing difficulty, to be confronted by the players in sequence. The early campaign will generally consist of a number of plotlines already in progress, with which the players can get involved.

If the campaign were to start with half a dozen potential adventures with which the PCs can get involved, each roughly equal in priority, and each taking about the same length of time to reach maturity (i.e. success unless they’ve been stopped) then it could be summed up in a bar diagram like this one:

The players choose one of these plotlines, get involved, and stop it from happening. Because they got involved early, and are possibly not yet at the power levels needed to put a stop to the opposition once and for all (being only able to put a stop to the immediate plan), the opposition may escape and reappear later in the campaign.

Let’s say, for the sake of example, they stop plots 2 and 4 (in that order), but the perpetrators escape to cause more mischief; they then stop plots 1 and 3, capturing or killing the antagonists responsible or otherwise rendering them helpless. This is what the campaign chart would now show:

You can see that plot 2 was resolved early, but the antagonist has a middle-campaign plotline underway. Plot 4 was resolved next, and fairly easily, but again the antagonist will cause further trouble in the campaign’s future. Plot 1 was also resolved fairly quickly, but plot 3 was about half-way to completion and had acquired a lot of momentum, so it was not as easily dealt with.

The players now have the choice of pursuing plot 5 or plot 6, but whichever they choose will be much tougher than the challenges faced so far; if they experience any sort of delay in resolving it, then by the time it has been dealt with, it’s entirely possible that plot 6 will have acquired too much momentum to be stopped. And even if they succeed, the sequel to plotline number 2 will be approaching fruition, and the sequel to plotline number 4 will be hard on its heels; the campaign enters a breathless phase, with the players lurching from one crisis to another.

In any realistic sequence of events, then, the answer (at least at low character levels) is yes, you can have something underway that is too big for the players to stop, because they have let it get that far. When this happens, the middle or end periods of the campaign are all about undoing what the PCs have permitted to happen. As Bernard Woolsey put it in ‘Yes, Minister,’ when asked why he didn’t stop something from happening during an ‘Economy Drive’ in the ministerial office, “C.B.E., Minister – Can’t Be Everywhere.”

Another way of looking at the early phase of the campaign is one of establishing the themes and style of the campaign in comparative calm, and following that with an avalanche of plotlines exploring those themes and style.

Because there is time to change the situation, there is nothing wrong with a plot that is so big, so far-reaching, or which is being carried out by adversaries that are so powerful, the players have no chance to stop it – so long as the balance of the campaign is all about the PCs gathering the resources and powers to undo the situation.

The Middle Campaign

The middle campaign is generally about dealing with the consequences of the scenarios in the early campaign, while new plots mature, unnoticed. “Dealing with the consequences” can take two specific forms:

1. Adventuring within the new environment; or,
2. Struggling to overthrow the new environment.

Often, campaigns will utilise a hybrid form – adventuring within the context of the changes that the characters did not prevent until they find a way to combat the unwanted turn of events.

The middle period of a campaign is different from the early period because it has adventures which precede it, bringing consequences, and time after it for all the plot threads of the campaign to entwine to form a strong rope – the better to hoist the PCs on their own petards with! That makes it, in many ways, the most flexible of the periods in terms of campaign content; it can be treated as a brand-new early period, or it can be a period of consolidation of plotlines, in which the significance of what has already taken place becomes apparent, or any number of variations, alternatives, and combinations.

Since there is inherently going to be an opportunity for the characters to undo any plots they cannot stop, the answer to the question posed remains ‘yes’ in this period; it can even be argued that it is more likely to be the case in the middle phase of a campaign, because of the potential for leftover plotlines from the first phase the PCs have failed to stop.

The Endgame Campaign

The longer a campaign progresses, the less neat and tidy any abstract representation (such as that used earlier) becomes. You have leftovers from earlier campaign phases, consequences, reactions to plots (both failed and successful), counterplots, plots that have gotten out of hand, people attempting to exploit opportunities that have been created in the course of the campaign, and new material, of course, all mixed up and interconnecting!

For the purposes of contemplating this question, however, the most important difference between this phase of the campaign and those which preceded it is that there is no campaign phase that follows it – this is all there is! That means there should be no plot so big the PCs have zero chance of stopping it, though these chances can and should become more and more desperate.

There is only one exception – and that is when the GM, with the full acceptance and cooperation of his players, is setting up the seeds of a sequel campaign. In this case, it is entirely permissible for the campaign to have a plotline that is deliberately beyond the abilities of the current PCs, provided that this plot thread is not the central one of the current campaign.

An example: Fumanor: The Last Deity

I’ve described elements of this campaign before, so I won’t repeat myself. There is a brief (one-paragraph) synopsis of the campaign in A Quality Of Spirit, and in Coinage In Fumanor, I described how the PCs had overlooked clues from prior to the start of the campaign that the Chancellor of the Exchequer was planning an attempt to usurp the throne, until it was too late for them to prevent the war, but not too late to win it – at a tremendous cost. Even then, the PCs were unable to give the war their full attention, because they had discovered that the Chancellor’s ambitions had simply made him a cat’s-paw for Thoth, the corrupted deity. The primary objective of their strategy and conduct of the war was to get the PCs into a position to confront and defeat the fallen Deity; ultimately, that worked to their benefit, as their forces ignored several strategic traps that had been prepared under the assumption that the loyalist forces would have “victory in the war” as their only goal.

But the fact remains that, if necessary, the PCs were prepared to lose the terrestrial war (and deal with the consequences later) if it gave them a better shot at the more important victory. It was a particularly poignant choice on the part of the leader of the party of PCs as she had been raised as a worshipper of Thoth and this decision was about getting the party into the best possible position to slay her god.

This was the big finish to the campaign, one way or another. As it happened, the PCs won on both fronts, were able to institute a number of reforms in the aftermath, and ‘retired’ into positions of authority within the resulting political structure. But I was fully prepared for them to lose the war and be exiled or killed, after winning their fight with Thoth – I expected them to win that confrontation, and they had everything that they needed in order to achieve the task; the only question to be answered was the price that they would have to pay.

Losing the war would have changed the context and background of the sequel campaign, but the major plot threads would have remained undisturbed. So, viewed from one of several possible perspectives, the war was a plot that was too big for the PCs to stop, because they let it get that way (C.B.E., indeed!) and were then distracted by the need to deal with an even bigger problem.

I hope this gives a more satisfactory answer than my brief comments of last year, James!

Johnn’s answer:

Is there such a thing in a campaign where something is simply too big to be stopped?

In short, yes. There are some circumstances where this is possible.

Test of character

There is a type of campaign that focuses more on characters and their development than fixing the world. The great evil is an anvil against which the strength of PCs is hammered. You might literally test character endurance, but some groups also like to explore the depth of character morals and strength of their beliefs.

In Starship Troopers, for example, your campaign might not be about eradicating all the bugs, but more about defining humanity or experiencing life in a galaxy in conflict. Another example would be Ars Magica where the PCs might not be about getting magic accepted in Europe, but instead they are just trying to keep their covenant alive and growing throughout its seasons.

I think you can assume a default campaign is about facing a powerful enemy and having the opportunity of defeating it. If you decide to run a test of character campaign, best talk with your players first, to ensure everyone’s expectations are different than the default.

Hoist their own petard

As Mike mentioned, actions and consequences during a campaign might make the enemy too difficult to defeat. Good call, Mike, on using this to setup a sequel campaign.

Once players realize they cannot win, take a temperature check.

While blame might fall on the PCs, if the fun has been sucked out of the game, I would have no problem providing a long shot, one more chance, or secret Achilles heel to allow victory once again.

However, another option lets PCs get a minor win while losing the war. In hockey, for example, ruining a goalie’s shutout gives a bit of satisfaction despite losing the game. Likewise, taking down a lieutenant, ruining a villain’s relationship, crippling a power artifact and other partial victories still make a game worth playing, especially if players enjoy being in their current PCs’ skins.

The unstoppable is a sideline

Implied in the question, maybe, is that the plot represents a win condition for the characters. However, keeping a plot running in the sidelines that is unstoppable is fair game, as long as campaign success is not measured against this plot’s outcome.

For example, I’ve run campaigns where god war trickled down into character plots. The war was not the central conflict, so players never felt they had to resolve the war – just deal with the mortal fallout of the ongoing divine conflict.

A dilemma is unstoppable

By definition, a dilemma offers a lose-lose situation. A campaign that builds to a dilemma as its climax is unstoppable in the sense that the option not picked results in negative consequences. Do the PCs save the planet or sacrifice it to score a critical blow against the enemy? Do they let the villain escape in return for the plague cure? Awaken the Prince or the Princess? A loss happens regardless.

Critical mistake: spite

Do not keep the bad guy alive or a plot unstoppable because the players find a way to seemingly win. I would call that cheating, to answer that part of the question.

As Mike illustrated, PCs can resolve plots earlier than expected. If this frustrates you, do not react by robbing the PCs of their victory. Do your best to keep things alive due to player oversight, failing to tie up a loose end, or resurrecting a seed planted earlier. Players will find this believable, and see it as the world against them, not the GM against them. If you prevent plot resolution out of spite though, you’ll lose player respect and perhaps find empty chairs next session.

The majority of my games involve fantasy fulfillment for my players. They can’t win against their boss at work, the car repair bill or the flu, so they arrive ready to kick butt and take names. A winless campaign is not what they’re after. In the past, I’ve had a few campaigns that developed so they became close to being winless, but I allowed player creativity to create new possibilities for victory.

Ask your players what they want

If you opt to run an unstoppable plot, or see a plot becoming such, discuss with your group first before continuing on.

Ask The GMs to get help with your game master and campaign issues. More info >

In the first part of this article, which is only the first installement of a series, I discussed the delivery of uniqueness in an RPG campaign, and derived a definition of doing so to perfection that was achievable in more than a hypothetical sense, that was actually a practical goal:

“Perfection in an RPG is achieved when Player contributions synergise with the original vision to produce a sum that is greater than the sum of its parts”.

I then went on to list four elements that were required in order to achieve this goal. The second part of the article examined the first of these elements, the Initial Vision, and how to achieve it, before running out of room, and the third part examined the creation of a common foundation between players and GM on which to construct the campaign. In this penultimate part, I tackle the first of the two remaining elements, evolving the initial vision, and the campaign that has been derived from it.

(It should be noted that this article is a LOT bigger than was originally expected!)

An Evolution Of Vision

To some extent, I’ve already addressed this topic in a number of other posts here at Campaign Mastery, which gives me some small hope of being able to deal with it fairly succinctly. On the other hand, there’s a lot to say on the subject….

The initial vision created by the GM should be a starting point, nothing more. The status quo of the various relationships and populations and organisations should all evolve as the campaign progresses. The first wave of evolution should come from the characters created by the players and should do nothing more than ensure that one or more players are connected to everything significant that’s going on in the campaign world, directly or indirectly. If no PC connects to a campaign premise, then you either need to replace that premise, or insert a campaign element that bridges the gap. While it’s a little soap-opera-ish, you really do want one or more PCs to have a personal stake in every big issue that the party are going to confront (whether they know it or not).

Often, characters will have a choice of two or more allegiances concerning an issue. For example, if there is a developing schism in the church over the question “do abominations have souls?”, each cleric has the choices “yes”, “no”, and “undecided”. While some of these can and should be determined in advance of play, if necessary through discusssion with the GM, it is often preferable to place a scenario early into the campaign so that the character can make his decision in play. The big difference between doing it prior to game start or in-game is whether or not the other players are to be aware of the decision – if it ultimately is going to affect the whole party, then an in-game choice is generally going to be preferable.

Beyond evolving the vision to focus key parts of it on the PCs, there should be a natural evolution as time passes. NPCs should act to further their goals, other NPCs should react to those actions, which will in turn prompt further reactions, and so on. Ideally, you want to arrive at a situation in which the players slowly become aware of a developing situation and become embroiled in it just as it is coming to a head; achieving this requires planning in advance. A campaign is like a multi-course meal, all the parts have different cooking times, and have to be synchronised in order to put each course on the table at the right time.

In addition to that, you want affected groups – and their allies and enemies – to react to PC actions, which in turn will evolve the campaign and the context within which the PCs make future decisions. There’s little more satisfying than being able to draw a straight line connecting one event with another with another (and so on) that starts with the very first scenario of a campaign and links all the way to the inevitable consequence in the final scenario. “It’s all been leading to this!” is really enjoyable when you can show the players that the current snafu is their own fault!

While you can often get along well enough by simply updating the initial vision as PCs encounter aspects of it, I have found that a campaign is far better executed if you develop and maintain a campaign plan.

The Initial Campaign Plan

Hopefully, the result of the work that’s been done so far has generated a campaign plan in which a status quo is established for the PCs to get involved with. That campaign plan comprises a list of scenarios and plot arcs designed to reveal hidden information of interest to the PCs, to evolve the game setting during the course of play, and put the party and opportunities for adventure into the same vicinity on the game map.

In order to be effective, a campaign plan has a minimum of three supporting elements: a background description, a set of rules customisations, and a campaign concept:

• The Campaign Background was described in the previous part of this series, where development techniques were offered for its creation. The Background provides context for the campaign plan.
• The House Rules were compiled in several phases, also in previous parts of this series. They translate the background and concept into game mechanics that are compatable with the core rules of the campaign.
• The Campaign Concept is at the heart of everything that this series of posts is about. Initially a bare-bones idea, it has been expanded and built apon through the course of the article series into a robust construction of cause, effect, concept, direction, background and rules.

Evolve Or Perish

It is a popular saying amongst my gaming companions that no plan survives contact with the enemy. The same sort of phenomenon occurs with campaign plans once you actually commence play; they have to evolve to suit changing circumstances or the campaign will eventually become extinct (hopefully replaced by another). There are so many different events that require revisiting and revising the original plans: better ideas, forgotten ideas, logic errors, character action and reaction, evolving player wishes, evolving characters, players leaving, new players arriving, characters dying prematurely… I could probably spend an entire blog post talking about each of these exclusively, but I’ll leave that for another day or twenty, and limit myself to a more abbreviated examination this time around.

Better Ideas and more of them

The longer a campaign runs, the more likely it is that the GM will have some better ideas for plots and background events than those he incorporated into his initial vision. He knows the game world more intimately, he knows the players and their characters better, he knows where the House Rules have worked and where they have failed, and he has had to scramble a time or two to wallpaper over cracks and defects in his original planning. All this experience means that the GM is inevitably in a better position to create the campaign after the fact – but why wait? Even a partial tune-up is still an improvement; review and reasessment of the campaign plan should be ongoing throughout the life of the campaign, even if it’s only to junk the ideas that didn’t work and replace them with something better.

Forgotten ideas

It’s happened to me more than once: At the game table, you come up with a brilliant idea to advance the overall plotline in an interesting direction but you have to impliment it right now as the confluance of opportunities will not last – but by the time the next session rolls around, you’ve completely forgotten the specifics of your stroke of genius, or realised that the problem you’ve just solved was supposed to stay unresolved until later in the plan. It’s worse in my case than for most GMs because I have multiple campaigns that are always screaming for my attention, and because each one is typically only played once a month, but this is a problem that every GM will confront eventually. When it happens, there is only one solution: A Mea Culpa to the players, begging for a reminder of what happened last time, the recreation of the stroke of genius or something closely resembling it, and the revision of the campaign plan to take it into account.

Logic Errors

Sometimes, the logic that was used to connect circumstance A with events B will fall apart under scrutinity. This is usually the result of being so close to the initial concept that you can’t see the forest for the trees; it is often necessary to put some distance between the creation of the initial concept and its execution before these logic errors can become aparrant. The best solution to this ongoing and everpresent problem is, once again, a regular re-examination and revision of the campaign plan. If nothing else, it helps you keep the big picture in mind, which helps avoid some of the problem with forgotten ideas.

Character Action & Reaction

The characters have done something unexpected, often either brilliant or incredibly stupid, and as GM you’ve had to roll with the punch, forcing the campaign into unexpected directions. It happened at the start of the Zenith-3 campaign, where (despite all the players deciding that they wanted to initially adopt a low profile), one of the PCs decided to go trolling through Boston Common looking for muggers.

Sidenote: The player in question used to have a problem with refusing to take carrots that I dangled in front of him, something that I was able to exploit for many years to get things moving – and he could never figure out why his characters were always in trouble. He has been actively working to improve his gameplay in that regard ever since another of the players pointed this weakness out to him, and it has become an ongoing joke in many of my campaigns since. (I havn’t gone quite so far as to attach labels to a plot macguffin which read “Warning, Carrot!” but I’ve come close).

But there’s a corrolary to this behaviour: Because I could always use this technique to involve his character in whatever trouble was brewing, I had become a little lazy as a GM and found that whenever he offered up the opportunity, I would instinctively swing for the trees – even if that was detrimental to the campaign in the long run. When he tightened up his game, it forced me to get smarter, and better, as a GM.

This was one occasion when I couldn’t resist, in the heat of the moment, popping the slow ball that he served up for a home run – to use a baseball metaphor. Our costumed hero (in a world without costumed heroes) was accosted by a policeman patrolling the park (since muggers were few and far between in the 1950s-era of the game) and then dug himself in deeper and deeper by being evasive to the wrong questions and spilling too much when asked the right questions. Ultimately, he presented the other players with the choice of blowing their cover and any hope for a low-key presence and planned public debut, or letting him be carted off to the loony bin.

Here’s the point of this little parable: the players had wanted that low-key presence from the start, and I had planned to accommodate them – and both our plans had just gone out the window. The campaign plan needed an immediate rejig as a direct result.

Evolving player wishes

Once again, this is something more of a problem for me because of the long half-life of my campaigns in real time (as opposed to measuring them in game sessions), because player personalities and desires evolve in real time. When your hack-and-slash advocate unexpectedly matures and wants to get involved in campaign politics and social development, it can blow all your plans out of the water. In ANY campaign, the players can get tired of what they are doing and want to persue something else – which is a problem if you’ve got 17 sessions of ‘more-of-the-same’ already in the pipeline.

This problem can also arise if the players have not been sufficiently clear about their likes and dislikes from the start. I have one player who is a big fan of space opera (the fiction genre) but dislikes “cosmic” scenarios. I knew the first, he didn’t tell me the second (or didn’t know, himself) – and the campaign plan goes immediatly off the rails because all the scenarios expected to appeal to him are now things that he has to endure.

The only viable response to such situations is to evolve the campaign plan.

Evolving characters

Character evolution happens in all games, and sometimes it presents opportunities to the GM that he had not expected. And sometimes, it gives the player options and insights that the GM was not expecting the character to be able to take advantage of! Either way, the fundamental foundation of what the character is capable of changes, and the campaign plan has to evolve to take these new potentials and interests and capacities into account, or your big menaces will fall flat on their faces.

New players arriving

I’m a strong believer in entwining character development into the campaign plan – if a player tells me that he wants his character to be able to do “X,” then I will do my best to write in an opportunity for him to be able to do so, or to gain the power to do so. That means that with every new player joining the campaign, the plan has to evolve to integrate the personal journey that the new character wants to undertake.

Players leaving

The converse of that problem is when players drop out of a campaign. It MIGHT be possible to simply drop that character and his related subplots out of the overall plan, or it might be necessary to keep the character around as an NPC for a period of time, or even to have a new player take over the character (if one is available, interested, and willing). One particular character in the Zenith-3 campaign has had three different players, as I’ve mentioned in previous blogs; another started as a will-be-a-PC-when-the-player-becomes-available, became a PC, then became an NPC, and then became a PC controlled by a different player, whose psychology and abilities never quite gelled with the capabilties of the character – turning what should have been a heavy hitter into a fairly mild team member. All of these changes mandate revision of the campaign plans, sometimes extensively.

Characters dying prematurely

And the final category (appropriately, given its nature). A character dying unexpectedly can be the most traumatic event a GM ever experiences at the Gaming Table; depending on how irretrievably the character was linked into the campaign plan, the loss might throw the whole thing into the shredder. Of course, if a character is that important, the DM can find some means of ressurecting him, but this carries inherant ethical questions and can ultimately do just as much damage to the campaign. The best answer is to write some rescue-from-the-afterlife scenario by means of which the character’s ressurection can be earned, or for one of the surviving characters to take on the burdon of seeing the character’s lifework through. Any solution other than a duex-ex-machina ressurection requires revision of the campaign plan, sometims quite substantially.

The Structure Of A Campaign Plan

There are a lot of ways to organise a campaign plan. The most straightforward is a simple list of scenarios with a 1-line summary and supplemental notes on the significance; the list serves as both index and plan simultaniously. Johnn has (I believe) suggested in times past using an Excel spreadsheet – column 1 for scenario number, column 2 for scenario title, column 3 for a brief synopsis, column 4 for the first plot thread connecting two scenarios, column 5 for the second plot thread, and so on. I have also seen html tables used in a similar fashion; and finally (perhaps strangest of all) a pencil-and-paper version using an exercise book or (3-ring binder), a book for recording phone numbers, and an address book.

Sidebar: Okay, someone is sure to be interested in the mechanics of that last approach – which does have its advantages, I must admit. You start by numbering the pages of the exercise book from 1 to whatever, in the top right corner. Number every page. If using a 3-ring binder, number the first 100 pages – and plan on only writing on one side of each page.

Page 1 gets titled “Index”.

Each scenario gets a page, and the titles and scenario numbers get written into the index as well as at the top of the page dedicated to that scenario. The first thing that gets written under the scenario title on a page is the synopsis of that scenario. Whenever you have something to note about a scenario, it gets jotted down on the relevant page.

Whenever a page is filled, the next available page number gets written in the bottom right corner, preceeded by an arrow, like this: “>15”, which indicates that the content continues on that page. If using a three-ring binder, you can actually insert a page and add a sub-page number to it – “15 (cont) 1” or “15-1” or “15.1” or “15/1” or whatever takes your fancy – just be consistant.

Every NPC that appears also gets a page, with their name, location, and title (if any) listed in the index. An entry for the name and title is also made in the ‘phone book’, providing an alphabetical list of characters and an index to the page on which they are written up. If characters use both christian and surnames, they should be listed both ways just to make them easier to find.

Each location that appears in a scenario gets it’s own page for description and history and the page numbers of significant NPCs to be found there. A thumbnail of any map can also be pasted in, which can come in handy when you’re in hurry. The locations get listed in the main index, of course, but they also get listed in the address book together with a map number and grid referance, so that you can immediatly find them on your campaign maps.

One advantage of these tools is that you will never forget the name of an off-the-cuff NPC again. But the big advantage is that they are living documents which can be updated in the course of play to reflect every broken window and burnt-down mill that the game creates. Yes, these things can all be done electronically – but it’s far faster to flip through pages looking for a specific page number than it is to scroll through an electronic document looking for one particular entry. On the other hand, electronic documents can be searched – so it’s probably six of one and half-a-dozen of the other which is the better choice.

Assuming that you are setting up this campaign plan before play actually starts, there will be a logical sequence in which pages will appear. The first page will get the overall summary of the campaign concept; the next pages will describe the key scenarios and plot arcs that make the world beyond the PCs dynamic, and provide the opportunities for development; the next section will logically be a whole-world map if you’ve done one, with any notes; that will be followed by the setting of the first scenario, then any key NPCs from that first scenario, and so on. Skimming the first twenty or so pages, just reading over the first paragraph of each, gives you the foundation of the campaign.

One final tip before I close this sidebar: I’ve identified 3 types of information above; more can easily be added. I like to preceed each entry in the main index with an “icon” indicating what the index entry relates to. The ones I use are:

• an asterisk for scenario planning & notes, with a circle placed around it when the scenario has actually been played;
• an empty square for a location, which is filled with an angled slash (“/”) when the PCs have actually visited it, and a slash angled the other way if they have made a significant impact on it (whether they have been to it or not);
• a small open circle for an NPC, divided vertically into two semi-circles, which gets filled in on the right-hand side when one or more PCs actually meet the NPC, and gets filled in on the left if they have actually had a significant impact on the character (whether they have met him or not);
• a wavy line for any notes regarding house rules;
• an @ sign for a “to do” page.

Updating a Campaign Plan

I’ve talked a lot so far about creating and structuring a campaign plan, and about the reasons why one might have to be updated, and one good reason for that is that I’ve been (subconsciously) trying to avoid this section of the post, simply because the subject is so broad I’ve had trouble boiling it down into succinct paragraphs. But I guess it’s time to bite the bullet…

Despite the many possible causes of updates to a campaign plan, the changes can be categorised into four basic types: inserting something into the plan, cutting something from the plan, replacing something in the plan, and fine-tuning something in the plan.

Inserting something

When you boil it down to its most elementary units, the campaign plan exists to connect events and circumstances to one another in order to produce in a Subject (PC or NPC) one or more reactions or responses, each of which then becomes a new event. The key to using a campaign plan is to utilise those connections to stimulate the PCs into action, so that everything that they do has consequences within the campaign, and so that the story that the GM has created in the background matters to the PCs and provides a context to their own struggles and challenges.

It follows that inserting something into the campaign plan is a process of searching for those connections, and assessing the impact on other parts of the plan of the additional game-time delay that the events of the inserted scenario(s) occupy.

Establishing the connections is a three-step process, but is generally much the same procedure as that described in the second part of this series.

Go Backwards

You start by going backwards in time, looking for events and circumstances that would have been affected by (or worse, are contradicted by) the new insertion. You have three choices in dealing with unwanted impacts:

• introduce a corrective plot mechanism to specifically constrict the impact of the change you are making;
• introduce a deception plot mechanism by which the changed events can be misrepresented in history as the unmodified event;
• change the rest of the campaign plan to accommodate the changed event.

Each of these is about the same amount of work. I personally dislike the first option once a campaign is underway, as there is an inherant risk of further unwanted consequences, and of undermining the change that you are actually desiring to put in place. It’s also very easy for these things to snowball – you make a change, then another to limit the impact of the first, then a third to increase the significance of the difference, and so on and so forth. It can quickly grow out of control by the time all the side issues are resolved, and it’s too easy to miss something important.

That leaves options 2 and 3 as the preferred solutions. Both have their advantages, but I have a slight bias toward answer two – not only is it a common aspect of human behaviour to put ‘spin’ onto events, but establishing that a group has been meddling with the official records gives other incongruities a plausible explanation when one is needed at short notice. It also limits, slightly, the amount of work needed to integrate consequences into the campaign plan; anything that derives from public perception or motivation is unlikely to be changed, only planned elements that rely on the actual outcome of events are affected (in general). So you work backwards, looking for imnplications in the past, then work all of these fowards and watch them sprout consequences in the modern campaign and into your future plans. The one thing to be especially careful of is to look for any impact on your final scenario, the campaign’s big finish – which (at this point) should probably be nothing more than a list of uncorrolated ideas. The final advantage to this is that it immediatly begins feeding plot elements into the campaign’s future, as you need some means for the PCs to uncover the truth (or at least uncover the fact of a deception).

That’s not to say that Option 3 doesn’t have its merits: There’s no need to differentiate between motivation and outcome in circumstances, so it can actually be more straightforward to integrate into the campaign. It keeps a complicated plan as straightfoward as possible, so if things are already a juggling act, this option can prevent the campaign from becoming overwhelming to manage and bogging down as a result. If the change has been chosen with care, it can also simplify an overcomplicated campaign, taking the place of one or more additional background elements that can be made redundant – though that’s rare.

Go Forwards

As implied above, the second step is to work forwards from the beginning, tracking the changes made and all the implications. It’s vital not to make any changes permanent at this stage; often, unwanted and undesirable consequences will result from your first attempt. The one thing that you can’t do is change anything that has made a difference in actual play to date; these events and circumstances are canonical and should be sacrosanct. If you can possibly avoid it, the second thing to avoid is changing anything that’s fundamental to an existing PC’s construction without their express permission (unless the change is being introduced to fix a percieved problem or imbalance that’s causing them dissatisfaction. Even if your change doesn’t succeed in fixing the problem, players (like anyone else) respond well to a genuine attempt).

Outside those two restrictions, you can change anything so long as what is left unchanged still makes sense.

Connect to the PCs

Once you have made your changes to the campaign background and to the foundations of the campaign plan, the next step is to connect these changes to one or more circumstances to affect PCs in the future. Ideally, if the change is to campaign hosue rules, you want to demonstrate (and live-test) them as quickly as possible, and it can even be worth inserting a 1-game-day miniscenario purely for that purpose. Equally, if the change is to one of the published campaign precepts, you want to at least consider making the impact more obvious within the campaign, either by bringing forward a scenario planned for later (if that’s possible) or by dropping in a miniscenario.

Cutting Something

This can actually be more traumatic than adding something. There’s usually a good reason for something being there (if you’ve done your planning right), and it can’t be cut without the care and precision of a surgeon. This is especially true if what’s been added are circumstances and connections to integrate a new character into the overall campaign plan, and sometimes it can be better to retain such characters as NPCs or even give the characters to a different player rather than damage the overall campaign.

Another sidebar: I know these are supposed to be “Lessons from The West Wing”, but this is a lesson that I’ve learned the hard way over the last few years. A couple of years ago, I resolved that it was going to be my practice to take a lesson from Babylon-5 to heart, and ALWAYS have an exit strategy in place for every PC in one of my campaigns. If necessary, that would be the NPC solution, or another player, but to always be ready for someone to call it a day.

Johnn wrote about the dangers of retconning your way out of trouble not too long ago in Retcon Rightly and cutting something out of a carefully-crafted campaign plan is one time when those dangers are at their most extreme. The process of doing so is relatively simple; assume that the item has already been cut and assess what impact this change has at the current time within game; then check EVERY future event, and EVERY event that has already taken place within the game, to determine whether it, or any of the circumstances and assumptions that led to it, or the consequences that flow from it, have been affected. If nothing else has been altered beyond rational measure, then the item can be cut. If this is not the case, a better option is to replace the item, following the procedure given in the next section.

Sounds like a lot of work? It is!

Quite honestly, I don’t have the kind of time that this requires. I put a lot of hours into my gaming, but there are limits to the available time and this goes a long way beyond them. The only time that I consider it viable to simply cut something is when I have built in the facility to write the item out at any point, in advance – and making such plans and keeping them up to date is a waste of time, most of the time. The only occasion when making such plans is warranted is when we’re talking about a PC leaving the game for some reason and leaving some future plot development without a connection to the players.

Under all other circumstances, I will generally just assume that the item can’t be cut from the campaign plan and look for other ways to make it relevant and/or manageable.

That said, some items are often included in a campaign plan simply as filler, or because they are interesting ideas, with no significant connection to anything else happening in the campaign. These can be safely excised and never missed. Whenever I place such an item in a plan, I ensure that I can immediatly recognise it as “safe to remove” by prominantly including an appropriate notation in the notes concerning the scenario. If, at some future point, the scenario assumes a more significant role in the overall plan, this notation can be crossed out; in the meantime, it avoids all that work, while preserving the notes itself for later recycling if I find I need a filler scenario.

Replacing Something

This is one of the most common forms of surgery that has to be performed on a campaign plan. In the first Fumanor campaign, a major subplot concerned the corruption of the Elves and their society; this subplot was to revolve around an elven PC. When the player in question left the campaign, it became necessary to replace everything relating to that subplot with something else. I couldn’t simply cut the subplot altogether because it was a key element of the big finish planned for the campaign – remove it, and that big finish would no longer make sense, and all the other campaign plot threads leading to it, and which the characters had already been discovering, would collapse.

The easiest solution would have been to replace the PC with an NPC, but that would ultimately have been unsatisfying because decisions made by the character in dealing with the subplot would narrow the choices available to the whole party in resolving that big finish; having an NPC make these decisions would have made this subplot a plot train that the players had to ride. The only acceptable solution, therefore, was to find ways to connect the subplot with other PCs who were still members of the party.

In part, this was achieved by considering the secondary impact of the developments within the subplot on other populations within the campaign; in part, it was achieved by changing the focus of some of the developments from a racial to a religious or political foundation to subjects of interest to other PCs; and, in part, it was achieved through the hoary old device of a dying companion begging one of her comrades to finish her life’s work and save her people.

And that is the key to the process of replacing something: you need to identify a stimulus that will achieve the same effect in campaign terms as that which had originally been planned. Depending on how much foundation you have already layed, this might be easy, or you might already be pretty solidly locked into using particular background elements, as I was – in which case they need to be tweaked to focus on another PC.

There can even be occasions when one character has become so central to the ultimate conclusion of the campaign that it is necessary to either find the character a new player, or to employ a deux-ex-machina to restore the dead character to life, or whatever; both are manifestations of a common solution, the need to undo the circumstances that have led to the need to change the campaign plan in the first place.

Refining Something

By far, this is the single most frequent form of change that will be made to a campaign plan. “Refining” something, in this context, means making it relevant to more elements of the campaign, or fleshing it out to add more elements that can be used to create verisimilitude. As any campaign proceeds, you will get a better grasp on who particular NPC groups are, their modus operandi, and so on – and inevitably, you will find that some have reason to intervene in a situation. If a campaign event is impacted by a past campaign development, that’s a connection; if it provides motives or inspiration or resources that can be used by a group later in the campaign plan to achieve their ends (or at least try to achieve their ends!), that’s a connection.

It is for this very reason that I try to avoid actually finalising a scenario until the last possible minute. The PCs are continually evolving, the world around them is continually evolving, and therefore the maximum potential for establishing connections is immediatly before the scenario in question commences. Prior to that, the best you can do is a quick summary of what you want the scenario to achieve.

As part of my post-play wrapup, I like to read over the remaining campaign plan and look for any way to connect what has taken place in the course of the day’s play with what is to happen in the future. This is when the events of play are freshest in your mind – even the next day can be too late!

Campaign Evolution

The more interconnected campaign elements are; the more they entwine and collide and coalesce – the more strongly the players become aware of their choices and decisions having repercussions and ramifications. This makes them feel more solidly part of the campaign. A campaign plan is not a plot train to be foisted onto the PCs, it’s a way of making sure that the campaign world always presents opportunities for adventure while the campaign world evolves in response to the choices and actions of the PCs. And it’s a way of keeping all this manageable.

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In the first part of this article, which is itself just the first installement of a series of articles, I discussed the execution and delivery of uniqueness in an RPG campaign, and derived a definition of doing so “to perfection” that was achievable in more than a hypothetical sense – that was actually a practical goal:

“Perfection in an RPG is achieved when Player contributions synergise with the original vision to produce a sum that is greater than the sum of its parts”.

I then went on to list four elements that were required in order to achieve this goal. The second part examined the first of these elements, The initial Vision, and how to achieve it, before running out of room. In this, the third installment of this first article, I will turn my attention (hopefully a little more succinctly!) to the remaining elements – a common foundation; an evolution of vision; and an evolution of character. (It should be noted that this article is a LOT bigger than was originally intended!)

A Common Foundation

The second element that I identified is a common foundation between players and GM. This means that everyone has to know what the rules are, what the campaign concepts are, what the campaign background is, and so on.

That does not imply that players have to know everything – what they need is the “common knowledge” of these areas, the things that most people know. Essentially, this is simply a matter of communication between players and GM – you all have to be on the same page as to the concepts of the campaign. The tricky part is achieving this without revealing any of the surprises and twists and revelations that the GM wants to bring out in the course of the campaign.

The easiest approach that I’ve found is to base the process of achieving this on the easy editability of electronic documents.

Starting Point: Master Documents

The information generated in step 1 is usually organised into a number of master documents:

1. Campaign Conceptual Summary
2. Campaign Master History
3. Campaign Master Map
4. “Known World” Campaign Map
5. Campaign Political Summary
6. Racial Guides (if appropriate)
7. Nationality Guides (if appropriate)
8. Character Class Guides (if appropriate)
9. Social Class Guides (if appropriate)
10. Technology Guide (if appropriate)
11. Campaign House Rules
12. Campaign Plan

While most of these are fairly self-evident, there are a few observations that are worth making about a few of the items on this list.

1. The conceptual summary is a simple summary of what the campaign is intended to be all about. It might be an idea for a particular game world or environment, or a political structure, or a confrontation/conflict, or a metaphysical concept, or a particular philosophy. It’s the starting point for everything that I described in the preceeding part of this series.

2. The Master History is not inclusive, its a collection of key dates and events, which was generated in the preceeding part of the series.

3. The Campaign Master Map shows the whole world that the PCs might be able to reach. Everything that matters should be marked on it – eventually. It might start off being very sparce.

4. There are two ways of generating a “Known World” map: Either by erasing the parts the characters don’t know about yet, or by putting a mask on a seperate layer of the image and erasing that to show the parts that they DO know about. I prefer the latter approach because it can be updated as the campaign proceeds, and because there are some neat tricks with fills and transparency that can be used to “corrupt” the information on the edges. I also always use a copy of the master map, because I can use various types of “rubber sheet” deformations to build errors into the map. That doesn’t matter much in any sort of modern campaign, but in a fantasy campaign it’s vital!

5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10: Most campaigns will only need two or three of these categories. A few rare campaigns may require a fourth. I have never known a campaign yet that needed all six. These start out as empty documents and slowly fill up with everything that a member of the race/class/whatever needs to know in order to roleplay that race/class/whatever. The conceptual development described in the previous part of this series will create the first entries in each of these master documents, but at least half the content is yet to be derived.

12: The Campaign Plan starts out with a general summary of what is going to be occurring during the course of the campaign’s actual play, and then lists a number of scenario ideas. Each time I come up with a new scenario idea, I’ll add a 1-line summary of the notion to this master list. Whether or not the PCs will follow this “map of adventures” is entirely up to them. I’ll be discussing the campaign plan in a LOT more detail in the next part of this series.

Involving The Players

I start by getting the players to indicate what classes they are interested in playing in the new campaign, in a d20 style game, or what archetypes they want to occupy in a classless system like Hero. I will also ask for indications of desired species/race/nationality, and for any plotlines that they particularly want me to incorporate if I can. For example, a player might want to explore the psychological effects of continually being surrounded by unreality and distortions of reality with an illusionist character. Or he might want to play the “Noble Savage” with a Barbarian, or the conflict between reality and ideology with a Cleric or Paladin.

Since these choices and suggestions are being made “blind”, save perhaps for a one-line summary of the campaign premise, the first thing that I do is check the documentation of the Initial Vision (from Part 2 of this article) for any of these choices that is radically different in concept or nature in comparison to the standard game. I’m not interested in fluff differences, only in the things that might make a significant difference.

“Druids are suffused with the spirit of the World Tree” is fluff and doesn’t change the fundamental nature of the class.

“Mages must make pacts with Dark Powers to gain the power to cast spells”, or “Japan is an underwater empire, New Atlantis, populated by a mixture of mermen and humans” are significant changes that will radically transform characters wishing to play a mage or who were thinking of running a Japanese character.

If there are any such major differences, I forewarn the player in question and give a hint as to the nature of the difference, giving them the opportunity to change their minds; but I also point out that this will make their characters representative of one of the fundamental aspects of the campaign and can be looked apon as an opportunity to explore that difference. I may also offer a suggested variation, if one is available, that may be closer to what they wanted.

Some players will reach for the opportunity with both hands, others will elect to make a more straightforward choice so that they know what they are getting into.

Constructing The Common Foundation

I then generate information packets for each player by editing a copy of all the master documents. There will be a common core that all players get, and a number of specific pieces of information available only to selected classes.

I start with a copy of the master documents and for each item of information, I ask the following:

1. Is the information something that everyone has? If yes, then include it and move on to the next piece of information; If no, proceed to the next question.
2. Is the information something that this character’s species/race/nation has? If yes, then include it and move on to the next piece of information; If no, proceed to the next question.
3. Is the information something that this character’s class/archetype has? If yes, then include it and move on to the next piece of information; If no, proceed to the next question.
4. Is the information something that the character might have learned from another source? If yes, then include it and move on to the next piece of information; If no, then the character does not get that information.

I usually use text colour coding to indicate the in/out/unconsidered status of a piece of text. The text starts out as Black text on a white background; if I rule it “in”, I will change the colour to blue; if I rule it “out” for that character, I change the colour to red.

When I’ve finished, I will open my master document and change the text colour of any information that none of the PCs is to recieve to red as mnemonic device.

Once I’ve identified he information that should be included and the information that will be cut out for a given character, I ask a couple of additional questions concerning the information that is to be included:

5. Is this information distorted or vague by reason of species/race/nation? If yes, then I overtype the existing information in the character’s briefing book, and then annotate the relevant master document to note the misinformation that is common to that species/race/nation, so that future characters – PC or NPC – will be consistantly misinformed.
6. Is this information distorted or vague by virtue of profession/class/archetype? Most organisations have a particular perception or set of values that they subscribe to, whether it be Theological or the Hyppocratic Oath. If yes, then I overtype the existing information in the character’s briefing book and then annotate the relevant master document to note the common misinformation or misconception that is common to that profession/class/archetype.
7. Is this information distorted or vague for any other reason? Social Class prejudices, or a campaign of misinformation that has been or is being carried out by one or more groups, or state secrets, or simple failures of memory. If yes, then I overtype and annotate apppropriately once again.

I also change the text colour of anything overtyped into something else – it might be fuscia or green or grey – so that I can visually distinguish the accuracy of the information and see where I’m up to.

This diagram illustrates the results of the process. There are the common background that all the players get, and the house rules for the campaign, and then an assortment of additional information on various subjects. Player 1 gets almost all of the first such category, players two and three get almost all of the second, and so on. Note that the influance of questions 5 through 7 means that some or all of the information they might receieve is vague or missing, no-one gets the full picture. The sections marked with an asterisk are especially interesting: the first contains information that would have been available to one or more PCs if they had made other choices of character, while the third contains the material that the GM both wants to conceal for its surprise value and is able to justify concealing from the players.

Padding With Prejudice

The next step is to pad out missing entries. Clerics might have no particular information concernign Orcs, but they will know something. Sometimes I will produce a whole new master document, compiling all the misinformation – I did that for Fumanorian Elves, and gave “Elves For The Educated Human” to the non-elves as part of their briefing bundles.

Finally, I delete anything that’s still in red in the player’s documents (editing as necessary to maintain narrative flow) and change the text colour of everything that remains back to black. This effectively hides all your editorial decisions from the players, so they can’t tell what’s a falsehood and what’s incomplete from what’s true.

The Results

What results from this technique is that the referee knows everything, and the players know everything that they need to know, while the veil of ignorance is maintained over the subjects that a given character does not know about, either because of who he is, or because the GM has deliberately concealed the information – while ensuring that the logical consequences of the concealed information are on display, if the characters care to look for it.

The campaign has also begun to take shape – anything that’s been withheld from the characters can and should be relevant to a scenario at some point in the campaign.

It can be amusing at times, when characters havn’t shared their information with the group, and they react based on what they think a situation is, expecting everyone else to follow suit!

Input From Players

Armed with this information, the players can better customise and tweak their character designs. But the scope for player input is much broader than that; they are free to speculate and expand on anything that’s been mentioned, to flesh out the bare bones that have been supplied to them. Such player submissions can be judged on their merits and added to the master documents, either categorised as misconception or expanding on the game lore. Sometimes, these player submissions are contradicted by a fact that the player wasn’t provided in his briefing materials; in which case an edited version of the player submission can be returned to them and placed in Canon reflective of the unexpected turn of events. These changes are made without explanation, and give the players some minor mysteries that they can choose to investigate as opportunity permits. (There will be more to say about involving the players and any contributions they make to the campaign in future parts of this series).

In time, the full truth will come out – it always does, if the campaign lasts long enough. In the meantime, the initial vision is compromised as little as possible, without detracting from the adventuring potential contained in PC ignorance. It’s a little like having your cake and being able to eat it too!

Campaign Mastery was asked, I just got done reading Mike’s Flavours Of Neutral article, and something within got my attention. The PCs were going to be present at a gathering of the druidic orders and would see the (probably quite heated) debate. How do you guys pull off “PCs as spectators” events like that? I ask because I too am coming up on a similar situation, where the PCs will be witness to a debate among the nobility and royalty of a country that is on the brink of civil war. – Robert

Johnn’s Answer:

Thanks for the question, Robert. First, be clear on what the PCs are spectating.

There are three possibilities in any game:

• PCs are watching NPCs
• PCs are watching each other
• Players are watching the GM

It’s the last item that trips most game masters up, especially GMs with a theatre background, lol.

PCs watching NPCs

Here you have a couple of options: cut-scene or interactive.

Cut-Scenes

With a cut-scene, you have everything prepared in advance, the game is meant to be watched by the players without interaction, and you describe or roleplay what takes place.

Keep these scenes short and infrequent. If you can carry off compelling, story-hour type of entertainment and your players enjoy it, then feel free to do such scenes more often. Picture a librarian enthralling a group of children, or an engaging storyteller pleasing the crowd with his performance.

In these scenes, you would either describe the action or say the words the NPCs are saying. Be sure to use a story format, though, else you have fallen into the dreaded players-watching-GM trap.

A good way to create a story format is to describe the action and summarize conversation. Keep things happening and active. Describe NPCs doing things. “Roghan then interrupts the Speaker of the House. He makes a quip about crumbs in Bruno’s beard and says that policy should be to use stealth. Bruno jumps out of his seat at that and lunges at Roghan, who dances out of the way laughing. You can tell these are old enemies. A sudden loud pounding of the Speaker’s gavel restores order, but he has to pound several times and yell for order before Bruno takes his seat.”

Be sure to make the scene important in at least one way for the PCs. Use to it advance the plot by revealing clues, for example. Another is to provide excellent intelligence about people, places or things so the characters are well informed and have more tactical options in future encounters.

More subtle benefits to PCs could include revealing NPC weaknesses, motives or personality traits that give characters more game options moving forward. For example, in a recent session I mentioned an NPC had a weakness for women. A specific type, actually, but it’s up to the PCs now to learn that and figure out if and how they want to leverage that intel. Either way, this one revealed trait gives the game more options, and cut-scenes are great ways to reveal this type of information.

If you opt to roleplay out the scene, then make it an enthusiastic performance. Get out of your chair and mimic the body language of speakers. Use accents. Use props. Walk around the table. Do everything you can to help players figure out instantly who is talking at any given moment.

If your group is comfortable with this, have players stand up and help be props for your narrative. Make one player pretend to be a curtain so you can stand behind him and have a disembodied voice speak from time to time. Another player could be a door. And another is a jester who has no role or words to say in the scene, but it adds great fun to the game for him.

Prepare a cheat sheet in advance if you do not expect players to record all names, clues and other important information in real time. Nothing is worse than giving the performance of your GMing career and then have all the energy leave the room and game as players start to clarify what was said in the roleplay. Worse are players who interrupt. “How do you spell that name?”

With a cheat sheet prepared, you can assure everyone they can just sit back and listen and enjoy.

Interactive

I feel this option is better gaming than pure cut-scenes. Interactive scenes are just like cut-scenes as outlined above, but you allow the PCs to do things while the scene is taking place.

I use initiative to ensure everyone is getting spotlight time, and to ensure I do not forget the presence of the PC in the scene in case it’s important. For example, some characters have always-on keen senses, and they’d be able to detect things that take place during a cut-scene. If I forget about these PCs and their powers, then I create logical flaws, and players will get frustrated.

For initiative, I usually start with the player on my left and go around the table. Reflexes and reaction time is not important, and it saves a bit of game time, so any player turn order will do.

Isn’t this just playing the game? Why yes it is! Good catch. Interactive scenes where the PCs are mingling in a crowd of spectators is just a standard encounter, which is why I prefer it to GMing cut-scenes.

To make these encounters fun and interactive, try this:

• Have several mini-encounters prepared, at least one for each PC. A mini-encounter could last the whole encounter as a sideline thing, or be over in one or two turns. For example, pick pockets working the crowd – they attempt to rob a PC or a PC witnesses a robbery. Another example would be two NPCs quietly arguing over something – a PC hears and will want to listen or intervene because the argument is over something relevant.
• Vendors offer interesting things for sale. Let PCs who wish do some shopping while listening to the NPCs.
• Quick roleplays. Introduce interesting NPCs in the crowd. This is an awesome way to bring future important NPCs into games – during unrelated events. Perhaps someone leans over and comments to a PC about the goings on. Or perhaps a PC stands beside a heckler – how does the PC react?
• Skill use. Make a list of each PC’s top three skills. Look for ways those skills could be brought to bear. Stealth and Diplomacy provide lots of options. But even Rope Use could let a PC save the day with an emergency tie or preventing a simple hazard. Perhaps a PC has difficulty seeing what’s going on, so a great jump might let him get to a higher vantage point.
• Start a fight. The action is supposed to be centred on the NPCs giving the performance – a debate, a play, an exchange of insults, or what have you. However, some players get bored quick. Give them something to fight and let the other players continue to pay attention to the NPCs and report back on what the brawling PC(s) missed.
• Gambling. Side bets offer a way for players to roleplay and earn a little treasure. Even something mundane like a debate can attract NPCs who want to bet on who will win, or how long it takes for a certain NPC to nod off, or an RPG version of meeting bingo.
• A volunteer from the crowd. The NPCs need someone from the crowd for some reason. Perhaps it’s to keep the lanterns lit during a breezy night. Perhaps they are asked questions as a random representative of The Average Joe to prove an NPC’s point. Maybe it’s a magic act, lol.

A caveat to interactive NPC scenes is to not follow a rigid script. The PCs are guaranteed to derail such a script – the format is interactive, after all. Instead, create a list of key messages, key actions or situations you hope to play out. Turn this into a checklist and do your best to have NPCs accomplish them, but always be factoring in the actions of PCs and intelligently causing NPCs to react.

When making your checklist, do not put mission-critical items last in the timeline. Avoid a timeline altogether, if you can help it.

I know you want to build up the drama, create a rising sequence of escalating actions or emotions, or establish a logical sequence of an argument, but if this is essential then consider doing a cut-scene instead.

If possible though, get the key items done early or mid-encounter so you have a good chance of triggering them before things go haywire (and they will go haywire).

PCs watching each other

This is great gameplay and not an issue in this discussion. I only include it here to complete the list of interaction types. If PCs want to get up and make speeches, let them. If they make long speeches, then turn the scene into an interactive encounter, go around the table taking turns, and let the PCs run interference on each other. :)

Players watching the DM

This category kills games. Short bursts of attention are fine. But if you stage your own lengthy plays before the players, they’ll get bored and frustrated. RPGs are meant to be interactive.

However, as mentioned, you probably have visions in your head of a specific scene, a series of events, and a grand finale. Perhaps your debate is to end in a declaration of war, or enemy knights burst in at the peak drama point and start slaying the debaters.

Unless your players expect such type of gameplay, they will regard your scene as a normal encounter and expect to be able to take actions. They will want to talk to other NPCs, or intervene in the main scene taking place, or start trouble.

Players watching the DM is a great way to start a new campaign, or end one. But everything in between should be interactive. Expect players to want to get involved in your debate, and plan accordingly.

If you absolutely must have PCs be passive witnesses, then tell them up front what you want. “Guys, this is a short scene and an important one. Normally you’d be able to interact and do things, but in this case I’d like to you just soak it all in. I won’t do this often, but think of it like a scene out of a movie or book where you do not have the spotlight for a few moments. I’ll try to be quick.”

Mike’s Answer:

Johnn’s advice is excellent, and has given me a lot to work with. I knew when I read the question what it was that I wanted to say in reply, but was struggling to find the terminology to express what it is that I do. Johnn has very helpfully solved that for me and so it’s full speed ahead.

I use “players watching the GM” a lot in the situation described by Robert’s question. Why don’t my campaigns crash-and-burn as a result? Because I integrate the other types of interaction into the gameplay.

Here’s how I do it:

• I start by preparing a script, more-or-less in bullet form, although I may compose specific passages in full if a particularly evocative or important phrasing comes to me – this is purely a matter of inspiration; mostly it’s a summary of what subjects the NPC with the spotlight is going to talk about and any key notes on style, revelations to be included, and admissions to be avoided. I make sure to note what each of the key participants’ objectives are during the dialogue and to have prepared notes to myself on “what is really going on” in the scene.

• I make sure that there is a dead spot, with nothing important being revealed, following each revelation – so I can keep going when the players start buzzing with conversations amongst themselves. These are presumed to be private and whispered unless I have told the players in advance that they are separated and can’t communicate with each other – something that I prefer to avoid. I make sure that if there’s information to which the players are going to react, there is also a subgroup within the audience that will react noisily and disrupt the speech long enough for the players to get their own reactions off their chests.

• I make sure that the information being presented matters to the PCs and that the players know it through deduction or through prior insights on the part of their characters, in play.

• I build in pauses which permit me to step into interactive mode to get PC reactions from the players, and permit them to ask me questions.

• And finally, most important of all, I make sure that the players always have the feeling that they can choose to act, switching the encounter from passive observation to PC-NPC interaction, at any time. The knowledge that they can do so (with consequences) takes all the sting out of what is usually a bad position for the game to be in, because it means that staying quiet and passively watching events unfold IS a choice of action by the players.

That last point is so important, let me restate it: Let the choice of modes be the PLAYERS’ choice, not the GM’s.

Something that I tried in the Druidic encounter that Robert referred to in his question, and that worked very well, was ensuring that the PCs each had a different faction to keep an eye on, different things to look for, and so on – one was watching the speech, another was watching the crowd in general, and another was monitoring a specific faction for reactions. By integrating a description of the perceptions of the different PCs into the narrative, and describing these observations from the perspective of the relevant hidden PC, I naturally jump from a passive-player mode into interactive mode and then back again. While this is not always possible, it worked so well that I will definitely be on the lookout for opportunities to incorporate this refinement to the technique in the future.

Hope this helps, Robert!

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In the first part of this article, which itself is the first installement of a series of articles, I discussed the execution and delivery of uniqueness in an RPG campaign, and derived a definition of doing so to perfection that was achievable in more than a hypothetical sense, that was actually a practical goal: “Perfection in an RPG is achieved when Player contributions synergise with the original vision to produce a sum that is greater than the sum of its parts”. I then went on to list four elements that were required in order to achieve this goal: an initial vision; a common foundation; an evolution of vision; and an evolution of character. The article resumes as I begin to examine these four elements and how to achieve them. (It should be noted that this article is a lot bigger than was originally intended!)

The Initial Vision

Producing the initial vision is purely the province and responsibility of the GM. It consists of a completely logical setting, with the consequences of all historical forces and trends integrated into the contemporary circumstances. For everything that is in place, there should be a reason for it, and a reason for that reason, and so on, until you track all the way back to the central premises of the campaign.

Responsibility for the concepts inherant in the initial vision are shared between the players and GM; if it is his responsibility to execute an environment in which the players can adventure in the modes that most attract them, it is their responsibility to ensure that the GM knows where they want the campaign to go.

So the first compromise is in the constituant componants of the initial vision itself; rather than being purely the most original and interesting and internally-consistant concept that the GM can produce, his design must provide a setting for the players to enjoy the type of adventures that they want.

Unless he’s a mind-reader, that means that they have to communicate to him what they want, or he has to communicate to them the sort of adventures that his setting concept will entail. Or both. The more communication there is up front in this respect, the better the resulting campaign will fit the players, providing the maximum opportunity for them to contribute to its ongoing development, and hence for the synergies that are our goal to eventuate. (True-confessions time: this is one area that I have to admit that I can do better at.)

Once the GM has a field of action to target, there are three different approaches (in general terms) that can be applied to actually assemble the Initial Vision: Top-Down design, Bottom-Up Design, and Hybrid Design.

Bottom-Up Design

For reasons of clarity, I’ll examine these approaches out of order. Bottom-up Design is the approach that most people use, especially when they are just starting out. The basic methodology is to decide on an element of the current campaign situation that you want to be in place, find a logical justification for that element, then a logical justification for the circumstances that created the first justification, and so on.

The advantage of this approach is that you only need to go as deep as you feel necessary for practicality, so it is a lot faster to implement than either of the alternatives. The disadvantage is that unity of concept is placed at risk, because there is no attempt to explore all the ramifications of any elements embedded in the unique concept of the campaign.

This compromises the uniqueness of the setting because more elements are standardised and conventional, and it can compromise verisimilitude when something that should have been changed by the element, or by its justifying logic, is not. As a result of these compromises, such campaigns rarely achieve “perfection” in terms of the definition arrived at earlier.

However, it’s not all bad news. The campaign is more accessable to players by virtue of being more standardised, and there is considerably greater scope for contributions from those players, so this world can be more collaborative. My original superhero campaign was constructed in just this way, and it lasted for many years.

The key to making such campaigns viable is this: whenever you identify something that is “standard” to the setting but which shouldn’t be, whenever you spot a contradiction, you need an additional justification to explain the discrepancy – a logical reason that explains why something that should be different is not. In effect, you counterbalance (at least in part) the change that has been established within the campaign and limit the scope of the consequences. Done properly, this permits the campaign’s uniqueness to grow organically over time, with an organically evolving history that continually expands.

In a nutshell, this technique cuts short the initial development of the campaign in favour of distributing part of that development throughout its lifespan as additional game prep.

Another downside is that new players can get caught out by the changes in history, since there are fewer overt manifestations of the central concept.

Top-Down Design

This approach is one that I’ve talked about in the past, in a number of these blog posts, especially Distilled Cultural Essence Part 1. The methodology is to decide on a fundamental conceptual element of the campaign, deliberately chosen to distinguish this campaign from all others, and then to explore all the ramifications of that change to compile a description of the current world. If necessary, you then add a second, and a third, until the world is genuinely unique.

This means doing virtually all of your campaign prep up-front, and its benefits and drawbacks are the exact opposites of those offered by the previous approach. There is no compromise of quality, but there is a lot more work involved in campaign creation. Because there are fewer compromises, “perfection” is more achievable, but it is more likely that player contributions will conflict with some part of the unique vision, so the campaign becomes a little more high-maintenance. In fact, it’s more work, plain and simple – though the benefits can make it worth the extra effort.

The one major caveat to be aware of is that you can end up with a campaign in which, to all appearances, the “standards” are in place – which is to say that none of the conceptual changes that you have made actually make any practical difference at all. The result doesn’t feel unique, it simply feels pedestrian. There is no guarantee that a fundamental conceptual change will translate into differences that are felt by the PCs. Even once those changes are revealed in such a campaign, they will be easily forgotten and are more-or-less disposable.

Hybrid Design

This is the methodology that I reccommend, and that I prefer to employ. It embodies some of the strengths of both – and, to some extent, some of the flaws as well, I must admit – but it evades the major weaknesses of both and guarantees not only a unique campaign but one that is percieved to be unique.

I start by selecting a change that I want to make that will be immediatly aparrant to the PCs and that will make an immediate difference to the game. I then employ the bottom-up technique until I have identified a fundamental difference that could be responsible; I then employ the top-down approach to identify and explore all the other ramifications.

Once I have this starting point, I look for a further change that will compound or interact in some way with the first. This interaction might be present at the commencement point of the campaign history, it might be immediatly prior to the commencement of play, or it might be an interaction intended to occur in the course of the campaign; but it is most likely to have occurred at some earlier point in the campaign’s background. From this interaction point, I track backwards in time to identify the cause of the change, using the bottom-up method, and then track forward in time from that original cause to define the consequences.

This diagram illustrates the process. A is the initial effect that I want to have in the game. It might be that Goblins have higher technology than anyone else, or that Drow are half-demons, or that everything west of the rocky mountains is part of a spanish-ruled Canadian Monarchy, or that magic works by stealing the life-essence of dragons, or whatever. I trace back through cause-and-effect, assembling a history that brings about this change in the contemporary environment until I reach a fundamental point of difference (B). I then work back forwards, compiling all the ramifications and consequences of that initial change (C1-C5) – note that for some of the possible “A” points that I mentioned, there might be many more than a mere five consequences! This structure is shown in Red.

Point E would have been C6, a sixth consequence, but I choose it because I want a different outcome. Tracing back along the line of cause-and-effect, I reach point D, which is where the outcome of E can be changed to something more of my liking, but this requires it to interact with some other chain of events, shown in blue. If E relates to the outcome of a war, then the obvious point of change in assumptions would be something relating to the other combatants. I again trace the line of cause-and-effect back to the fundamental cause, F, and then go forward to determine all the consequences of that change, labelled G1-G6.

This diagram is clearly simplified. It is unlikely that there would be only one point of intersection between these two sequences of events, for example. Since the blue sequence was constructed already knowing the key events of the red path, it is only necessary to quickly revisit the red paths and check for additional impacts from the blue changes.

By making the changes to campaign assumptions one at a time like this, you can build up as many as necessary to achieve the game world that you desire. Ultimately, you don’t really care about the consequences other than A and E, but the other impacts give credibility to those events and depth to the campaign.

Segment Numbering and Identification

I find it useful to number each segment of the chart, and assign a corrosponding 1-line summary. Increasing numbers obviously mean increasing time. Because I’ve used this technique a number of times, I’ve developed a bit of a feel for it, and have some notion of the number of fundamental changes that will be needed to achieve a certain level of effect.

Obviously, this approach is even more work – but it yields the best results. It also almost certainly requires the production of some sort of player briefing before characters can be generated, simply to enunciate all the aparrant consequences that their characters will have grown up with or can see around them.

Once you have derived such a sequential listing, it’s not all that difficult to assign dates, either using landmark events from history that have been impacted by the changes you’ve made as signposts, or by working backwards from the current game date to get relative dates.

But these are hard to read and absorb. It’s my preferance to expand each of these one-line summaries into a paragraph or even an entire chapter of a History.

An Example from Fumanor

By way of example, I offer a small extract from the history of elves in my Fumanor Campaign, something I’ve been working on for some time. These 15 chapters begin with the fallout from a prior series of events and the resulting evolution in Elvish culture and tell the story of the second great war between Elves, Dwarves, and Drow, a pivotal event in the history of all three races:

15. Noletinechor, Guardians of Elvish culture, are founded.
16. Second War between Elves and Dwarves begins, started by Dwarves
17. Corellan converts the Noletinechor, Guardians of Elvish culture, into the Huyondaltha, a Martial Order, to defend Elvarheim.
18. The Huyondaltha invade the Dwarven Tunnels but are relatively ineffectual. In desperation, their leader turns to darker strategies (analagous to poison gas in WWI).
19. Concurrent with 15-18: Diplomatic relations between Drow and Dwarves as the two progress from hostilities to trading partners at Lolth’s direction. Dwarves acquire Adamantine and Mithril from Drow.
20. Elvish eco-terrorism threatens the Dwarves, forcing the Dwarves and Drow into closer alliance.
21. Dwarves, using Drow intelligence, launch an underground invasion into the heart of Elvarheim. Raiding party are captured.
22. The captured Dwarven raiding party reveal/discover that the initial offensive act (16) was a deception and not a Dwarven Act.
23. Bladedancer incursion threatens the Dwarven royal family.
24. Drow are about to achieve their (secret) goal of making the Dwarves a subject race when one of the captives (21) arrives with an offer of a cease-fire.
25. Dwarven King is hesitant until the Drow Ambassador panics and kills the messenger, and gets caught in the act.
26. Peace is declared between Elves and Dwarves.
27. Trade Negotiations reveal that Elves were using Dwarven expertise to craft magic items that boost their spellweaving abilities and enable them to craft horrors and abominations. Drow release their creatures into the intervening tunnels as a protection from Dwarvish reprisals.
28. Elves acquire Mithril for the first time, traded from Dwarves for lumber.

Each of these, rendered as a narrative, will occupy about half-a-page of text (I’m currently at the point of the big reveal, item 22). Chapters 29 through 31 will examine the repercussions and consequences for each of the different races in detail.

These chapters exist to do only 5 things, that are critical to the background of the campaign:

1. Create the Huyondaltha;
2. Give the Drow a magical leg up;
3. Explain how the Elves come into posession of Mithril, given that they aren’t natural miners;
4. Release a bunch of nasty critters in between the Dwarves and Drow, isolating them from each other; and
5. tell the story of a typical Drow plot by Lolth, lasting something like 200 years and expanding on her personality and capabilties.

Moving On

I’m about out of space in this post, so the next part of this series will examine the remaining elements required to achieve “perfection” in an RPG Campaign.

How to undo major events in your campaign without destroying it.

The worst case scenario in my games has to be erasing gameplay, rewinding and replaying that part of the game again. I’ve only done that several times and it’s always felt horrible. A logic flaw pops up, or an inconsistency conflicts with what has been said or gone on before, or I just get facts wrong.

These problems need fixing. But nowadays, I use the techniques outlined below instead, which are listed in order of preference, instead of rewinding the game and erasing things.

Gameplay trumps rules

A house rule that serves me well is that whatever happens in the game is part of the permanent record, even if we later discover that rules were broken or overlooked. Gameplay trumps rules.

It’s easy to explain all but the most grievous of rules errors in-game. People in real life make mistakes every day, even the experts. We forget things, lose our balance, blunder even simple actions, get distracted, or make weird decisions.

Retcon within same combat round

Another great house rule allows PCs and foes to replay or fix errors as long as we’re in the same combat round they were made.

Combat rounds in many game systems are supposed to be simultaneous anyway, even if initiative or turn order makes things play out linearly. Allowing missed extra damage or use of a forgotten power within the same round minimizes logic errors. It also gives us all a bit of a comfort zone, so we’re willing to take faster turns, else we’d be checking and double-checking everything each time before letting the next player go.
A player who realizes they’ve missed something just interrupts and we pause and complete their issue. This minimizes errors and game issues, and my group doesn’t mind being interrupted because they know it might impact their decisions.

I know many GMs run “you say it, you do it” and no-take-backs type of combats. If this isn’t working well for you, consider allowing retcons as long as everything that changes takes place in the same combat round.

Change your own plans, plots, backstories

Before I expose any game issues to players, I’ll first try to change my own plans so events or errors make sense.

For example, if I forget a clue that was supposed to be in a previous encounter, rather than stopping the game and rewinding, or making a big deal about information the PCs would have had for awhile now, I’ll offer the clue instead at the next earliest opportunity and pretend nothing is amiss.

I find it’s much easier changing my plans than making my group stop, rewind and reprocess.

Reframe

Just as reporters slant stories to lead readers one way or the other, you can slant player and character perceptions to minimize game issues that crop up.

It’s easy slipping into the mindset of hard facts and truths. In real life, though, just about everything is fuzzy, and multiple points of view, beliefs and opinions are possible. When GMing, even if the PCs have experienced an event, you are free to consider things just through the narrow lens of PC perceptions and not consider gameplay as hard facts and truth.

Pretend you are a newspaper writer looking for the best angle on a story. Look at multiple points of views and interpretations. See if you can reframe things without causing issues with what you’ve told players.

For example, more than once I have forgotten an NPC’s spells during an encounter. After encounters I’ll realize my omission and what the NPC should have done. Next time the PCs meet the NPC, I’ll remember the spells or magic item or special abilities forgotten before. My players will be surprised and ask what the heck is going on. I’ll bluff confidently and say their PCs indeed perceive things accurately. But behind the scenes I’ll change my notes, saying the PC was overconfident last time, or had already cast his spells in a previous encounter, or that he wanted to keep his abilities secret. No harm, no foul, and actually a potentially interesting development.

Add new game elements – NPCs, locations, history

Still in line with my preference to change things on my end rather than breaking immersion and changing things in past gameplay, I’ll use all the GM tools at my disposal to explain away or justify game problems.

I’ll change NPCs or create new ones, change plots, modify history, change locations, twist encounters, and do anything possible to fix errors without bothering the PCs. As long as game consistency and logic, character perceptions, and what I’ve told players remains intact, I’m happy to make changes.

In rare cases, I’ll change established passive game elements to help fix problems. For example, I’ll change names or histories to solve logic errors and bring past roleplay into alignment with the facts. I’ll discuss this with the group to check for objections and get feedback, and then as a group we approve the changes. We’ll only do this if the changes would not have resulted in different character actions, and therefore different potential outcomes.

Group discussion

As a last resort, I’ll call a special group discussion to help fix bad campaign errors. I’ll provide all the information I’m able to reveal up front, and then supply two or three possible choices on how we should deal with the problem.

Then I’ll let the group talk things out, offer new suggestions, and vote on the final remedy.

Last ditch options I might consider are:

• It’s all a dream or vision. The PCs wake up just before the error was made and we replay.
• Divine intervention.
• Alternate reality or dimension. The players somehow got into a parallel universe or timeline, and return to their own reality just before the error was made.
• Magic. It can explain anything.

Bleh. I like none of these options, but they can all work. The important thing is talking with your group. Be open and honest about your error, accept all feedback. The worst thing you can do with a major problem you cannot fix yourself is stonewall your group, pretend nothing is wrong, or do something outlandish like the dream solution, without explanation.

Your players will understand, and appreciate your honesty. Gameplay might be awkward for a bit, but before long it will resume and this little blip will disappear into campaign memory.

Before I go this route though, I’ll try all the other methods above to fix things with a minimum amount of fuss, and minimal exposure to players so they can continue to enjoy the game unaware you are wringing your hands, bluffing and thinking like a madman for believable remedies.

Stall

Oh, one last tip. If possible, when you discover a major campaign or gameplay issue, end the session to give you a bit of time to consider your options. Then hop online to your favourite gaming forums and post the details of your dilemma to see if the community can offer you some clever ideas and solutions. Gamers love helping gamers.