Well, you may or may not know that I love writing mirror articles, and this week will demonstrate that fact. My last article was about becoming a player after being a GameMaster. This article will be about the opposite -
becoming a GM when you’ve been a player.

While I’ve never been in this situation – I pretty much started in the hobby as a GM – I’ve been asked for advice by many friends in this position. I hope to offer you some of my favorite best practices for running great games right out of the gate.

Crib from the Best

There’s an idea floating around out there that all the great stories in the world have already been written, and storytellers are retreading these great stories, over and over. This may be true, but it’s nothing to feel bad about. It’s actually a great tool, if you know how to exploit it.

Unless you’re a storyteller on par with George R. R. Martin, your tabletop game stories are likely to be derivative of some other story. This is totally fine, and you shouldn’t feel bad about it. Instead, you can harness it. Mix and match great story elements to make something that feels new, even if it’s a retread of materials from your favorite books and movies.

As an example, think about two very different Shakespeare stories: Romeo & Juliet and the Comedy of Errors. One story is the story of a pair of star-crossed lovers, torn apart by their feuding families, and the other is about two pairs of people who’re constantly mistaken for each other. Now mix that idea. What if Romeo was captured after slaying Tybalt, but he absolutely refutes killing the man, even though all of his friends insist he did? Maybe the PCs see him do it, lose track of him, then find him again and apprehend him. In jail, however, he insists he’s innocent, and Insight checks (or a Zone of Truth ritual, or whatever) seem to say that he’s being honest. Then the PCs see a Romeo wandering free, even though they just saw him in jail. Investigation reveals that the second Romeo is a twin or a Doppelganger, or what have you, hired by the Capulets to eliminate Romeo and turn Juliet against him. How can they prove their friend’s innocence, and will their own twins begin to appear? Perhaps a Changeling clan moves against them, bringing up that hoary old chestnut of D&D: the PCs fight evil versions of themselves.

You can also manipulate a classic story by reversing it, or a core element of it. Juliet loves Romeo, but Romeo’s wooing her falsely. Ultimately, he intends to deliver her to the evil Friar Lawrence, the mad monk who intends to sacrifice the beautiful young girl to his dark and hungry demon lord. Or Hamlet pretends to investigate his father’s death, when he knows very well that he killed his father to gain the crown, only to be delayed by his uncle’s rise to power. Now Hamlet is faking an appearance by a ghost to lend credence to his intentions to kill his uncle.

Prepare to Be Unprepared

It’s a well-known fact that, no matter how much you prepare for a game, your players will throw you a monkey-wrench and do something nutty that you don’t expect. I generate a lot of notes for my D&D games, because I know that I can always re-use something later down the line that doesn’t get used right now. But it’s not necessary to do that much preparation. If you’re running 4E D&D, you’re in great shape. There are encounter groups in the Monster Manual, all kinds of advice on how to create encounters, an online resource for finding adventures, and more. If your players do something unexpected, you have a lot of support to make the game still fun.

The nice thing about a tabletop D&D game is that it has a human being arbitrating it. Something I always despised about old games like the Infocom text games and their ilk (look up Zork if you don’t know what I mean) is that I could have a perfectly great plan, but, if it weren’t something the programmers had anticipated, I wouldn’t be able to do it. In a tabletop game, however, you can just run with something you hadn’t anticipated and improvise if necessary.

For example, in my game this evening, our halfling fighter attempted to bluff his way past the dwarven guards of the Copperbraids Mine by coaxing his pet possum to run into the mine tunnel and chasing it in. I thought a moment… there was sure nothing about this in the Skill Challenge I’d written, and there was nothing about possum-wrangling in the D&D rules. I thought about it and then told him, “Make a Nature check to control your possum. The DC will be the medium difficulty, since you’ve been training your possum.”

One die roll later, we had a possum chasing a little tidbit of food into the mine, chased by the “concerned” halfling. Sadly, a failed Stealth check allowed the halfling to be collared, but not before he’d gotten a look at what he wanted to see in the mine, allowing the PCs a chance to continue making their plans.

Inspiration Comes from Everywhere

Taking a cue from a lot of writers, I tend to carry a notebook with me everywhere I go. If I’m ever just sitting somewhere, I’ll often pull it out and jot some notes, thinking about what might happen in the game for the future. I carry it close, because I never know what’s going to inspire me.

I’m lucky enough to work in a cool job for a GM – I work in travel, so I’m always seeing interesting place names, interesting locales, pieces of history and more. Even the names of some of our customers find their way into my games, such as the bog hag named Aunt Mengybone. Anything I hear that gives me an idea gets noted in my book, to be developed later.

Your Turn

Although I know what I think it’s important for a new GM to keep in mind, I haven’t been a new GM in a long time. Are you new to GMing, or are about to cross the screen? Do you have questions? Let me know, and I’ll try to help.

Many people have told me over the years that Heavy Metal is the music of D&D. Somehow, I’ve never felt this was the case, probably because I’m just not a big metal-fan. A run of Metal anthems might work well for some combat scenes, but I tend to find that lyrics can be distracting, especially when they’re screamed or howled at Metal-esque levels.

Despite my Zeppelin and Metal-deficiency, however, I’ve been using music in my games for years, to the point where, if I play a game in a store or other venue, I often find myself missing the music. Music, like many other things, can be used to enhance the experience of playing D&D, but it can also be used poorly to your game’s detriment. In this article, I hope to give GMs some tips on how to use music wisely and well in your games.

Choosing Themes

One simple way in which you can bring music in right from the start is to pick a theme for your campaign. My Swords of the Amanar game had the song Valorian Ships from Ultima IX as its theme. With its initial horn note, its martial drumming sound, and the soaring trumpet pieces throughout, it made an excellent theme for a Spelljammer game. For my current campaign, I’m using the long version of the Pillars of the Earth theme. This music starts off energetic and bold, gets quiet, and then launches into a majestic sweep of rising chords, punctuated by church bells. Again, this theme fits perfectly with the feel of the campaign, especially the rise from Heroic Tier to Epic tier. If you listen to it, think Heroic Tier in the first half, then Epic tier in the second.

In a recent article on the Wizards of the Coast webpage, Chris Perkins mentions that he begins every game by saying “Previously, in Iomandra,” and then recapping what had happened in the last game session. This is like the part at the beginning of a TV series episode where they remind you what’s happened in previous episodes. I do this as well, usually using the phrase “As you may recall from our last tale of high adventure…” I also play the theme during this part, as it’s just about long enough to last through a recap. These are signals to my players that it’s time to calm down, put out of game conversations aside, and prepare to play.

Besides the main theme, I also have secondary themes for some of the main NPCs and settings in my campaign. Whenever Lady Alinora, the slowly blooming potential love-interest of one of the PCs appears, I play “Lady Marian” from the Clannad “Legend” album. This simple harp piece adds flutes and other instruments as it continues, suggesting a simplicity that evolves and grows. I like this theme for her very much. Similarly, when the PCs are being entertained by the tiefling bard Voldrotha Hasp at the Minstrel’s Tarry tavern that is their de facto headquarters, I put on an album called “Lute Music for Witches and Alchemists” to suggest her chosen instrument.

By choosing themes, you can add a subtle suggestion of connection between scenes. Let’s pretend, for a moment, that I had chosen “The King of the Golden Hall” from The Two Towers soundtrack to be the theme for a particular character. We’ll call him Lord Aconar. This theme is very distinctive (the violin theme of Rohan in the movie) and it occurs multiple times throughout the soundtracks of both The Two Towers and The Return of the King. If I later played “Merry’s Simple Courage” from The Return of the King, a piece that begins with a horn version of that same piece of music, when I introduce the young knight Sir Hallan, it could be a clue to the players that he may actually be Lord Aconar’s missing heir, whom they’ve heard about. This can be a subtle technique, but don’t be surprised if your players pick up on it. Mine have, occasionally.

What Kind of Music?

What kind of music works best is going to be determined by your style of play and the genre of your campaign. Despite my earlier comments, it could very well be that heavy metal and/or Led Zeppelin is the perfect music for your campaign, and I don’t use the same mix of music for my Gamma World game that I use for my D&D game. The three sources of music I’ve come to rely on most are movie and video game soundtracks, early or period music, and ambient or instrumental original pieces.

There are fantastic movie soundtracks to be plundered, but it’s best if they aren’t too recognizable, as this can work against you. With a little planning, however, you can even make this work for you.

A quick browse through my gaming music lists turns up many movie soundtracks indeed. Besides Pillars of the Earth and the Lord of the Rings trilogy, I immediately spot The 13th Warrior, Conan the Barbarian, Dungeons and Dragons (yes, the terrible movie had a decent soundtrack), Cutthroat Island, and Passion: Music for the Last Temptation of Christ. When I add in game soundtracks, we get Lord of the Rings Online (no surprise), Dungeons & Dragons Online (again…no surprise), Dante’s Inferno, God of War II, Dragon Age: Origins, Myst III: Exile, and Pool of Radiance. In my soundtracks for more modern or futuristic games, you’ll find Tron: Legacy, the new Star Trek movie, The Crow, K-Pax, Daybreakers, as well as Mass Effect 1 and 2 and Dead Space 1&2. And for my Star Wars games, oddly enough, you’ll find all the Star Wars movies.

Early and period music is invaluable for setting the flavor of your game. If my bards were playing Beatles songs, it wouldn’t sound very medieval. Instead, the music they play comes from albums like “D is for Dulcimer”, “Music for a Medieval Banquet” and “Music of the Crusades”. and my monks chant along to Gregorian chants, or Byzantine hymns, and I play albums of traditional sea shanties when the players are on an When I run traditional Call of Cthulhu games, I dip into collections of 1920s and 1930s music, setting the tone for the time period the game is in and my Deadlands game led to me discovering several collections of Saloon Piano music.

A number of bands are making a fine living producing albums of very theme-heavy instrumental music. Nox Arcana and Midnight Syndicate both have excellent albums of music without lyrics, making them prime candidates to be cannibalized for gaming music lists. Midnight Syndicate, in fact, created the official soundtrack of the Dungeons & Dragons role-playing game. And for modern music, the albums by Blue Man Group have songs with and without lyrics and a very unique sound.

Using Music

Besides using themes, as previously mentioned, there are two excellent ways to organize and utilize your music. Organize it, and play to stereotypes.

Organizing your music is vital. Nothing spoils the mood more than when you’re playing a piece…say, “Evenstar” from The Two Towers…to evoke romance. And suddenly, the next track comes on: ”The White Rider.” Suddenly, your romantic scene is broken by an incredibly dramatic chorale, and you’re fumbling for a different piece of music.

In ye olden days, I used to make cassette tapes of different themes, recording tracks from albums and CDs, making sure that the music would stay fairly consistent in feel as a scene progresses. These days, you kids have your fancy iTunes and what not. You can create playlists of specific musical moods, sorting the music you want into them in order to create solid blocks of mood when you play them. If you’re very fancy (and yes, I am, before you ask,) you can load a program called Remote on your iPhone or iPad. Using this program, I can control iTunes from my iPad, changing playlists, adjusting volume, and never needing to walk over to my computer to do so.

I mentioned before that you should be wary of using music that’s too recognizable. When you do, you run the risk that your players will be pulled out of the scene, because they recognize the piece of music. I also mentioned that you can use this to your advantage. Certain pieces of music can really stir a specific feeling in your players, because it reminds them of when they’ve heard it before. On the soundtrack of the Return of the King, there’s a piece of music called “The White Tree.” It’s the music from the lighting of the beacons sequence in that movie. When that music comes on, as part of my Battle mix, everyone gets a little more intense. I recall one time when a player said, “I’m not sure what to do,” while this music was playing. “You have to do something amazing!” my husband exclaimed. “Don’t you hear the music?”

Be wary of allowing yourself to become enslaved by the music. When I was a younger and less wise DM, I ran a scenario based on The Phantom of the Opera. I used music from the Broadway show as the operatic sequences. This led to comedy when my players switched the tape while I was out of the room. When I came back on, I was trying to illustrate a scene with the music, only to realize they’d put on Les Miserables instead. I was so flustered, even though I found it funny, that the scenario kind of floundered for a while, to the game’s detriment.

It *was* funny, though. I’ll grant that.

Your Turn

Alright, then. I’ve spun enough words about being a DM/DJ long enough. Do you use music in your campaign? Do you have a favorite piece I totally failed to mention here? Do you think I’m sacrilegious for my lack of Zeppelin in my games? Let us all know about it.

Okay, for those of you who didn’t just skip to the bottom, I’m here, once again, to give Gamemasters of various tabletop RPGs some advice that’s stood me in good stead. There are tools that will bring your players back, time after time, ready for more adventure and excitement. Since I just finished a story arc in my D&D campaign, I thought I would share some things that have made my games successful.

The Suspense Is Killing Me!

I try to make my game sessions end in one of two ways. When I come to the end of a story arc, as happened tonight, I try to leave a little extra time for people to level up their characters, buy anything they need, write down their new magic-items, or what have you. More often than not, however, I try to end things on a cliffhanger!

I’ve told you the story of the first appearance of Darth Vader in my Star Wars campaign: playing the breath sound effect three times, then ending the session. My players were positively *foaming* for the next game, to find out if they were really about to fight him, was I serious, was I bored and wanting to just get the game over with. They were incredibly eager to get going again.

The previous session of my D&D game ended with me laying the dungeon tiles of an elaborate room, giving the flavor text, then placing a Beholder miniature on the table as I described it. If you’re not familiar with the D&D Beholder, it’s a many-eyed monster that pretty much just kills you. Did I mention my party were 2nd level? Of course, it was just a gauth beholder, a low-level critter that my party handled…well, not easily…one character almost died, and many others were wounded, knocked unconscious, etc…but they handled it. At the end of the session, however, everyone wanted to know what was going to happen next, and that’s where I ended it.

Like most good tools, you can’t over-use this one, or it becomes dull. I recommend cliff-hangering a big surprise just before a session which will end with the characters leveling, hitting a milestone, or what have you. You build up to it, go out with a cliffhanger, then conclude the following week. Smaller cliffhangers, such as the discovery of a cool prop, putting an intriguing map on the table, or placing minis on the table to let the PCs know a fight may be in the offing are good ways to keep things intriguing at the end of a game, but save your big surprises. In the dungeon the PCs just finished exploring, the sessions went in a pretty good rhythm with small cliffhangers finally leading up to the Beholder fight cliffhanger, allowing for tonight’s session to be the Beholder fight, rewards, some discussion as to where they’re heading next, and then ending as the heroes ride off on the path to their next adventure.

Bait and Switch

The real term “bait and switch” refers to a sleazy sales practice in which you offer something for a ridiculously low price, then, when someone wants to buy it, you say “Oh, we’re sold out of that cheap one, but I can offer you this more expensive one. It’s nicer anyhow!” It’s illegal, and with good reason, and that’s not what I’m really talking about.

It’s fun to turn your players’ pre-conceived notions on their heads, especially if you give them every reason to assume that what they’re thinking is true, then throwing them an awesome plot twist. If everyone in your campaign knows that dark elves are evil and should be destroyed, you can throw them the clichéd plot twist of “this one dark elf is actually good!” or you can really mix it up with “actually, they see themselves as heroes, because they are all that stands between the surface world and the horrors of the Underdark, such as mind flayers”. I used that in a recent campaign, and the players’ jaws dropped. They suddenly had a whole new light to see the dark elves in.

My Star Wars campaign recently culminated in a sequence that took place during the Battle of Endor. Two players, a pilot and his Wookiee buddy, were flying their ship during the fight, attacking TIE Fighters and planning on covering for Lando and the fighters when they flew in to blow up the Death Star core. Suddenly, a comlink channel beeps on the pilot’s instrument panel. It’s his fiancée, Lady Deraida Juros. She’s on board the Death Star, and she’s calling, tearfully, to tell him that she’s okay with sacrificing her life for the intel she was able to provide the Rebellion. Suddenly, these two players realized that their big endgame wasn’t about helping to destroy the Death Star – it was to rescue Lady Juros before the Death Star was destroyed. This turned into a nail-biting sequence aboard the Death Star as chaos broke out all around them, and I think it gave those players a memorable end to the campaign. It wasn’t what they expected to be doing during the last sequence, but they loved it.

Consistency, Consistency, Consistency

Okay, show of hands…who flipped out when Qui-Gon Jinn started talking about midi-chlorians during The Phantom Menace? I know I did. Know why? Because this sudden new explanation of the Force didn’t jibe even vaguely with what we’d been told about it before. Was the Force an energy field that surrounds all living things and binds us together…or was it a virus? Because it was sure sounding like a virus now.

When something in a story doesn’t feel consistent with what has gone before, it can be jarring, and it can totally ruin believability. Small inconsistencies aren’t too bad…if you say the King of Summerlund’s eyes are black one session, and then describe them as blue a few sessions down the line, most players aren’t likely to catch it. On the other hand, if they do, you might consider rewarding them with a tidbit of improvised information. “Ah yes…as a gift of the thunder gods to the line of the Kings, the Kings of Summerlund have eyes that grow blue whenever a bad storm is coming.” Maybe it even means that a doppelganger has infiltrated the royal government! Or maybe you just say, “I’m sorry…I meant black,” and play continues as normal. In any case, it either gives the PCs some new angle, or it’s quickly corrected.

If, on the other hand, you make it very clear that arcane magic is a capital offense in Summerlund one week, and then start talking about a local magic shop the next week, you might not be able to just explain it away. This can feel as jarring as midi-chlorians, and don’t think your players won’t notice. Some of them will, at least, and they will call you on it, sooner or later.

One excellent tool for keeping a game well-organized is to keep a wiki of your campaign and record details in it after every game session. This way, you’ll have it to refer back to later on, and you’ll be able to answer those odd little player questions like, “What neighborhood of Ardaven is the Halfling community?” “Why, that’d be Bramblebury.”

A Very Important Question

I’ve been writing a lot of articles about gaming, lately. I feel somewhat guilty about this, as I was specifically brought on board as the Gay Geek Guy, ready to dispense advice on love, dating, and the gay perspective. People seem to be enjoying my articles, and E approves of the GMing articles, but I occasionally wonder if I shouldn’t be…I don’t know…gayer?

So how about it, gentle readers? Do you want to see me push my articles more into romance, love, and pride parades? Are the gaming articles of more interest to you? Is there a specific topic you’d like my take on? What would you like me to write about? Your inquiring GGG wants to know!

Sir Bedivere throws Excalibur into the Lake and finds King Arthur has sailed to Avalon. Luke Skywalker blows up the Death Star. Robin Hood fires an arrow to show where he should be buried. The Ring is cast into Mt. Doom. Ripley jettisons the Alien out an air lock.

Good stories…truly good stories…have fantastic endings. Without the promise of the Battle of Camlann, the Battle of Yavin, or Frodo’s Passion on Mt. Doom, the epic tales they end would not have the full emotional impact.

Role-playing games campaigns…truly good campaigns…have an ending. That ending may have the promise of future adventures or stories, especially if the GM is just bringing the story to an end for now and plans to pick it up later, but an ending will definitely cement a campaign in your players’ minds as a great one.

Now, you may disagree with me. My friend Jon is still running a campaign that he started over 20 years ago, and he has no plans to close it. I can’t imagine the idea of running a game like that. I love my campaigns, but I end up with so many ideas that no one story or setting would ever satisfy them all. I couldn’t run my Seven Kingdoms game in the setting of my Swords of the Amanar game, and my University of Wallachia Mage game wouldn’t work if I tried to run it in it the Forgotten Realms. Ending a story brings a conclusion and frees you up to try something totally new, whether it be a system , a setting, or even just a different character you want to try.

Make It Feel Right for the Campaign

The feel and themes of your campaign should drive the feel and theme of your ending. Has your campaign been swashbuckling, heroic, and over-the-top? Then a quiet ending would be utterly inappropriate. Has your game been very bittersweet and tragic? Then a goofy ending would be ridiculous, while a bittersweet ending will bring the game to a satisfying close.

For example, my Star Wars campaign is coming to a close. The game has been incredibly free-wheeling, with swashbuckling action, bantering dialogue, and exciting twists and turns.  So what’s the ending? Well, it’s the Battle of Endor, and the party is split into three groups: The Armored Bounty Hunter is about to try and infiltrate an AT-AT on a landing platform in order to destroy a squad of TIE Fighters that could spell doom for Han, Leia, and Chewie; the Jedi is about to duel a Dark Jedi he’s faced before, while the Gunfighter and the Scout help him and fight Dark Side Infected Creatures; and the Pilot and his Wookiee companion are trying to rescue the Pilot’s fiancée from the Death Star II, racing against the station’s destruction to get safely out. The players all know what’s happening in the next session (the Endgame) and are stoked to have this crazy three-way action happening.

The Changeling game I remember so fondly had a lot of action, but it also had a lot of sweet, sad moments in it. The story ended with our victory over some rivals in a competition, the death of a friend (although his faerie soul survives inside a magic book of Grimm’s Tales), and our families all moving away from each other, forcing us to split up and say goodbye. The characters have all vowed to seek each other out again once they’re grown, but the sadness of parting was very deep for all of us. If the Storyteller never returns to that game, we’ll all be satisfied with the way it ended, but if he does, it’ll feel like a natural extension of where we left off. Time will have passed, and our characters will get back together as teenagers, perhaps, instead of the children we were.

Go Big…Then Go Home

It’s the end of the campaign. Make sure your players know it. They will act differently, and they will play like you’ve never seen them play before. No one wants to get to the end of a 5 year campaign only to have it blow up in a Total Party Kill. So your players will pull out all the stops, even letting their characters get killed, if it means making sure
the party wins.

The end of my 9 year long D&D 3rd Edition game, Swords of the Amanar, saw two PCs get killed by the Elder Brain Lich ripping their brains out.  Another one died when he broke his Staff of the Magi inside a Force Bubble with the Lich, wounding it horribly. Although those who died were raised, their companion with the staff is gone forever, and they will remember his sacrifice always. It’s a year later, and we often smile and talk about the game and its ending.

The battles my Star Wars group have engaged in to get to where they are have been epic, often with 30-40 combatants. The lead-up to the Death Star rescue sequence in particular sticks out in my mind (maybe because I ran it mere hours ago ). Every round, I was putting more TIE Fighters on the Space Battle Mat. After a few rounds, the players realized that this wasn’t about winning…it was about lasting until they could do something other than fight. And when the players realized that they needed to rescue Lady Juros from the Death Star, they quickly broke away from the main
battle to engage this surprising direction that the story was taking. After the game was over, I could overhear the Pilot’s player saying “Can you believe this? How crazy is it to land on the Death Star, knowing it’s blowing up any minute? This is crazy!” The note of glee in his voice told me just what I wanted to hear: that player is having the time of his life, taking on a larger-than-life scenario and rocking it to the fullest.

Don’t Forget the Denouement

Once the epic ending is over, you should save room for dessert. Err…denouement! As I’m sure you’ll remember from High School Lit, the denouement is the part of the story following the climax. It’s the wrap-up of the story, the sequence where you find out where things go from here. In The Lord of the Rings (the movie version), the climax comes when Frodo and Sam destroy the Ring, Sauron’s armies rout, and the Eagles rescue our heroes before they fall prey to rising lava. The denouement (and there’s a lot of it) is Frodo waking up to realize he’s not dead, the coronation of Aragon and his reunion with Arwen, the Hobbits returning to the Shire, and Frodo’s decision to depart for the Grey Havens.

It’s good to leave time for some denouement, possibly even one or more sessions. In D&D 4E, there’s a built in bit of denouement, at least if you play through Epic Level. The fulfillment of the PCs Destinies and the stories of how they achieve their Immortality, make for excellent denouement. Does one of the PCs marry a character they’ve been
romantically linked with? Does one of them retire to become a grand-master of swordsmanship? Does one of them ascend to Godhood? All good fodder for a denouement sequence.

In my Amanar game, the denouement came after the PCs returned home from the Underdark to deliver news that the Elder Brain Lich was dead. There was mourning for their fallen friend and celebration of their victory. Then I read my players a little section that suggested how things had ultimately ended for their characters, or what their legacies were, even showing far in the future, where pieces of their iconic gear and a battle-standard they’d designed inspired heroes of future generations.

Not With a Whimper…At Least Not Always

In Highlander, the Kurgen makes the observation that it’s better to burn out than to fade away. Of course, Neil Young said that, too, but still… In terms of gaming, it’s better, generally, to go out with a big, exciting ending than to let the campaign slowly fall apart, eroding all the memorable parts of the game. When that happens, all anyone will really remember is that the campaign stopped. Maybe they’ll be glad of it, or maybe they’ll be bummed and wish the campaign had kept going. But if you just let the game trail off to nothing, it’s extremely unlikely to make anyone’s Top Ten Games of All Time lists.

Now, I’d advocated in other articles that it’s sometimes better to let a game go gently into that good night, and I stand by that. If you’re not having fun, it’s often better to save your creative energies for better use later on. But better still, assuming you care about the story, characters, setting, or anything else, is to bring the campaign to a conclusion of some sort before closing the book on it. For example, I mentioned a Deadlands game I was running in my article “Rigging the Dice in Your Favor.”  I had utterly stopped having fun with the game, and I decided to end it. After some thought, I decided that my dislike of what was happening in the game, in terms of some of the out-of-game weirdness between a few of the players, out-weighed my desire to bring the game to even a perfunctory ending. So I just let it end. At that point, I didn’t much care as to how people would think of the campaign in the future. We’d only played a handful of sessions, I and a number of the players were uncomfortable, and I just let the game stop rather than push things into a potentially even more awkward and un-enjoyable situation.

By contrast, the furry 1st edition D&D game I mentioned in the same article was an enjoyable game, but many of the original players were gone, and I wasn’t enjoying the direction the story had taken. I brought the story to a logical conclusion – the PCs were sailing off to a distant land to help one of them return home – and then said we’d go on hiatus for a while. It wasn’t an epic ending, but it brought closure to the game, and I still have fond memories of it.

In Closing, Closure

One of the main reasons to end a game is to bring closure to the story, the players, and yourself. By the time Amanar ended, 4E was out, and I was chomping at the bit to run it. We’d all been invested n the Amanar story for so long, however, that I wanted to see that story conclude, and so did my players. I knew that, until I finished it, I wouldn’t want to start another huge campaign. And so, even though I had other things I wanted to run and/or play, I followed the story to its end. I feel that doing so brought me closure. I often have clear ideas about the ending of a campaign when I start, and I want to see those scenes play out as I’ve been imagining for years. I had seen so many elements of the game’s ending in my mind’s eye since I’d started working on the campaign in 2000…the army of Githzerai teleporting into the Mind Flayer city…the revelation of the Mind Flayers as being from the future, returned to conquer a younger, more vital world…the revelation of the origins of the Drow as the true race of elves…the battle with the Elder Brain Lich… If I’d abandoned the campaign before the end, I wouldn’t have felt the satisfaction that Amanar’s ending brought me. I’d always be wondering if I’d squandered a great story just to go on to something else.

Instead, I finished reading the campaign closing, then shut the lid on my campaign binder. I looked up, smiled at my players, and said “The End”.

They burst into applause. Literally.

Now that’s an ending.

I’m Done; It’s Your Turn

Have you ever brought a campaign to a particularly satisfying conclusion? Do you prefer to have a game continue with no planned ending? Let us know about it.

As I’ve mentioned elsewhere, I’ve been involved in Live Action Role-Playing (LARP) since I was 20. I started as a player, graduated into being part of NERO’s National Plot Committee for years, and was most recently hailed as the “Spiritual Godfather” of The Isles, a LARP I’ve been shepherding and developing material for since 2001.

One thing you learn early on is that LARPing is not a tabletop RPG. While you can describe a strange object to a bunch of tabletop players, if it exists in your LARP, then you have to provide it, either by finding what you need or making it.

Once you’ve got your hands dirty making and procuring props, however, you might find that your LARPing experiences might begin to color your tabletop experiences. Sure, you could describe the glowing rift in reality to your players, but how cool would it be if you put the glowing rift on the battlemat and let the players really see what it would be like to be face-to-face with such a bizarre object?

According to pretty much every player I’ve ever DMed for, the answer is “Pretty Damned Cool!”

Props for the Battlemat

I’m a big proponent of using a battlemat and miniatures when I’m running just about any game. It’s the sort of thing that quells arguments and questions like, “I thought I was closer to the demon than that” or “Is the yacht in my line of sight?” or “What do you mean I’m within radius of the explosion?” Beyond this, I happen to think that players find miniatures to be a pretty good visual aid, establishing something of what a monster looks like, how big it is in comparison to them, and so on. “Oh, the dragon’s *that* big? I definitely want to talk, rather than fight.”

One way to really customize things is to do a little modification to an existing piece (or kit-bashing, as modelers call it.) Between eBay, online stores like Auggie’s Games, and your Friendly Local Gaming Store, a lot of places have cheap minis, both metal and plastic. If you find a great miniature for your character, but it doesn’t quite fit, a little kit-bashing can go a long way. This can be as simple as a coat of paint, or as complex as cutting pieces of different models apart and putting the parts together in a new way. My husband Steve is playing a minotaur cleric in my D&D game. He liked the Stonechild figure that Wizards of the Coast had put out, but it didn’t have a minotaur head. He took the head from a separate model, exchanged it for the Stonechild’s head, gave the figure a scythe instead of the weapon it had been holding, and then repainted it.

It’s a custom model for his character Brother Eustace. The figure even informed a background detail for his character. Since the figure had a scabbard on its back that he didn’t want to remove, and he didn’t intend to use a sword, he decided that his character carries the sword of the priest who took him in…Prior Justan, who had been an adventurer in his younger days. You can bet I’ll use that as a plot point in the future.

Not all special pieces have to be so elaborate. I was intending to use a predatory vine in my story, and I had a noticeable lack of appropriate figures. What I *did* have were some green paperclips and superglue. I bent the clips into interesting configurations, superglued them all to a circular base, and voila! It made a very visually evocative piece for the tangled vines attacking them.

The nice thing about gaming in the modern age is that there’s a whole internet out there to learn from. There are plenty of sites about kit-bashing, painting minis, and making props. The aforementioned rift in reality was a prop that was inspired by a blogger named Michael E. Shea, from SlyFlourish.com. Mr. Shea makes many excellent props, battle scenes, and more. He made a video about building a glowing crystal prop which knocked my socks off. So when I intended my players to encounter a rift to the Far Realm, I adapted his design. All it took was some of that fake spider-webbing you can buy during Halloween (or at a Halloween store…I’m fortunate to live near one that’s open year round), some color-changing tea lights (easily available through Amazon), and a clear receptacle… I used a clear box normally used for storing trading cards. If you watch his video, you’ll have an idea of how cool it looked when I put it down on the battle-mats. My players ogled a moment, then cell phones came out and videos were taken.

One place a lot of folks don’t think to look for cool props is in old boardgames. My husband Steve has an extensive collection of props from old Heroquest games. This has provided us with everything from treasure chests (or mimics) to weapon racks to furniture. Just looking through an old board game with lots of pieces can be an inspiration for props for on the battle mat or off. Odd crystals, strange shapes…give it a purpose and a meaning, and off you go.

Beyond the Battlemat

Props aren’t necessarily just for sprucing up your battlemats…although that’s a really cool use of them. You can also use them in your game for all manner of different things.

The most basic sort of prop that’s extremely easy to make is a paper handout. Don’t just tell your players about a note left on their door with a dagger…hand it to them…maybe even after pinning it to a cutting board with a chef’s knife. That will definitely add that “this had a dagger through it” look. You’d be shocked how easy it is to “age” a map or document by soaking it in strong tea or coffee. Tear along the edges first for an irregular paper look, if that suits the feel of your campaign. A quick trip to a Staples or craft store will yield all manner of interesting papers, as well as things like sealing wax (very authentic in a Medieval fantasy game). For my Call of Cthulhu games, I make all sorts of props with different fonts, from handwritten notes (with handwriting fonts) to playbills (kind of helps that my husband and our housemate are both graphic designers.)

For three-dimensional props, it can be fun to get crafty! There’s a great modeling clay called Sculpey that can be used to make just about anything. It can be molded over and over and then finally fired in an oven to harden it. It takes paint very well once fired, and you can use it to make things like strange amulets, bones, Elder Signs, body parts, and more. You can see a cool Elder Sign prop my husband made for one of my Cthulhu games here.

You don’t have to make every item that you want to give out as a prop. If you have a local branch of the Society for Creative Anachronism (and trust me…EVERYbody has a local branch), attending one of their events will usually give you the chance to find some awesome props. I have pouches, bowls, plates, jewelry, and other items purchased at SCA events. Antique stores are another favorite haunt, as are thrift stores and yard sales.

You can often find the most bizarre items for sale, and sometimes these can even inform your game. I once found a set of wooden acorns that were bound together and bought them for a dollar. These became an important item in my game, and my players were amazed that I had just the right prop for my plot.

Props for Players

It should be noted that props aren’t just for Gamemasters. It’s amazing how having a prop can really make your character live. Even a single piece of clothing or a small item can help you focus and stay in character.

When I was playing Skittle, my infamous mouse pooka in a Changeling game, I had a colorful stocking cap with a bell on the end that I’d come across somewhere. It really made the character work, especially when I’d cock my head with a grin, causing the bell to jingle. “Uh oh…Skittle’s plotting something,” the other players would say nervously.

One player in a Star Wars game I was a part of wore a pair of welder’s goggles. A player who had a cleric of Pelor in a campaign I was playing had a sun amulet she wore to stand in for her holy symbol. And my friend Jay’s Gamma World character Chimp Savoy wouldn’t be the same without the fedora Jay wears when playing him.

Prop It Up!

I hope that this article has inspired you to take a look at using props in your games. But maybe you’re already doing so! What’s a memorable prop from a game you’ve played or GMed? Has there ever been a time when a prop has really made the scene for you? Let’s hear from you, gentle readers.

You’ve got a game you want to run. You’ve developed a setting, or a campaign, or an adventure, and you’re ready to expose your masterpiece to the world. You have your NPCs fleshed out, your treasure parcels chosen, your encounters planned. But you’re chewing your nails, because you don’t want to have gone through all this work only to have your campaign crash and burn.

I know what you’re going through. I’ve had a number of campaigns that have died before they got too far. It happens for various reasons, some of which are totally beyond your control. I’ve found, however, that you can “rig the dice” in your favor and give yourself better odds of having a long-term campaign that you’ll see through to the end. I must be doing something right…my campaigns tend to last 5+ years.

For this week’s column, I wanted to offer my thoughts. I’d like everyone to have more successful games, and I hope I can help. As always, bear in mind that, while this advice works for me, it may not work for you. As the saying goes, your mileage may vary.

Pick and Choose

This can be a tough one. I hear more people looking for advice on how to find players than almost any other question about putting together a game. But, even if you’re having trouble putting together the number of players you need, I think it’s worth being a little picky about the people you invite to play.

If you’re like me and are fortunate enough to know lots of people who like to play RPGs, then you can pick the players you want to invite to a specific campaign. The players in my Wednesday night “Beer & Pretzels” D&D game are a lot of fun to play with, but I wouldn’t invite most of them to join a really atmosphere intense game like the Call of Cthulhu games I run. I might slowly try them on some Cthulhu games, but, for the most part, I find that those games are best and most memorable when you have a very intense group of people who are willing to buy into the tropes of the horror genre and not break out of that feeling.

I really sweated over the people I invited into my latest D&D game, because I knew it was going to be a very different experience. I hand-picked a lot of people I knew who were really into heavy role-playing. Given that several weeks go by with the dice being barely touched, I’d say I picked the right people. All it would take would be one person who was bored by the role-playing aspect of the game, and the whole thing could come crashing down.

If you don’t know a lot of players, I recommend putting your group together slowly, and being as sure as possible about each one. Try having the prospective players over for a non-RPG activity, like watching a movie or playing boardgames. It probably only takes one or two times getting together to determine whether someone is a person who’ll mix well with your group. If you want to get a strong idea of how they are in RPGs, run a couple of unrelated one-shots. Do they power game, rules lawyer, or poo-poo at your heavy role-players? That’ll probably help you determine if you want them to join your actual campaign.

Switch Hit

If you have the players you want assembled, and they get along and are fun to play with, then you’ve eliminated one of the biggest causes of game break-up. But there’s another potential source of disaster: you!

DM Burnout should be a clinically recognized disorder at this point. I’ve known so many people who’ve run games with grand plans, only to stop long before the ending they’d envisioned. They just hadn’t been able to keep their own interest up. I’ve been subject to it myself at times, often because I ignored my first rule. As an example, I got very excited to run a Deadlands campaign. I collected music for playlists, filled in the gaps in my Deadlands book collection, read incessantly about the wild west, broke out my Dad’s good clay poker chips, found a beanpot to store them in, watched cowboy movies…I was hot to trot!

And then…well…my players kind of ruined my interest in the genre. A couple of them were fantastic, but a couple of them were involved in a weird romantic entanglement, and that really brought the game down. Add to that a player who essentially dominated the game whenever she could, and I found my desire to keep going dying a slow, sad death. I told my players that I was going to stop running the game, and I haven’t been strongly tempted to run a Deadlands game since.

The same thing has happened to me every time I’ve tried to run a Superhero RPG; I’m not sure why. A lot of people have trouble taking that genre seriously, and that affects my desire to keep going.

Let’s say, however, that you’re loving the way the game is going, but you’re just getting incredibly burned out. You don’t want to stop the game, because you have so much invested in it, and everyone’s having a good time, but you need a break. Honestly, in this situation, as sensible as it sounds, the best advice I can give is…take that break!

If you force yourself to keep going, you’re going to start thinking of the game as a hassle rather than as something you’re doing for fun. Ideally, if someone else has a game that they want to run, ask them to step up and be the DM for a while. When you’re ready to get back in the saddle, ask them to wrap things up, at least temporarily, and jump back into your game. Or if you’re all having a great time with the game that let you take a break, then keep playing!

If you don’t have that option, you should still take that break. Why not play boardgames for a while, or get together and watch movies? Or if it comes down to it, just take a hiatus. Either you’ll get the jones to run that game again, or you’ll realize how much you like having that extra night each week, and you won’t go back to running it. Sometimes it’s better to wrap up, even if it’s not the full ending you wanted, rather than let the game become something unenjoyable. (Be sure to save the material you developed, though, because you could always spin that into a later game. The deathknight Carfax Hargrimm from my furry 1st edition D&D game [see below] was later spindled, folded, and mutilated into the very memorable LARP villain Hargrimm Djal in The Isles: Asylum.)

And that brings us to my last piece of advice.

Go Gently into that Good Night

Sometimes, a game has run its course. You may not have gotten to your conclusion where the PCs fight Orcus, but you just can’t imagine playing the rest of your game with this group. Or you’ve totally lost interest in finishing. Or your players are moving away, and you can’t find a time that you can all meet-up on Skype, or whatever. When this happens, the solution may be to just close your campaign binder, say to yourself “Good run”, and start thinking about what’s next.

The game I was playing on Monday nights has pretty much gone this route. Our characters had scored a major victory, defeating a villain who had been causing us issues for several levels and months of gameplay. We knew what the next part of our quest was, but, for some reason, people kept not showing up to games. We never took that next step, because there weren’t enough of us to play. Finally, several of those of us who were playing expressed our unhappiness over this, and our DM admitted he was feeling pretty burned out because of it. We went on hiatus. That was several months ago now. I miss playing my character, and I miss playing with that group, but I’m happy to have my Monday nights back. If the DM contacted me and said we were going to get back to playing, either with that group or with some new players, I’d consider it, but I can’t say for sure I’d agree. Did I mention how much I like having Monday nights free again?

Pouring Out One for the Homies

I will tell you now of a campaign that died a quiet death. About the time TSR was putting out the black cover 2nd Edition books (like Combat & Tactics and Spells & Powers), I had lost interest in running 2nd Edition D&D. I went back and ran a 1st Edition game, populating the world with furries instead of the traditional elves, dwarves, etc. The 1st Edition races became species-classifications. Dwarves, for example, became Earthborn. Someone playing a species of animal that lived underground (rabbits, ferrets, badgers, for example) could take the classification Earthborn. Humans became Domestique…open to any animal that had been domesticated, such as dogs, cats, sheep, etc.
I ran this game for months. It was the first game of mine that Steve played, actually, as he moved to Boston a few months after I started running it.

Eventually, however, I just got tired of it. The things I hadn’t liked about 1st Edition D&D came back to haunt me, and I found I just wasn’t enjoying the directions we’d taken the story. I decided to stop, just as my friend Whitt was making noises about running a Changeling game. Which was great, because that Changeling game spawned my absolute favorite character I’d ever played.

I’m sure many of you either DMed or played a game that you loved that died before its time. What was it like, and why did it die? Would you go back to it if the chance came up? I invite you to tell us a little about it.

Ah, the dungeon! The smell of mildew emanating from the damp stone walls. The feel of the stone under your boots. The drip, drip, drip of water from somewhere in the distance. The smoky scent of your torches in the thick air, struggling to push back the gloom…

The life of an RPG hero is one that should engage all five senses, but I find that, far too often, a GameMaster won’t take the time to scent a full scene. Oh, sure, when the undead show up, there may be a scent of rot, and the attacking stirges may clue you in to their presence with a loud buzzing sound. More often than not, however, adventurers end up with little more than a visual description of their surroundings.

Our senses can go a long way towards determining our moods, and they can be manipulated to evoke a particular atmosphere. And what’s even more exciting is when you go after your *players’* senses to really help with the immersion of their RP experience.

Description Beyond Sight

Although visual awareness of an adventurer’s surroundings is most likely to inform his or her tactical choices, in “reality”, an adventurer should be getting information from all five senses. When I’m Dungeon Mastering, I try to really give my players a sense of what their characters are experiencing. To evoke the feeling of being in a town in fall, I might describe the foliage in the trees changing color, but then I’ll evoke other things that make me feel like it’s fall. The sound of the leaves crunching underfoot. A brisk chill in the air. The scent of fires burning merrily in fireplaces around town. The slightly frozen ground underfoot and the way it dulls the sound of footsteps.

Of all the senses, sounds are probably number two after sight in terms of getting attention from DMs. Maybe you’ve actually roared as a monster, or described the bird calls the bandits are using to communicate. That’s a good start. Of all the senses that should be evoked but often aren’t, smell is extremely important. Scent memories are very powerful, and you can often evoke them more easily than you imagine. You can describe the smell of dankness as the players descend into a cave, of course. But if you say there’s a rank odor rising, like the smell of a reptile house at the zoo, then describe a whiff of ozone in the air, sharp and high, then you’ve really foreshadowed the appearance of a blue dragon!

The senses of touch and taste have their place too. Food can be delicious, of course, and wine can be sweet or tart, or what have you. If you mention that there’s a staleness to the iron rations the players have left, it can really point out that they’re getting to the end of their provisions. When the players encounter a gelatinous cube, try describing the odd feeling of walking into jell-o first, followed by the stinging of jellyfish tentacles, then an all over burning sensation that makes them want to scream…only they don’t dare for fear of getting a mouthful of it. Your players will remember the encounter, believe me.

Go After Your Players

If your players buy into the sensory input, then their role-playing will be more organic and “real”. To that end, I often target my players’ senses, knowing that it’ll be easier for them to understand how to react if they understand what their characters are experiencing.

In this medium, visual reference is a relatively easy one to engage. A picture can be literally worth a thousand words. If you give your players a map, you’re not just giving them a cool prop…you’re actually making the map you’re describing or the landscape you’ve created more real to them. If you provide an illustration of an NPC, that will cement the NPC’s look to them as effectively, if not more so, than a very detailed description. This is also something that can be done if you’re a player. Just wearing a single piece of costuming, such as a hat or scarf, or having a single prop, such as a holy symbol, can really remind people of who and what you’re playing.

Sound is another relatively easy sense to target. Injecting accents or emotions into your NPCs’ speech will really help differentiate them. The eladrin sage has a smooth, rich voice and a cultured British accent. The human barkeep has a bit of a Scottish lilt and a deep, gruff voice and boisterous manner. The kobold chief has a high, squeaky-sounding voice. Voices can really make an NPC memorable. Again, this is something a player can do, too. My half-orc paladin was really well represented by a deep, gruff voice. When I started playing a Halfling rogue in a different campaign with the same players, my higher voice and Cockney accent really helped to differentiate the characters.

Beyond this use of your players’ hearing, however, there are two often-underused other ways to engage them: soundtracks & soundscapes.

I am a believer in the effect of a soundtrack. I buy a lot of game and movie soundtracks, as well as traditional Medieval and Renaissance music compilations. I take the time to listen to the tracks and break them into different categories. A browse through my iTunes playlists finds sections like “D&D – Town”, “D&D – Reverence”, “D&D – Impending Doom”, and “D&D – The Exotic East”. By doing so, I create ready soundtracks to enhance the mood of my game. When players hear the pounding drums and minor chords, they know things are beginning to get hairy, and many of them roll of initiative, just in case.

Soundscapes are something I’ve only started trying recently, and I’ve found them to be incredibly effective for setting a mood. There are plenty of programs you can use to create a soundscape. I particularly recommend a product called Softrope, which allows you to put together very complex soundscapes in no time. Using a website like http://www.freesound.org/ or sound effects CDs, you can put together various sound effects and music to create the sound of what your player characters are hearing. I compiled lute music, clinking glasses, and an actual pub recording from England to create a tavern mix. Some slowed down honey-bees combined with barn owl screeches have become my stirge-cave soundscape. I used some arctic winds combined with boots crunching in snow and breath panting to start a scene recently in which the players were running through snow towards a battle. The players leaned in, listening, nodding…they could feel the tension building.

You can really go after the other senses, too, particularly taste and smell. I don’t recommend trying to simulate terrible smells, as you run the risk of having them linger. The scent of spices or dead flowers, however, could evoke a mummy’s tomb. The smell of fresh bread could lead into a tavern scene, especially if you then actually served fresh bread and butter to the players.

One memorable scent-related trick I pulled involved lapsang tea. If you’re not familiar with this tea, it has a strong, smoky smell. I aged a map prop by soaking it in tea (a nifty trick for making a visually striking document for your players). I used lapsang, which gave an odd, gray color to the paper and infused the map with that smoky smell. My players were fascinated. Later on, when I gave them another document that had the same smell (from the same sort of tea), they guessed that the two documents were related, which was just what I’d wanted them to realize.

Taste can be tricky to go after, but not impossible. I often try to have appropriate foods, such as cheese, bread, and sliced meats on the table. This makes a good gaming snack, and it can be used to call out the scene in a tavern, especially if I’m playing with adults who’re enjoying beer or cider. If you really want to get fancy, try cooking some foods with a Medieval background. My favorite website on the subject is http://www.godecookery.com/. Try serving up something even as simple as cold chicken with a Lombard mustard or sauce Saracens. It will please palettes and set a mood.

It’s Your Turn

If you’re running a game, consider trying some of these tricks. I think you’ll be surprised at how effective they can be in setting a mood.

If you have a story on how your senses were particularly engaged by a GM, or how you, as a GM, engaged your players’ senses, please share it. I love creating my RPGs as an immersive experience, and we can all always use advice and interesting, fresh ideas. I look forward to hearing from you.

See what I did there?

Let me give a bit of an example of what I mean. You younger gamers who haven’t done your history homework may not realize it, but there was a time when you wouldn’t have been able to play your dwarf paladin…or your half-orc paladin…or an elf fighter above 4th level, for that matter. In the name of game balance, a lot of race-class combinations weren’t strictly speaking legal, and some races were limited to certain levels of advancement in various classes. Your elf may have been 300 years old and taught his martial skills by the finest warriors in the land, but he’d never be better than 4th level as a fighter. With its 3rd edition, D&D started saying yes a lot more to its players. Suddenly, any race could be any class and get to any level of advancement. Yes was in.

D&D 4th edition streamlined saying yes further, making a quick and easy series of DCs and formulae for resolving what could have been a back-and-forth argument in earlier editions. You want to kick a brazier of coals into the ogre’s face? Okay, how about a Dexterity-based attack vs. the ogre’s Reflex defense. I’ll have him grant Combat Advantage if you succeed, because he’ll be startled, and he’ll take 1d6 fire damage. Some 4E players have told me they feel hamstrung by the Powers of the game, but I find them intensely liberating. Strip the flavor text off and repurpose them. Does your fighter want to describe his Cleave as a slash to one foe and a shield-bash to the other? Knock yourself out. Does your wizard want to flavor burning hands as a storm of lightning because of his storm theme? Why not?

Even saying yes in small ways can reap surprising benefits. I recently ran a game for an old high school friend, her son, and a bunch of their friends, young and old. One of the players (one of the adults, oddly) decided she wanted to use a Playmobil figure that was at the table as her miniature. Now, I’d brought about twenty minis with me for people to choose from. I opened my mouth to say that she should really choose one of the to-scale figs. The Playmobil figure was unbalanced, huge, and blocked line of sight. But I didn’t say that. I said yes. What was the consequence? Did the figure get knocked over a lot? Sure. But it was a bunch of kids…they found it hilarious when we referred to the giant cleric, or when I talked about the cleric knocking her head on the cave ceiling. It turned something that my inner control freak could have made an issue of into something we could all laugh at.

Fleshy-Headed Mutant, Are You Friendly?

Just before sitting down to write this article, I ran my first session of the new Gamma World RPG. I have an abiding love of this genre and game. After D&D, Gamma World was the second ever RPG I played, and it looms large in the legend of my childhood. I loved the inherent wackiness of the original edition, with its mutant chickens controlling a food factory, mutant badgers worshipping a college football icon, and flying lion-insect-bats with a fetish for textiles. I’m happy to say that this edition is rife with that level of insanity, and I feel like I’ve come home again.

No intervening edition of the game captured the feel of those insane first games. The tone got more and more serious, and I have a theory about this. The original Gamma World came out when the specter of Nuclear War was looming. I remember being honestly sure, as a teen, that a nuclear war was going to happen. I was so sure of it that I sometimes wondered if it might happen that night, and then I wouldn’t have to worry about my math test the next day. In a climate like that, it felt good to make the Apocalypse wacky. As the Cold War cooled off, it wasn’t necessary to laugh in the face of certain death, so the Apocalypse became dryer and duller. Nowadays, we have threats like global climate change and nuclear-armed terrorists, as well as constant media barrages of people concerned about the Rapture and prophecies of the world ending in 2012 (on my wedding anniversary I might note…maybe gay marriage really is the end of the world!) With so much concern and uncertainty, maybe the time was right for the Apocalypse to get wacky again!

With a game as random as Gamma World is, zaniness is really a part of it right from character creation. Some of our players embraced it immediately. When my friend Jay rolled a Doppelganger Radioactive, he wondered if he might play a lab chimp who’d been exposed directly to the Hadron Collider accident that caused the Big Mistake. I said yes in a heartbeat. Did it matter to me that there was no logical reason for his character to be a simian, or that he didn’t have the Simian origin from the Famine in Fargo expansion? Not at all. He jokingly asked if he could name his character Chimps Ahoy, and I said sure, but how about Chimp Savoy. This caused Jay to immediately envision Chimp Savoy, who would be dressed in a dapper fashion and trying to be civil, but occasionally flying into rages and blasting foes with his radioactive eyes. If I hadn’t said yes, this delightful character might not have been part of my game.

As characters were created, I kept saying yes to my players. The Giant Plant, Mossback George, carries a streetlamp in one hand and wears a stop sign for a shield. Li’l Balls o’ Fire, a Pyrokinetic Rat Swam, (actually an adorable group of mice wearing kilts who fight with needles and blowguns with tiny darts…and who set things on fire gleefully) doesn’t speak. At the player’s request, the swarm turns into shapes and symbols, like the school of fish from “Finding Nemo”. Vi, a Felinoid Plant, is a sentient chia pet. How does that work? I don’t know, but the players love her. And then there’s the Gravity Controlling Mindbreaker, Vw (pronounced Voo) who named himself for the letters on the shield he carries (actually a Volkswagen bug’s hood). I said yes to all of these, and I don’t regret it one bit.

Tilting the Sandbox

Just because I’m saying yes a lot to my players, that doesn’t mean that I’ve totally let go of all control. Oh no, dear readers, no. To illustrate my point, I will give you my framework for my 4E D&D game, Seven Kingdoms: Seowyn’s Crossing, which I’ve charmingly named Sandbox with Benefits. I explained this model in a different article, so I’ll just sum up here. I’m giving my players freedom to roam where they will and pursue whatever goals they take it into their heads to pursue. Because I have a story I want to tell, however, I slip story elements in at a pre-determined pace. If the dragon Flamefang is going to be an important villain later on, then I might decide that there’ll be evidence of the dragon in the 1st adventure, someone talking about the dragon in the 2nd adventure, and a minion of the dragon in the 3rd adventure, no matter which adventures those turn out to be.

Note to my players: I know you read my articles here. I don’t have any plans to introduce a dragon named Flamefang. Ever. This is just an example.

Now, I’ve asked my players to be proactive. I want them to come up with their own goals, and, in general, they are doing that. We’ve barely started, and already there are missing family members to be found, a fey castle that touched one adventurer’s youth, a village to avenge, an orphan in search of his heritage, poachers to be punished, and a character who’s virtually a blank slate with no certain sense of his destiny. I have said yes to all of these backgrounds, and I will use my SWB model to introduce hints of these personal adventures, as well as my own storylines. Then it will be up to my players to decide which stories are most important to pursue, and I will follow, hoping to tell my own stories along with theirs. All in all, it should be one heck of a ride.

Your Turn: Say Yes

I’m advocating any game-master who reads this article to say yes to your players more. I’m not suggesting you should give over the running of the asylum to the inmates. Just try to be more open and accepting of the crazy stuff your players suggest. This doesn’t have to be anything too big. Something as trivial as the Playmobil “miniature” mentioned above could mean more to your player than you recognize.

Happy players keep coming back for more and telling tales of how awesome your games are. As GMs, what more do we need?

How About You?

Do you have a story about a time when you said “yes” to a player and had it result in something you didn’t expect?

Whether it’s a flirtatious scene between the sorcerer and a local noble, a recon mission by the rogue, or a diplomatic visit by the paladin, something happens in almost every game session that doesn’t truly need the whole party’s involvement.

Should you split the party? I say yes.

You Go That Way, I’ll Go This Way

Say you and a group of your friends pile into your Mystery Machine van and head to the big mall a few hours’ drive away. During your travel time, you stick together. One person drives, one or two people read the map and help with road signs. If one person has to pee, the whole group stops and takes advantage of the opportunity to stretch their legs and buy another bag of Corn Nuts.

When you get to the mall, if two of your friends want to go to Hot Topic, do the rest of you go even if you don’t want to? Probably not. But does that mean the rest of you tell them to hurry up, and just sit idly in the food court, wait for them to come back, and then let the next two go off to do what they want? No way! A few of you head off to Barnes & Noble, a couple go to the music store, and the rest go to buy shoes. You agree to meet back in the food court for lunch. If the two who went to the music store are late getting back, you might start to worry and go looking for them.

Let’s go back to the game table. When your party is traveling, it makes sense for them to stick together. Sure, the ranger and the rogue may scout ahead, or they may go off on their own to hunt, but for the most part, everyone keeps everyone else in range of sight. But once you’ve reached your destination, the characters don’t need to remain attached at the hip. If the cleric wants to check in at the local temple, the others don’t have to follow her, but that doesn’t mean they have to sit and twiddle their thumbs at the inn, either.

As a GM, it’s your responsibility to make sure no one just sits at the table with nothing to do. If the cleric announces her intent to go to the temple, and the fighter chimes in that she’ll go there too, turn to the other players and ask, “And what are you guys doing while they go to the temple?” Once you’ve established where everyone’s headed, focus in on one player or group of players and work with them. Keep an eye on the rest of the table. If anyone is starting to look bored/fidgety/frustrated, tell the ones you’re working with, “Alright, let’s hold there,” turn to the next group, and play with them for a while. Then move to the next pair of players, and repeat as needed. Yes, this means you have to switch gears a lot, but it also means you keep everyone involved and on their toes. It also means there’s less of a “hurry up” factor. If a specific scene or encounter is taking a while, you can find a nice place to pause and move to the next sub-group instead of rushing things. More things get accomplished, because the characters are doing their tasks simultaneously, and can then all regroup and report in.

As a player, it’s your responsibility to entertain or occupy yourself while other players have the GM’s focus. You can watch and listen to what’s going on with the other characters, but if you worry about learning things your character shouldn’t know, turn your attention to something else. You’ve already declared what your character is going to be doing, so be prepared for your turn with the GM. If another PC is going to be with your character, you and that player can (quietly) discuss your plan of action, IC if you wish. Take advantage of the downtime to plan out what feats and spells you’ll take when you level up next time. You can even bring a book or a knitting project along in case the downtime is long, just don’t get so engrossed that you can’t get back in your character’s mindset.

Play Nice!

The world would be a better place if everyone followed the Wil Wheaton Rule: Don’t be a dick. That applies here too.

GMs should be careful to not let one sub-group of players dominate the entire game session. That’s not fair to the others at the table. Also, don’t be a hardass and insist that the other players just sit and look while your attention is focused elsewhere. So long as they’re not being disruptive, and are ready to roll when you turn to them, let them do something to occupy themselves.

Players should be respectful of the fact that others are involved with something, even if they’re not. Don’t make loud phone calls or crank your iPod up to 11. Don’t sigh dramatically and drum your fingers on the table because you think it’s taking too long for the GM to get to you. I know you want to kick some ass right now, but have patience – your turn will come.

Sometimes, Bad Things ™ happen when the party is split. The wizards find themselves in a nasty bar fight, while the rest of the party is blissfully unaware at another tavern across town. Wouldn’t it have been better for the whole party to have stuck together? Maybe. Maybe not. True, if all of the party members had walked into that bar as a united front, the thugs from the corner table might have reconsidered starting a brawl. But, a large group of well-armed adventurers may not have seemed as friendly to the bartender, who was happy to tell the “harmless” pair of spellcasters where the head of the local merchants’ guild lives, and that the rumors that he’s keeping slaves are the gods-honest truth. Roleplaying opportunities would have been lost, and information would not have been gained.

Don’t be afraid to split the party. It may make a little more work for the GM and a little more downtime for the players, but overall it will benefit the game.

What methods do you use for splitting the party?

As part of my healthstyle, I’ve been cooking a lot of meals at home using ingredients fresh from the farmers market.

And every time I tweet about something I’m cooking, I get responses like this:

• WHOA! How did you DO THAT?
• That looks AMAZING! I wish I could cook awesome things like that.
• I don’t think I could ever learn how to cook stuff that looks that delicious.
• That must have taken forever to make!

And every time I see these responses, I shake my head and laugh a little.

My Cooking Journey

The Early Years

I grew up in a house where there were approximately 10 different dishes on the menu and the main methods of preparing vegetables involved a pot of boiling water or the opening of a can.  In this environment, I learned how to cook a chicken in a crock pot, chicken breasts in the oven or on the grill, and chunks of chicken in a stir fry.  Vegetables were a side dish or a salad.

The College Years

I’d rather not remember this, but college was the time I learned that you could make Kraft Mac n’ Cheese in a hotpot without milk or butter, that one could survive for a week on a loaf of Wonder Bread, a jar of peanut butter, and a jar of jelly (provided you had stolen a knife from the dining hall), and that hot dogs + George Foreman = some kind of wonderful.

Post College, Pre-Healthstyle

For a long time, I rocked the ready-made meals. You know, the “Just Add Chicken!” kind of boxes you see in the middle of the supermarket. The bags of rice that came complete with tons of sodium and just enough green flecks to convince you it was a serving of broccoli. Or even better, the bags of pre-seasoned rice that can be microwaved in 90 seconds.

I bought lots of cookbooks, though.  I read a lot of cookbooks.  I watched a lot of Rachel Ray’s 30 Minute Meals. (Don’t judge!)  But in the kitchen, I mostly stuck to the tried-and-true, the stuff I knew would taste good. Or at least, what I thought tasted good.

Healthstyle

We do the majority of our food shopping at the farmers market nowadays. (Except in winter, when sadly, we must cope with supermarket produce.)  After a first lap around the market to check out the week’s offerings, we stop by each booth and buy the things that look the most enticing. This includes foods that are new-to-me and foods that I’ve eaten, but never actually prepared myself. This also includes re-trying foods I think I don’t like.

Since DaveTheGame is vegetarian, we eat vegetarian at home. (I still eat meat when we’re eating out, maybe 1-3 meals a week.)  We have a big vegetarian cookbook, but I get a lot of recipes from the internet. When we get home from the farmers market, I check my favorite recipe sites and google for recipes that are elsewhere (like in newspapers, magazines, blogs, etc).

How The Heck Is This Like DMing, E?

Check it out!

Much like being stuck at your parents’ dinner table as a kid, before you’re a DM, you’re a player. You learned things about DMing from the DMs you’ve had. If you had great DMs, you learned great things. If you had less-than-great DMs, you learned from their shining moments as well as their fall-flat failures. If you had a horrible DM, you learned what not to do. Ever.

You stored this information in your brain in a file called Things To Remember When I Run A Game.

Depending on your gaming history, the “college years” of DMing probably happened anytime between age 10 and 50. This is when you first started DMing.  In your first games, you were excited to be doing it on your own, but tentative. You stole a lot of pre-made adventures and already-done ideas. You may have thought you were “making them your own” but looking back, you laugh about how in-the-box you were.

But as you improved your DMing skills, you learned more about the separate elements that come together to make a great encounter, and the great encounters that come together to make a great gaming session, and the great gaming sessions that come together to make a great campaign.

You no longer have to use adventure modules as written. You can raid them for the elements that would be great in your game and leave the rest. If you love the story and encounters, but it’s not the right level for your party, you can change the monsters to make it fit. You can see how your favorite recurring villain can sneak into this story, even if he wasn’t a part of the module.

This is just like learning to cook. Much of what we eat is prepared by following a recipe. Just like DMing from a module, I read things through a couple times, make sure I have all the ingredients, and then I go step-by-step from beginning to end.

Once I’ve mastered a recipe, I start thinking about variations I can do with it.  Much like a good DM can make every dungeon crawl unique and fun, a good cook can serve quesadillas 7 days a week and have them be unique and tasty! (These are our favorite quesadillas.)

Then there are the days when I have to invent something for dinner to use up the remnants of this week’s groceries. Half an onion, some leftover beans, some random veggies, a hunk of cheese.  These are the times when I have to pull from my library of taste knowledge to figure out .

It’s exactly the same as a good DM throwing together an appropriate encounter on the fly when their players turn left instead of right.  You know what monsters are in the area, you know how to create a balanced encounter using these types of monsters, and you know the “tastes” of your party.

Toss it all together at the last minute and you have a delicious time for all!

Don’t Knock It Till You Try It

If you’re a DM, you have the skills needed to be able to cook.  You’re just making excuses and in the meantime, your tastebuds and your waistline are suffering for it. Due to a medical condition, I lose weight slower than the average girl, but DaveTheGame has lost about 25 pounds since we started living together.  We’re eating better tasting meals, experiencing new vegetables and fruits, and supporting our local farmers, too.

Start small with some quick and easy recipes. It won’t be long before you’re designing epic level culinary campaigns!

Can you think of other ways that cooking and DMing are similar?