Character Alchemy

“A novelist can do anything he wants so long as he makes people believe in it.”
– Gabriel Garcia Marquez

Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s particular form of magical realism was once described to me as such: Making the mundane seem fantastic and the fantastic seem mundane. In his short stories, particularly The Most Handsomest Drowned Man and A Very Old Man With Enormous Wings, Marquez made the magical happenings feel like everyday occurrences, while the way people responded to those events seemed outrageous because they were exactly how you would expect them to react if the magical nature of the occurrence wasn’t there. Skipping literary criticism or explanations of the stories (I suggest reading them, though – they’re very good), I’d like to focus on how we can use this in our fantasy games.

The World Is Magic
One of the unifying aspects of almost every fantasy RPG setting, even the homebrew ones, is that magic and gods are real, and everyone knows it. There is no room for blind faith in most fantasy, where faith healing is the entire basis for the healthcare industry. Being brought back from the dead may vary by setting, but the powers of healing by channeling magical energies doesn’t.

So what is a surgeon in fantasy land? Of what interest is biology in a world where the jump to germ theory might never need to be made because curing an outbreak of cholera would not take John Snow’s investigation as much as it would take a few goodly Priests casting healing spells. The Priests could, like Snow, track the outbreak to a shared water source like a well, but science again might hit a wall there with the Priest simply casting a purify spell on the well and being done with it.

Similarly, to what end is combustion engines when you have magic to propel trains and drive the engines of war? Does one bother investing in gunpowder development if magic missiles exist? Do chemical reactions go any further than what is needed for the kitchen? Do people invent TNT when it’s much easier to get a bit of bat guano and a decently powerful local Mage to clear rocks out of the field or blast tunnels into the mountains in search of gold?

This is why magical realism is important. The mundane activities of scientists are even more extraordinary when there are simple magical solutions. Why would the world need industrious creators and inventors that break down the world into small interlocking parts to see how it works and then build strange tools and machines from those parts?

I’m reminded of a line from the cartoon The Tick, in which the heroes are at a convention for mad scientists. One exhibition is “room temperature fire” to which the main character asks, “What’s the point, man?”

What’s the Point, Man?
If every problem can be solved by praying to a responsive God or casting an arcane spell, what, indeed, is the point of science? It’s not for the betterment of the everyman, as is often the stated goal of science (though often it is just the enrichment of the ruling class…) Science doesn’t make money in a fantasy world, so it is probably not taken up as a serious profession. Those who study the sciences might actually be considered quite mad, as occasionally happened to scientists in our own past.

Money often drives innovation. Scientists work their asses off not only for the love of discovery and the joy of problem solving, but for the much more pertinent monetary reward.

But, in a fantasy setting they have magic for that.

Science? What is it good for?
There’s no money in it, there’s no prestige, and everything can be done cheaper and faster with magic. Why would we use science in our fantasy roleplaying games if it makes no sense. 

Because science is fantastical in a world where magic exists. The most strange discoveries in a fantasy world are not the ley lines of magical energy that create pathways for almost instantaneous travel through magical wormholes. The more impressive discovery would be that germs cause sickness, time can be told by winding up springs, or explosions can be caused by sopping up a spilled chemistry experiment with a cotton cloth. These things, in the fantasy world, would be amazing not only because they are interesting truths but because they are almost worthless knowledge. They make no money and can be replaced cheaper by using magic.

Being a scientist in a fantasy setting is almost as futile a proposition as being a wizard in the real world. The mundane is fantastic, and the fantastic is mundane. And that’s where science seems to be best served in fantasy settings, as a strange obsession for those few willing to live in poverty for discoveries that make very little difference.

Using Science To Solve Problems
In our games, then, the best examples of scientists would be obsessed creatures searching for answers that magic and gods can’t (or won’t) provide. Perhaps they are looking to create a new type of magic for the everyman through alchemy (the grandfather of chemistry). Maybe they study biology in the hopes of ridding the world of diseases that people need to rely on Priests to cure. Or they may have darker intentions, searching for weapons of war that can combat the tyranny of the magically adept.

Whatever their drive and area of study, it’s important to recognize that even the most ardent student of science will probably use magic to aid their research: asking eldritch creatures about the mysteries of the microscopic world, using magic to forge the lenses needed for microscopes or telescopes, finding old wizard tomes of recipes for strange concoctions. Magic is a tool to be used and a good scientist uses every tool available in their quest for truth. 

To bring science into your fantasy world, you need a problem that can’t be solved by magic and which the upper class find desirable to solve. Gold leads the way toward advancement. The mundane solution to a fantastic problem is to put a bounty on it. If there’s money to be made from it, science will follow.

• Science in a fantasy setting becomes the fantastical element, while magic becomes mundane
• Science is an unrealistic goal when magic exists
• To develop science, there must be a problem that 1) magic can’t solve, and 2) that the wealthy/rulers want solved
• Magic is a tool in the scientist’s toolkit
• Money fuels innovation in science

A simple way to think about your RPG-style is what you find the most interesting. The small details you focus on vs. those things you skip over define your style.

The Things You Like
Are you gifted at describing the ebb and flow of combat in exciting detail? Can you come up with evocative descriptions of magic? Do you have an ear for dramatic dialogue that draws your players into the world? Can you plot captivating adventures, create enjoyable puzzles, or build dungeons that beg to have every nook and corner explored?

Those are all part of your style.

The Things You Don’t Like
The things you skip define your style as much as the things you focus on.

Do you ignore encumbrance? Perhaps in describing a town you skip over deep descriptions of all except the important buildings and NPCs. Perhaps you handwave distance in combat with a simple, “Yeah, that’s about 30 feet, no need to roll.” Maybe you skip skill rolls if the characters take their time. If you’re bad at accents and improv dialogue, maybe the things your NPCs say is just the gist or a summary like, “The gatekeeper answers your question by telling you about a rumor of a thieves guild, but says he has no other information. It’s just a rumor.”

This is your style, too. You are skipping the things you don’t enjoy so you can get to the parts that excite you.

You don’t need to be good at everything to be a great Game Master. Enthusiasm for the things that excite you creates joy at the table. Focusing on the things you enjoy and skipping the stuff you don’t keeps your level of enthusiasm at its fullest.

Fake It or Borrow it
Of course, there will be times when your players are enthusiastic for parts of the game you don’t find as enjoyable. During these times, your job as the Game Master is to fake it.

You need to match your players’ level of enthusiasm as much as you can. You might have intended to skip it, but once you’re in a scene that isn’t your preferred style, your job is to make it as enjoyable, dramatic, and meaningful as possible.

One way to do this is to let the enthusiastic player take the lead. Ask them what their character does, ask them for details about the environment, ask them what happens next.

Handing creative control over to the player during these scenes is empowering for the player while also getting you off the hook. It can be a lot of fun to give your players the chance to flex their creative muscles, because you’ll be rewarded with ideas that you never dreamed of. Also, a little taste of the fun of running the game might lead to them taking on the mantle of Game Master in the future.

Trust your players to not only know their characters but also to create details about the world.

Once you’ve taken into account the details you love, the things you skip, and allow others to fill in the empty areas of your adventure, you’ll never really need to consider what your style is. Your style is having fun. Your style is the game. Your style was just the friends you made along the way.

• Indulge yourself in the things you enjoy the most
• Skip the boring stuff, or at least the stuff you find boring
• Enthusiasm is contagious
• Fake enthusiasm if you need to
• Let the other players fill in the gaps 

While the most common ‘ideal’ group is 4 players and 1 GM, give or take a player, there is no one-size-fits-all option for GMing. It is difficult to find the right number of players for the types of adventures you want to run. Often, the group size is dependent on how many friends are willing to put enough time into the hobby. If you are fortunate enough to be able to choose how many players you have in a group, here are aspects to consider.

Benefits of More Players
One advantage of having more players is not having to worry as much about difficult puzzles or deadly fights. The axiom “many hands make light work” becomes apparent when you throw a horde of zombies at a large group. At least one character has an ability to deal with a mob of undead, such as area of effect spells. Similarly, if it’s a difficult puzzle, at least one is going to have a clever solution. Large groups let the GM worry less about balance and focus more on challenges that fit the story.

Larger groups also mean that the characters are more resilient, because they have more recovery abilities. With this resiliency, comes the opportunity for the GM to flex their tactical muscles and fully use all of the enemies’ abilities. Most enemies aren’t going to last more than two rounds against a large group of characters, so use the awesome abilities at the start of combat. It’s use-it-or-lose-it. And with a large group you get to use it all with the assurance that they can survive the opening salvo. 

The lesser talked about benefit of a large group is that it takes the pressure off the players to be the star of the show. Sometimes, players just want to roll dice and be silly or relax and go through the motions. Not every player has the drive to be the main character. With a larger group, those players that prefer to take a passive role during the game are free to do so. In fact, they are often appreciated for their ability to roleplay a support character. It’s a comfortable position for many players, and a large group lets them play in cooperative games without as much social pressure to perform.

Benefits of Fewer Players
Fewer players means more time and space to focus on each character individually. The GM can spend time exploring each character’s backstory, tie each character’s personal journey to the ongoing plot, and easily share the spotlight with every character in almost every session. In a small group, the story can be more focused and personalized. Every player gets to play the main character.

The small selection of combat options also makes fights more dramatic. Every battle has the possibility of ending in disaster. The threat is heightened and every player must think tactically. Small groups can be easily overwhelmed and must consider retreat as a legitimate strategy more often than larger groups.

Small group tactics, such as hit-and-run attacks, also become preferable. The fear of capture or defeat in every encounter creates dramatic tension that is hard to achieve with larger groups.

Discovering the right size group for your table can take trial and error, but it might just be limited by your friends group. Trying different sizes will open up new possibilities for your table. Find the size that’s the most fun for you, you’re most comfortable running, and which serves the story best.

Larger groups

• GMs don’t need to hold back in combat or puzzles
• Bigger challenges because more players
• Resiliency means story takes precedence over survival
• Less pressure on any one player to be the star of the show

Smaller Groups

• Can focus on each player more often
• Each character gets the spotlight
• Easier to tie each character to the plot
• Combats become more tense and dramatic
• Tactics become key to survival

There is a brick wall that all creative people hit while being creative. It often comes out of nowhere, because we’re too busy making stuff to notice what’s directly in front of our faces. Other times, we see the brick wall and decide that putting our head down and plowing into it at full speed is the optimal choice because… hey, maybe we’ll break right through!

It’s theoretically possible, though mostly metaphorical, but even if we did break through, it would cause serious physical harm. It’s not called a brick wall for nothing.

What is Burnout
Burnout – the unromanticized version of writer’s block, artist’s block, or whatever you call your creative black hole – is not only common, it’s almost inevitable. It will happen, it will suck, and you will get through it. Feeling overwhelmed, uninspired, or frustrated (or just plain pissed off) at the creative process and its emotional toll is natural. Don’t hate yourself for the burnout. It’s not a reflection on your worth. It’s part of the nature of creativity and living a creative life.

Why Does Burnout Happen
But why do we suddenly get stopped in our tracks? What triggers the fight, flight, or freeze response in us as creatives? Great questions, but there isn’t a single trigger. It’s usually a build up of many small things that alone would be trivial, but taken as a whole, consumes our passion for creating. Common causes of GM burnout for me are:

Drama at the table 
When the table is arguing about things that aren’t directly tied to the game, I know it has gone off the rails. Personality clashes are bound to happen among any group of friends and are almost guaranteed among strangers getting together for fun. Everyone has their own motivations for playing, and often people are not playing for the same reasons. This misalignment of expectation and motivation inevitably causes drama. Not every game is for every player, so be kind and offer a person a seat at the next game if you’re finding a clash of personalities.

Too many threads
Oh boy, are GMs their own worst enemies sometimes. You spent all this time crafting an entire world. You created different factions all vying for control, an intricate web of politics and deception, war, love, all of that emotional jazz. And then… oh my god, no wonder you’re so overwhelmed! This is exhausting just imagining. I don’t know how you do it.

Too much prep
One of the most enjoyable parts of running RPGs is preparing an adventure for your players. But sometimes, we labor for no reason, because the moment the game starts, the players take control and walk away from our intricate ideas into uncharted territory. This is the most exciting and frustrating part of TTRPGS. It’s the one aspect that can’t be captured in any other medium. But, it means that no matter how hard you work between sessions to give your players a great time, you might have done it all for nothing. 

Too many or few players
Finding the right table size for you to run is incredibly difficult because the appropriate number changes depending on the game, the style, and who is in your group. Too few players means that not enough action happens and there might be a lot of shoulder shrugging when trying to make decisions. Too many and everyone wants to go in different directions and that leads to another type of analysis paralysis. The more players, the slower the combat and social situations, but too few players and those same situations are incredibly difficult to navigate. It cuts both ways. Over time, you will develop a sense for the number of players that is right for you. 

Too many games
Preparing an adventure every week takes time and effort and creative energy. No matter how many of these attributes you have, if you are preparing too many games, you will burnout. The creative spark is rekindled during rest, and if you don’t rest, you hit that metaphoric brick wall without enough steam to do anything except crack open your brainbox.

What To Do When Burnout Happens

Take a break from the group
Breathe. Stretch. Walk. Wait. Sometimes just stepping back from the game gives you perspective and refreshes your creative juices. Taking a break from the game for a week or a month or whatever time you feel is necessary is a great option. Ideally, you’ll want to take this break at the warning signs of burnout, because often if you push yourself into the burnout stage, returning to running games feels like work instead of a fun hobby. Don’t put pressure on yourself to pick up the game in a week or a month. Setting artificial deadlines can work for creative efforts, but it rarely works in recovery from injury. Be kind to yourself.

Play the Game
Have another player run a one-shot, or take turns running one-shots.

Just because you’re on a break doesn’t mean the whole group needs to be! Sometimes, the best medicine is having fun. Ask your players if they’d like to run something next. Maybe switch it up with a board game night. Anything that breaks you out of the habits which caused your burnout is awesome. Being a player can give you the opportunity to learn as well, and often learning is inspiration for creativity.

Prep less, play more
Simplify your game by beginning at the mouth of a dungeon and go from there. Buy a short module and run it by the book. Grab a map and a random encounter generator and let that be the whole of the session. The key is to avoid things you hate so you can concentrate on the parts you love. In a premade adventure, you’re free to add all the parts that inspire you as a GM and let the adventure do the heavy lifting for the aspects you don’t find enjoyable. With pre-mades, you get to choose how, when, and what you use.

Prep more, play less
On the flip side, maybe you love worldbuilding, plot structure, crafting adventure hooks, and the like. If this is where your creative juices get their charge, then spend more time doing what you love. You don’t have to run weekly games – they can be bi-monthly or monthly. They might not even have a set date – they can just be when you’re ready. If that’s how you work best, then fuck the schedule. You’re running the game and it’s ready when you say it’s ready. 

Avoid Burnout
The best way to deal with burnout is to avoid it as often and vigorously as possible. Don’t run into that brick wall; go around it. But how? You can take any of the steps above to circumnavigate burnout just as easily as using them after burnout happens, but here are a few extra ways to avoid burnout.

Learn your personal warning signs
This is going to be different for everyone, but there are some common obvious signs, such as what I refer to as the “trinity of burnout” feelings: frustrated, uninspired, and overwhelmed. While it’s natural to feel these, if every time you go to prep or run the game you are hit with an immediate rush of negative emotions, you’re probably on your way to burnout. It’s time to take a step back, reevaluate what you love about the hobby, and concentrate on those things that bring you joy. 

Switch games midstream
There’s no law that says you have to run the same game every week. You can try side stories, board game nights, or other TTRPGs. A week off can inspire creativity and clarity. You deserve a rest, but if you love running games, you can take the time to do a quick one-shot in the middle of your campaign to explore other ideas.

Don’t run games for people who aren’t enthusiastic
While we don’t want to blame the players for our burnout, it can be a real drag to prepare an adventure for players who don’t really care about the story. They might be close friends who play because they want to hang out with you and other players. They may also be in the throes of burnout themselves and are just going through the motions. It’s a tricky situation, but giving your creativity to players who don’t appreciate it can cause burnout very quickly. Selecting the right players is difficult, but it’s worth it. 

Treat yourself for running a game – it’s a big accomplishment
Running a game is an amazing thing. You just created a world and story for your friends to spend time exploring. You took the ancient art of storytelling and shared it with a table. You made the world a little better and brighter. You are a genius in this very small way. Celebrate it. Revel in it. Let yourself off the hook for any mistakes because they pale in comparison to the fantastic job you just did. Have an ice cream. You deserve it.

• Burnout happens in every creative endeavor 
• Three warning signs are: overwhelmed, uninspired, and/or frustrated
• Know your personal warning signs so you can avoid them in the future
• Take a break early. Schedules can be changed
• Run games for people who are enthusiastic to play, especially new players!
• Reward yourself for you accomplishments

New players are oftentimes the most enthusiastic because they are experiencing it all for the first time. Running a game for 3 new players and 1 experienced player is a joy. That experienced player can take the role as the GM assistant to take some pressure off you as you teach the new players. Seeing the game through new eyes is invigorating.

“Be like water making its way through cracks. Do not be assertive, but adjust to the object, and you shall find a way around or through it.”
– Bruce Lee

Whether you are crafting the plot yourself or running a published adventure, it’s important to be adaptable. You don’t need to be great at improv or thinking on your feet for this to be part of your game. You just have to know how and when to give the players control over what happens next. At the end of the day, this is the players’ story as much as it is yours, if not more. Let them flex their creativity to make you look like a genius. 

It’s Not Only Your Story
Be prepared to kill your darlings and abandon your carefully crafted plot. Overpreparation can be as harmful to the game as being underprepared. Because this is a shared storytelling game, the player’s intentions are as important as any predetermined plotlines or setting lore.

Once the GM sets the stage, it’s likely the players will take the adventure in directions the GM never even considered. Let them. Encourage them. Praise them. This is roleplaying at its finest. While your plot may be interesting and fun, it’s never going to be as interesting to your players as their characters’ personal goals. 

Ask for Direction
If you’re not good at improvising, do a quick check in at the end of every session so you know what to prepare for the next session. This is as simple as asking the players “What do you plan to do next?” Encourage them to discuss it openly, especially reviewing high priority tasks and goals. Make sure to give each player a chance to answer, because it’s a great time for the quietest players to have their voices heard.

Take notes and plan the next session accordingly . Often, the players have multiple small scenes they would like to roleplay, such as shopping or gathering intel from locals. They may also have a bigger goal, such as heading to the nearby dungeon. You’ll have your next session mapped out for you by the players! All you have to do now is focus on the fun parts you want to prep because the players just did all the hard work for you.

A Balanced Diet
After the initial adventure where the characters meet and get drawn into an inciting incident (or the call to action), the plot leaves the hands of the GM and rests in the hands of the players. This is where the careful balance of the player’s story and the GM’s plot meet. It’s important to listen to what your players suggest and craft adventures based on their suggestions, while keeping your overarching plot in mind. Think of it like this: the player’s plot is upfront and immediate, while the GM’s plot is in the background, bleeding into their daily lives.

For example, in the overarching plot, an evil Necromancer is in the abandoned city raising an army of the dead and sending his minions out in search of magical items. The players eventually need to deal with that storyline, but right now, they have to survive a wave of skeletons attacking the town. They are interested in gathering information about the local undead problem and searching out new magical equipment to combat the Necromancer’s army. 

The plot is still about the undead army, but the players don’t yet know about the Necromancer, so they have decided their session is about gaining intel and equipment upgrades. Their story is in the forefront, while your plot is in the background – at least, until the next wave of undead assault the town!

Combining the player’s goals with your plot creates the illusion of a vibrant and dynamic world with character driven adventure. It also makes the GM look like a genius, because you’re telling the players exactly the story the players want to experience. Of course you are, because they’re doing half the work.

• After the inciting incident/initial adventure, hand the reins over to the players
• At the end of each session, ask each player, “What does your character plan to do next?”
• Listen to what your players suggest and craft adventures based on that
• Find the balance between your plot and the characters’ plot
• The GM’s plot takes place in the background while the players’ goals are in the foreground
• Let the players do half the work and you’ll look like a genius

It’s the first day of a new campaign. You’ve created a world, invented the conflict, gathered the heroes, and it’s time to release your plot upon your players. You start with an ambush by goblins, as is tradition. And as you describe the goblin’s first volley of arrows raining down upon the unsuspecting characters, one of your heroes drops. Then another. You watch in horror as your players feel demoralized and angry, but you are the Game Master and you know your role is to be the antagonist. So you cackle with glee. Your players rally, picking up their fallen comrades, healing them, and counter attacking. You feign disappointment as they roll well. You pretend to be angry as they come up with a good strategy on the fly and pick off a couple of your goblins. Secretly, you are happy that your players have turned the tide, but you don’t let that show. 

Then you get on a hot streak of rolls. 

You down one character. You are a bit scared, because the players have no more healing capabilities and you see what’s going to happen if the dice gods keep favoring you. You roll again and it’s a critical success. The players’ plan has a weakness, and you’ve unintentionally found it. Another player drops. Again, you play the part of the enemy, joyfully describing the character on the ground. The players begin to grumble again, they look around for a distraction. You do a little monologue as the last goblin goes for this round. You roll well, and it’s another character down. 

It’s now 2 players against 5 goblins. It’s a rout. The players are going to be wiped out. You don’t want to ‘cheapen’ the experience, so you keep playing the part of the bad guys, showing no remorse and relishing in the defeat of the characters.

You accidentally wipe the party. When the last hero falls, every player looks as defeated as their characters. Nobody is having fun. Not even you, with your lucky rolls. It’s awful and nobody looks excited to play again. 

What went so horribly wrong? It’s not the dice, and it’s not the scenario. It’s bad behavior by the Game Master. Because you forgot one simple guideline: You are not the enemy.

Overly dramatic scenarios aside, this is an important lesson that most modern RPGs try to establish as a core foundation. It’s important that the Game Master is not only a fair arbiter of the rules, but also an advocate for the players. Without this attitude, you begin to fall into the dreaded ‘adversarial Game Master’ role.

Set the Boundary
Simple phrases like “I’m on your side” and congratulating the players for doing well goes a long way toward dispelling the illusion of antagonism. Cheer the players on when they do good things; be vocal about their accomplishments. When their characters fail, don’t gloat like you are winning the game, because you’re not. If the characters die, the story ends. That’s not the goal in most modern RPGs. 

That doesn’t mean the enemies can’t be evil or taunt the characters. You, as the Game Master, are roleplaying also. But, playing the role of the enemy should end the moment the enemy’s turn ends. Don’t carry over the antagonism between turns. Even when your big bad evil guy is giving a speech about the folly of opposing him, you are still on the player’s side. You want them to find a way to thwart the big bad, because if they don’t, then all your work on the setting, the NPCs, and the plot is wasted.

Foster Trust
You want the players to be scared of the monsters, not of the Game Master. The players place their trust in the Game Master to be fair and foster fun. If you appear to be on the side of the bad guys, that sacred trust is broken and it is very hard to earn it back. Without trust, you have paranoid players who feel threatened not by the bad guys, but by the very world and plot you’ve created. 

Without the players, the game is over. Encourage your players, give them all the information they need to overcome the obstacles you’ve placed in their way, and celebrate their victories. Never sulk and act hurt just for the dramatic effect. It’s not a good look and it doesn’t add to the experience.

You are not the enemy and you shouldn’t act like it. When the bad guys are defeated, celebrate with the players because you want them to win. Show it; join in. You’re a player, too.

• You are on the side of the characters, even when playing the enemies
• Any antagonism ends when the enemy’s turn ends
• You want the players to be scared of the monsters, not of the GM
• Be vocal about wanting the characters to win
• Encourage the players when it is their turn
• Be sure to give enough information for the players to make informed decisions about their action
• When the characters win, celebrate with the players

“There is a distinct difference between “suspense” and “surprise,” and yet many pictures continually confuse the two.” 
– Alfred Hitchcock 

We’re all tempted to create an amazing reveal that changes the course of the game and redefines the past. All of a sudden, previous clues and unanswered questions make sense. It’s the revelatory moment we all crave to create for our players.

Proceed with caution. Don’t make a purposefully abstruse storyline in order to fabricate revelations. TTRPG plots are difficult enough to understand due to different communication styles, a lack of coherent note taking, and the fallibility of memory. If you add a layer of subterfuge on top, the players have very little chance to understand what is going on.

Even the most straightforward stories get muddled. If you hide the story, the characters have no chance.

There Can Be Mysteries
The key to a good mystery is that it is solvable through the clues placed before the characters. Taking into account that it might take weeks or months for the mystery to unfold, the GM must be prepared to repeat the clues over and over again. It might feel like repetition cheapens the experience, but it is actually reinforcing your story. The players can’t be expected to have the same investment in the mystery as the GM, because they don’t start off knowing how cool it is. The players only have their trust in the GM to rely upon.

It’s easy to solve the puzzle when you already know the answer and, therefore, know what all the clues mean. Your players don’t have this luxury. Every clue you drop that you think is too obvious is only obvious in hindsight, which the GM has but which the players do not. 

Repetition Works
During an adventure, especially a mystery, the GM must at all times be ready to repeat the clues they’ve placed in the world. This isn’t cheating; this is being a helpful GM. This is your group. They are your responsibility. Tell them what is happening when they ask. 

My grandmother used to interrupt the middle of the movie to ask what was happening. She was watching the same show as me, but at some point, she got lost in all the action, shouting, and drama. I’d pause the movie, catch her up on the plot, and she’d be happy to know ‘why that guy is so angry?’ It took only a moment, but it made the next hour of the movie infinitely more enjoyable for her.

This isn’t a 2 hour movie. This is months and months of interactive storytelling. Keeping track of the story is difficult enough for the GM – imagine how much more difficult it is for the player who is getting it in bits and pieces. 

Take the time to explain it again, like you would to your own grandmother, so the players have as good a time enjoying the story as you have telling it. This is also a great time to reinforce the important information the players missed the first time around. Take advantage of your second chance to tell the story by incorporating a dramatic, movie-like structure. 

The Players Know, but the Characters Don’t
The quote above by Hitchcock is about the audience knowing what the characters in a movie don’t know. This was how he built suspense in a movie, and it translates well into tabletop gaming.

In Hitchcock’s example, two people are having a conversation when a bomb suddenly explodes. That surprises the audience. In a second example, the audience knows there’s a bomb under the table, so while the two characters have their conversation, the audience is kept in suspense, wondering what will happen. The outcome is the same – conversation, explosion – but the feelings evoked are much different: five seconds of surprise vs. five minutes of suspense.

Think of the players as the audience and the characters as the actors. Let the players in on the story by giving them information their characters don’t know. The players become the audience, wanting their characters to figure out the mystery, but unable to act on the information they have. This creates suspense as well as participation in the story. Trust your players and they’ll trust you.

Telegraph Explosions
Surprises are fun, too! Don’t take Hitchcock’s advice to mean that you shouldn’t have surprises. Those five seconds of surprise are sometimes amazing. There is a time for suspense and a time to shock. One of the key differences between the two is how much information you give your players, because the more it is foreshadowed or told out-of-character, the more suspense you’ll create. 

Sometimes, though, the volcano erupts unexpectedly; sometimes orcs bust through the tavern door and attack; sometimes the bomb explodes out of nowhere. These are great moments. Know which one you want to use and to give the correct amount of information. 

Suspense requires a lot of information for things to make sense; surprise requires only that something unexpected happens. Decide what result you want, and give out the information required to achieve that result. But always err on the side of your players. When your players know what is going on, they’ll be more invested in the story.

• Don’t make your story intentionally hard to understand
• GMs have the benefit of 20/20 hindsight of the story, the players don’t
• Repeat your clues when asked
• Explain the story ‘so far’ when asked, as if retelling the plot of a movie
• Suspense can be achieved by the players knowing information the characters don’t 
• Surprise is when neither the players nor the characters know something is about to happen
• Story investment requires that the players know what is happening in the story

“Ain’t nobody got time for that.”
-Kimberly “Sweet Brown” Wilkins

Running RPGs is hard work. It’s a hobby that takes an immense amount of time and effort. It’s never as easy as plopping down on the couch and relaxing with a video game. It can be more rewarding and fun, but make no mistake, playing a TTRPG is work, and running them is even more work. 

With that in mind, it’s important that you don’t waste your players’ time with empty threats. These are situations or scenes where there is no chance for an interesting result. The most obvious examples come from dungeon delving. 

The Locked Door Problem
The first is the ever dreaded locked door. A locked door is a promise, much like a wrapped present beneath a Christmas tree. It’s a mystery to solve with a reward beyond it. What is past this locked door? Why is it locked? What mysteries does it hold? 

If you put a locked door in a dungeon, the players will NEED to know what’s behind it. The longer they struggle to open a door (and believe me, sooner or later they will struggle with a door), the more anticipation builds up for what is behind the door. If there isn’t a creature to fight, treasure to gain, a shortcut, or an interesting feature behind the locked door, then you’ve wasted their time. More than that, you’ve let them down. The emotional investment the players have placed in your story has been drained a little. It might not be much, but it adds up. And when it is drained too far, the players begin to feel like the dungeon is a slog.

A locked door should never lead to an empty room, especially one with another locked door. A lock implies that there is something special behind it. If there’s nothing to discover, ain’t nobody got time for that.

The Hallway Conundrum
Much the same as a door leading to another door is the hallway intersection. Intersections in a dungeon provide an illusion of choice for the players – illusion because most of the time all options loop back around to reconnect so it doesn’t matter which way they go. Having a choice between left or right, or maybe even a third or fourth direction, is great as long as you make each choice interesting and provide clues to what might be down each corridor.

For example, at a crossroads you might have webbing coating the west fork, the smell of cooking meat wafting down the northern corridor, and the tracks of very small paw prints leading away into the east corridor. Simple descriptions hint at what challenges or rewards they might find down each path.

But most dungeon maps are not made with an interesting set of options at the crossroads. Instead, it is two or more options that lead to another intersection, which leads to a locked door, which leads to an empty chamber, etc. etc. 

Much like you shouldn’t conceal a locked door behind a locked door, you should be cautious of corridors leading to more corridors (unless it is a maze, of course). It gets repetitive in the worst way, because there is nothing interesting no matter what option the players choose. 

Prepare Only What You Need, but Need Everything You Prepare 
When creating your dungeons, eliminate false choices, red herrings, and other distractions that lead your players away from the interesting parts of the dungeon or distance them from the central action. Anything that distracts the players from the main plot of the dungeon without leading to an interesting situation has the potential to result in dissatisfaction. 

This is doubly important when running a game online where time and attention are in limited supply. The more impatient and easily distracted your players are, the more important it is to skip past unnecessary complications. Get to those interesting situations. It can feel a bit railroad-y at times, but skipping the slog to get to the more interactive parts of the adventure helps prevent boredom.

• Don’t waste your time or the player’s time
• A locked door should never lead to another locked door
• A hallway intersection should never lead to another intersection, unless you’re running a maze
• Create interesting choices at intersections and behind locked doors
• Prepare what you need, and need everything you prepare
• Online play dictates an even greater need to skip the small stuff and focus on what is important for the players and the story

Playing online is fraught with many perils, and none more insidious than distraction. No matter how well-mannered and attentive a player is, there will be a time during the session where they get distracted or zone-out. Spending hours staring at a screen with tiny voices in your ears doesn’t grab a person’s attention like sitting at a table with friends, passing chips and soda around, and rolling physical dice. It’s a different ecosystem and must be treated as such.

Don’t Punish
When this happens, it’s important to recognize it for what it is: a normal human behavior. Don’t try to impose rules that must be adhered to or punish the player for being human. Doing so only fosters resentment. Nobody wants to play with a dictatorial GM. We’re friends at the (virtual) table, so treat each other with care and respect. 

What Does Your Character Think
Bring the player back into the scene with a quick synopsis of what just happened followed by the question, “What does your character think?” 

Giving the synopsis provides the player with insight into what they may have missed while also reiterating to the other players what is at stake. It’s the ‘tell’ aspect of ‘show and tell.’ Asking what the character thinks gently nudges the player to interact with the story.

Any time something important happens in a scene, it’s a good strategy to go around the table and ask each player what their characters think so the players recognize the importance. It also grabs the attention of a distracted player, because they get to respond to the situation.

Action!
If you notice more than one player slipping away from the game, it’s likely you’ve spent a little too much time focusing on a trivial aspect or left them out of the scene. This happens all the time and there’s nothing wrong with it, but re-engaging the players after this is important for the pacing of the game. Nothing re-engages faster than action. 

While the tried and true “Orcs attack!” option can be used, it doesn’t necessarily have to be as sudden or extreme. Any action can reengage the players, especially if dice are involved. Simply asking for a dice roll on a random encounter table or a perception check can do it. 

Grab the players attention by using their characters’ names and using their best skill to begin the action. “Elsin, with your keen eyes, you notice movement in the bushes about 50 feet up that craggy hillside.” 

Using the character’s name and skills signals to the player that their character is important. Everyone loves to feel important and needed, so this draws the player back into the game quickly. 

But It Keeps Happening
If a repeated problem keeps causing a disruption, talk to the player outside of the session. There are a million reasons why a player might be distracted during a game. Some end and some don’t. Be kind with your players, listen to their needs, and adjust accordingly. It might be the wrong time for them to play, the wrong style of game, or something else. If you can solve the problem, great. If not, there’s no shame in saying, “This game might not be for you, but when I run something more your style, you’re the first person I’ll call.”

• Don’t punish a player for being human
• Re-engage the player by summarizing what they may have missed and asking what their character thinks of the situation
• Nothing refocuses attention better than rolling dice
• Use the characters name and skills to draw them back into the game
• Don’t create drama during the game. Talk to the player afterward if consistent distraction becomes a problem

One trick for re-engaging your players is to have them roll for a random encounter, NPC, treasure, or anything else that might be appropriate in the story. This goes beyond just reengaging, though. You can use it at any time, including prep. Contact the players offline or through chat and have the players each roll for random tables that might affect adventures, encounters, and treasure. You might even announce to the table when the battle starts, “Oh, this is the fight Bob rolled up. Good luck!” After the battle, let each character then roll on the magic treasure tables to see what they find! This works great for dragon hoards and other large treasure troves. 

When we sit down at the table to play, often the GM begins with the iconic, “When we last left our heroes” or a comedic, “Previously on…” nod to serialized radio and television programs. Some GMs ask the players to do a recap of the adventure so far. Introductory summaries and scenes help set the expectations of the upcoming session. In effect, they not only tell what has happened, they also set the mood for what comes next.

Recap
The standard summary contains the details of what led the characters to the moment that starts the session. This can be a short list or montage of the events leading up to the current session. It can be told by the GM or by the players, often rewarded by XP or other incentive for sharing their summary. 

After the recap, ask the other players if they have anything to add, because invariably the one recapping will miss a few important details. This also gives the players the opportunity to reinforce the moments that were most important to them. The GM should listen closely to player-led recaps for what the players liked and disliked about previous sessions.

Lead-In
Lead-ins begin the session with a character-centered short story. When the GM begins with a lead-in, it is often a third-person narrative focused on what led the characters to this moment. When told by a player, it is often a first-person narrative focused on their character’s feelings about the group, the adventure thus far, and their future plans. 

The player may need to know ahead of time that they are going to do a lead-in so they can prepare appropriately. Lead-ins are very good narrative devices to use if the last session ended on a cliff-hanger.

Cut-Scene
Cut-scenes are less common than the others, but can be a great beginning to a session. With a cut-scene, the GM narrates a scene taking place ‘off-camera’ that the characters wouldn’t know about, but which is great fun for the players to learn about. It could be a short scene with the big bad putting some evil plan into motion or it could show the beneficial effects the adventurers have had in the world.

Cut-scenes are outside the scope of character’s knowledge, but it lets the players experience a bigger picture. It creates a sense of the world moving around the characters, which adds to verisimilitude. It can also tell parts of the plot that the GM wants to reinforce. We’re accustomed to these openers because of murder-mysteries where the camera shows the murder, but not necessarily the murderer. 

The type and focus of the introduction flavors the rest of the session. If you are trying to have a light-hearted session, begin with a cut-scene that shows a comical unintended consequence of the character’s actions; if you’re trying to have a serious session, perhaps a lead-in written by a player that shows their struggles to arrive at this crucial moment is more appropriate. 

Most introductions mix these three types. Keep the ideals of each in mind when beginning a session, but don’t be constrained by them. The goal is to set the tone for the session and to have fun sharing stories. 

• Set the mood with an evocative opening
• Recaps are a list of what has happened so far, often told by the players
• Lead-Ins are narratives that seamlessly end where the session begins
• Cut-scenes show the players things the characters couldn’t know
• Don’t feel constrained by these three types of introductions. Mix and match as needed