Tag: GM Tips

Creating an Evil Campaign Featuring the Undead

tom kidd 90968, 2/27/04, 11:49 AM, 8C, 3750×5000 (0+0), 62%, bent 6 stops, 1/30 s, R41.2, G31.5, B69.8

Note: This Friday’s Magical Marvels is written and ready to go up. However, my ladyfriend is busy with coursework, and has not been able to create the art for it. Both of us have really enjoyed what her art has added to this series of posts, so I’ll be holding off on posting it until sometime Sunday, after she completes the image. Thanks for your patience!

A month or two back, I typed a bunch of tabletop RPG keywords into twitter, found some random accounts, and followed them. I’m quite active on twitter, but most of my twitter friends are not tabletop role players, so I was hoping to expand my circle of friends a little more. By and large the endeavor has been a failure. Most of the accounts I followed have since been unfollowed either for being inactive, or being boring. Recently, though, one of those accounts posted this:

Tips on an evil campaign? Why, Evil is my middle name! It’s also my first and last name. Legally, I am Evil E. Eviltan. The original family name is actually “Evilsatan,” but it got anglicized when my grandparents arrived on Ellis island. Anyway, I quickly sent DMfemme a response.

A few days went by, and I forgot about the message. Twitter is more of a chat room than a message board. If it takes someone more than 15 minutes to respond, odds are they aren’t going to. But lo and behold, a few days later:

Undead you say!? Why, I would say that undead was my middle name had I not already established that all of my names are permutations of ‘evil!’ That was, perhaps, shortsighted writing on my part. None the less, undead are my specialty. I don’t think I’ve ever run a campaign which didn’t include undead as a major element. Ever since my first game ham-fistedly throwing a mummy at my player, to my most recent cloak & dagger style game about the Cult of Vecna. When it comes to monsters, if it’s decomposing and likes the taste of sweet sweet manflesh, I like to include it in my games.

The first thing you should do, if you’re willing and able to spend a little money, is pick up a copy of Libris Mortis. It’s a 3.5 supplement, so if you’re running D&D 3.5 or Pathfinder the book is a must-have. But even if you’re using another system, there’s a lot of good fluff in here. More than I can cover in a single post, and it includes some of my favorite undead monsters. For this post, I’ll focus on things I’ve learned through my own gaming experience, which are not found in Libris Mortis.

I can think of a few ways an evil campaign can be undead based. The players can control undead, the players can work with undead, the players can work for undead, or the players can be undead. And, of course, you can mix and match. All of these are fun, and all come with their specific quirks.

Players Control Undead
If the players control undead, then they are likely of the Wizardly or Clerical persuasion, or some type of magic user at least. Though there’s no need to discount other possibilities. Perhaps the players find powerful artifacts early in the game which allow them to control undead–artifacts which grown in power as the characters level up. Or the characters could take the batman super villain route and fall into an open vat of negative energy, only to come out of it with the ability to control undead to some extent.

The thing about players who control undead, though, is that they become powerful quickly. Why explore a dungeon when you can simply send hoards of zombies into the dungeon as meat-shields. They’ll set off any traps and defeat or weaken any monsters within. Once they’ve done the grunt work, the players can move in and gather up the treasure. Even if they go into the dungeon themselves, encounters need to be buffed up significantly to make up for all the extra attacks players get (“my character attacks, then Zombies 1, 2, 3, 4, and 5 attack”).

Still, one can’t deny the feeling of power that controlling an undead hoard gives to players. It’s an exhilarating feeling, and the GM should let them enjoy that. But that doesn’t mean the GM should never take it away. Undead-controlling villains can come up against paladins or clerics, able to cause their undead to flee in terror. Or they might find themselves forced to fight on consecrated ground where their undead cannot tread. Worst of all, they might eventually face a more capable necromancer, able to steal their control of their undead away from them! (You could call him “LS,” mwuahaha)!

Players Work With Undead
Lets say, for example, that rather than being necromancers, the players work for a necromancer. This gives the players a bit more freedom, since the GM doesn’t need to shoe-horn the players into the position of controlling some undead. More freedom means the players have more control, and the players having more control means the players have Player Agency, and player agency is a good thing to foster in your games. This option also gives the players less power over how the undead interact with the game, since they don’t control them directly. And as a third boon, this option gives the GM a convenient “quest giver” in the form of the player’s necromatic master.

Consider, for example, a scenario where the players are in the service of the great Necromancer Alicia. Alicia wants the players to subdue a tribe of goblins living not far from her tower of Brooding Darkness. Perhaps she provides them with amulets to help them direct the undead, but she could just as easily send an NPC along to control the undead, or even just control the undead herself from the aforementioned tower. Or perhaps Alicia doesn’t want the goblins killed, but just needs the players to throw some undead-powder into the goblin’s bonfire, causing them all to choke on the fire’s smoke and become zombies themselves.

Players Work For Undead
The players working for an undead has a lot of potential to play out exactly the same way that the players working for a necromancer does. After all, necromancers don’t die, they just become liches. (…which, I guess, requires dying at some point, but you take my meaning.) However, there are a variety of intelligent undead with the potential to keep the players as their minions.

Vampires are a favorite of mine. I’ve always felt they’re underused in the role of “overlord” style villain. Player quests could include finding humans for the vampire to feed on, help bring about eternal night, or even just work on traditional goals like conquering the world. Just because you don’t have a pulse or show up in mirrors doesn’t mean you don’t still lust for power. Ghosts are another great example. Being incorporeal, ghosts are much less likely to pursue worldly goals, but they could easily have plots of their own. Perhaps they want to return to a corporeal body, or they want the players to enact a ritual which will allow them to pass on to a more pleasant afterlife than the one for which they are destined.

Players Are Undead
Players as undead offers some of the most interesting possibilities. There are plenty of undead types for players to pick from. The party’s wizard could be a lich, the rogue could be a ghost, the fighter a vampire, and the cleric a mummy. Even normally unintelligent undead such as ghasts, ghouls, wights, etc can be “awakened,” allowing them to have an Intelligence score. Players will be happy because their undead have fantastic special abilities. All of them will be immune to crits, most of them will gain special attacks, and massive bonuses to their stats.

The players will likely be so distracted by all their special bonuses that they’ll completely forget all the power they’re handing over to their game master. Yes, the vampire fighter now has +6 natural armor, but they also cannot enter private residences without first being invited in, nor can they go outside during the day. And don’t forget that all undead can potentially be turned, or worse, dominated by a powerful necromancer. Which isn’t to say that you should punish your players for being undead–simply that you should make use of their weaknesses. That’s part of the fun of undead!

Other
There are a few other things I’d like to mention about running an undead-heavy campaign before ending this post.

Origin Many types of undead come with origin stories attached. Some are created when innocents are buried in a mass grave, others are spawned of unrepentant murderers, or children killed by their own family members. (The slaymate is one of my all time favorite undead.) Be aware of these origins, and if a type of undead doesn’t have them, think about creating your own. The origin of an undead can give you a good baseline for that undead’s personality. Or, if the players are out to create a specific type of undead, it can provide them with a gruesomely evil task.

Cliches Aren’t Scary If you’re running an undead-heavy campaign because you like the creepiness of undead, remember that something stops being creepy once you get used to it. If you’ve only got a few adjectives to describe a zombie–rotting, shambling, grotesque–then your players are going to get bored of them really quick. Be creative, pull out a thesaurus, and make sure you keep giving your players new types of undead to encounter. Your zombies should dribble black gore onto the ground as they shamble, your lich should have half of a nose and a jaw attached to his skull by a wire, and your skeletons should still have bits of shriveled organs piled at the bottom of their rib cage.

Don’t Forget the Classics Often times, game masters get caught up in the big fancy undead, and forget about the little guys. Skeletons and Zombies can be incredibly creepy and threatening at any level. Don’t forget that humans aren’t the only ones who can be corpse-ified! One of my favorite monsters is the skeletal hill giant. And the dragon whose zombie-wings are too rotted to fly on any longer can be a terrifying foe. Even without using a high-CR foe as the base creature, these types of undead can be formidable. I recently threw my players up against a large number of skeletons which had Magic Missile inscribed on their index fingers. My players found it quite challenging to run back and forth across the battlefield taking out the skeletons one by one, getting hit by 1d4 + 1 unblockable damage from each skeleton each round.

And never forget: If you’re running a game with undead, use a Corpse-Sewn Hekatonkheires at some point. It’s just the right thing to do!

Handling Overpowered Player Characters

I spent most of today working on a project which will affect the future of Comma, Blank_. Once completed, I think it will be a huge improvement for this humble blog. Until that time, however, I’m afraid that working on it is consuming much of the time I would otherwise be using to play tabletop games, and write about them for your amusement. I’ve actually been working on it since early December, and only mention it now because I accidentally let it get far too late on a day which I’m supposed to post something. So my options are to stay up really late to finish today’s post, or cop-out. And with work in the morning, I’ve decided to cop-out. So I hope you liked Gary Gygax’s story of the Jeweled Man from last week, because it’s time for another post based on The All-Father’s column.

This time it’s a tale of self-destructing PCs from Dragon #314, first published in December of 2003. Gygax reminisces about an overconfident player with a high leveled character he didn’t earn, and gives advice on how to deal with such players. Advice I don’t entirely agree with, in matter of fact. But we’ll get to that later.

Once again, I will reprint Gygax’s original words here, but I do so without permission. I’m doing this because this is from a seven-year-old issue of a magazine which has been out of print for almost 5 years (by Vecna’s Eye, has it been that long? ;_;). To my knowledge, it’s not currently possible to read this column unless you somehow manage to physically acquire an original copy of the issue. And once again, I will happily remove it if contacted by anyone from Hasbro, Wizards of the Coast, or the Gygax Estate.

Self Destructing PCs

Unearned Levels are the PC’s worst enemy

Many DMs have asked me how I handle characters that are obviously over-powered, “jumped-up” PCs that never really earned their high abilities and survive by massive hit-point total, super magic, and unearned ease in attacking with sword or spell. To such inquiries, I respond that in recognizing this sort of character I simply play the encounters a bit differently, mainly in the presentation of information, not in “fudging” of the dice rolls for monsters. Inept players will destroy their characters without having to resort to such methods. Allow me to illustrate this with the following account:

While at a regional convention in upstate New York, I was asked to run adventures in my campaign’s Castle Greyhawk Dungeons. An assembly of players gathered for what was billed a moderate-level excursion. One aggressive young chap came to the table with a 13th-level ranger, supposedly his least powerful character. Although the others in the group had PCs of about half that level and were chary about including the lad with the ranger, I assured them all would work just fine, even with experience division given by shares according to level.

There followed some initial exploration and minor encounters as the team worked its way down into the dungeon maze. The first real test came when the party came into a large chamber with many pillars and several doors. As the main group discussed what strategy they would follow in this locale, a bold dwarf broke off and opened a nearby door. Rather than telling the player what he saw, I told the players this:

“The dwarf slams the door. He reels back and comes staggering towards the rest of you, stammering something that sounds like. ‘G-ga-get back! W-wuh… Horrible! A bunch of them!’ He is obviously fearful and thus incoherent.

The 13th-level ranger hesitated not a moment. Without consulting with his fellows, the character ran to the door that the dwarf had slammed closed and opened it without concern. The four wights that were preparing to exit their lair confronted him, won initiative, and two succeeded in hitting. In the ensuing melee, these undead monsters managed to strike the ranger twice more, so at the end of the battle, the ranger was of a level more commensurate with the others, 9th as it were.

Much disturbed by that turn of events, but clearly not chagrined by his rash behavior and the results, the ranger insisted on leading the way. Soon thereafter, they discovered a staircase down, and beside it lay an alcove wherein a great clay pot rested, radiating heat and billowing smoke. The other PCs advised leaving the strange vessel alone, but the ranger determined to attack it. As he did so, all the other characters fled the area. With a single blow the ranger shattered the pot, and thus a really angry fire elemental was freed. It didn’t take long for that monster to finish off the ranger, and thereafter it departed.

I took the character sheet from the fellow, suggesting that he should be more careful with such potent characters in the future, for surely he had spent a long time gaining 13th level with his now dead ranger PC. He left the table without comment, and the rest of the group went on to several exciting hours of dungeon delving.

This shows that unearned levels don’t translate to playing ability. To the contrary, the power gained often makes the player overconfident. Any able DM can craft adventures that weed out unwise and inept players who think to bulldoze their way through problems by use of undeserved power. That’s possible only in computer games where saved games and cheat codes serve to reward such play.

Clearly, the culture surrounding the game in those days was significantly different than it is today. I can’t imagine a GM taking a player’s character sheet like that. But, then, neither can I really imagine arguing with Gary Gygax if he was my Dungeon Master.

This column struck a cord with me because my own character, Zalekios Gromar, is bursting with unearned power. Not only is he a Gestalt character with levels in both Warlock and Rogue, but a few years back my GM facetiously gave him a Ring of 100 Wishes, which rocketed his undeserved power level into the stratosphere. Of course, Zalekios is a very special case. He has no party–no companions to excel in the areas where he is weak. He’s got to be able to handle everything by himself. That being said, though, he could still probably out-perform four characters of equivalent level. The character is overpowered. I won’t argue that.

The way my GM and I have always handled it is simply to raise the difficulty of the challenges Zalekios must face. And, when we get it right, it works very well. A few sessions ago, Zalekios was very nearly killed when he was attacked by a level 16 gestalt Paladin/Barbarian character. My GM overruled the fact that Paladins must be lawful, and Barbarians must be Chaotic, because he’s evil like that. The combination of rage and smite evil very nearly ended Zalekios career. If not for some clever tactics on my part, using Dimensional Door and Eldritch Blast to keep my foe at range, I would not have survived.

And if all the players are overpowered, that’s a fine solution. But most often, that’s not the case. Players being different levels than one another is not often a problem in modern games, but power disparity will always exist. Sometimes players pull min-maxed builds off of the Internet. Other times, you underestimate just how effective a certain magic item will be in the hands of your players. Or, occasionally, a player just gets really stupidly lucky with a Deck of Many Things. And in this, I think Gary’s advice is eternal.

Let player skill determine whether your player deserves what he or she has. Give them opportunities to be overconfident, and pay for it. A player who has easily cut through challenges which the other players would have struggled with is going to come to expect it. So throw them a curve-ball. Drop a high leveled monster on them, and watch as they refuse to run away from a fight. Don’t take their power from them, just put them into a position where foolish action will cause them to lose it.

Of course, this may not always work. If your player is just as skilled as they are powerful, then you may need to reassess. You don’t want them to ruin the game for the other PCs who are left to stroll in their companion’s wake. But neither do you want to punish the player if they’ve made no mistakes. At this point you might consider making a loss of their power part of an important quest. Perhaps the artifact they acquired is evil and needs to be destroyed, or perhaps it is the lost blade of a celestial general who needs it to continue the battle against evil. If the deck of many things granted the player millions of gold, let him learn that an equivalent amount of gold disappeared from the coffers of a small nation, which is now unable to feed its people during a famine. If all else fails, you can just buff up the rest of the party, and the encounter level along with it.

As a side note, is it just me, or does it seem really uncool to take control of a player’s character? I know role playing games were different in those days, and the particular instance here is pretty mundane, but I can’t imagine ever doing that. The control a player has over their character is sacrosanct in my mind. I would have at least allowed him a saving throw versus fear.

Gary Gygax, the Jeweled Man, and Letting Your Players Fail

I’ve always had a love for magazines. During my youth, one of the most exciting days of the month was when my issue of Star Wars Insider would arrive. Magazines are like proto-websites. Which perhaps explains why many magazines have made the successful transition out of print, and onto the web. Still, there’s something about holding the monthly publication in your hand which feels a great deal more substantial than bookmarking a website does. It makes me sad that magazines are slowly dying off. Which might explain why I’ve occasionally been called a Luddite.

Of course, if we didn’t have the Internet, then I’d be trying to get these blog posts into a magazine, and probably having most of them rejected. So you don’t hear me complaining.

Given my love of magazines, I doubt anybody will be surprised to learn that I’ve gathered a decent collection of Dragon magazines over the years. (Funny Story: most of them are from the personal collection of Jeff Grub). They’re all piled into a cardboard box underneath my sourcebook shelves. I haven’t had the time to read even a tenth of the issues I already have, which is kinda nice, because I can always just pull a random issue from the pile and flip through the pages to find something new.

One of my favorite features of many of the issues of Dragon is a regular article called “Up on a Soapbox, All I Need to Know I Learned from D&D.” These articles were written by the Gary Gygax himself, and were often retellings of his earliest campaigns. It’s always fun to read about what he was thinking, and what he experienced, which shaped Dungeons and Dragons in those early years.

Today I opened up Dragon issue 290, from December 2001. In it is a story by Gygax entitled “Lesson #4: The One That Got Away. It tells the story of a golden man, encrusted with jewels and gems, which his players encountered in Castle Greyhawk. Back in those days, experience points were primarily earned through the acquisition of treasure, so a man made of gold was quite a find. Unfortunately for Gygax’s players, the man always ran away, and they were never able to catch him, though many attempts were made over the years.

I have some things to say about this story, but first, I think it would be nice if people had an opportunity to actually read it. Unfortunately, I can’t find it replicated anywhere online. And, unfortunately, issues of defunct magazines from over a decade ago aren’t something most people can easily find. So, after some consideration, I’ve decided to type up the article and include it in this post. I will happily remove it on request from anyone at Hasbro, or Wizards of the Coast. Hell, if the Gygax estate wants me to take it down, I will.

The Jeweled Man

When reminiscing about the “old days,” players in the original Greyhawk campaign still bring up the Jeweled Man. Although there were victories aplenty for those who adventured through the ruins of Castle Greyhawk, those veterans are still trying to discover who and what this figure was. That’s because nary a PC managed to catch this incredible thing, the Jeweled Man. All such speculation is to no avail, of course. Until some player’s character manages to discover the truth about him, the mystery will never be revealed. That’s a secret, and mystery is part and parcel of a good campaign.

Once the teams of PCs delving into the dungeons of Castle Greyhawk had made their way down to a moderate depth, all were after greater treasures. That was the natural way of things; in the original D&D and AD&D games, experience point awards were primarily based on the value of a defeated monster’s treasure hoard, not on the power of the monster. Of course, XPs were given for slaying foul creatures, successful use of spells, and other heroic acts. Even the most rigorous use of sword and spell, however, was insufficient to gain the large amounts of experience points needed to gain a level. In short order, the players learned that copper was dross, silver meaningless, and even gold a middling reward at best. Platinum? A bare cut above gold. Gems, jewelry, and magic items, those were the goal of every party’s explorations, the wherewithal to become more than one’s class.

It was around the dungeon’s 8th level that the first bold adventurers came upon something they had theretofore only dreamed of. Tenser, Robilar, and Terik were delighted when, upon entering a large chamber, they saw a figure apparently made entirely of gold. This sight was all the more wondrous not because the man-like thing was animate, but rather because the glitteringt yellow metal of the figure’s body was encrusted with faceted gems of all sizes and shapes. Even from a distance, it was plain that thousands of carats of diamonds, emerals, sapphires, and rubies–the whole spectrum of precious stones–were embedded in the thing’s golden body. Surely, the strange golden automaton represented millions and millions of gold pieces worth of wealth–and enough experience points to advance a large, high-level party to the next level of power.

Even as a spell was cast to keep the Jeweled Man from acting, warriors were rushing to come to grips with this marvel. Alas for the adventurers, the spell had no effect, and before the eager fighters were near, the figure was off and away, running so quickly that even boots of speed could not keep pace. Down a passageway went the glittering form, the party in pursuit. In all too brief a time, however, the Jeweled Man was lost, vanished into the labyrinth of the surrounding passages. Swearing to return, the adventurers went away empty handed, settling eventually for far less precious items taken from likely more fearsome opponents.

The players of course, embarked on a series of expeditions comprised of both the original team and other characters–even lone PCs. Most of the groups managed to make their way to the location, and of those finding the great chamber, the majority encountered the Jeweled Man therein. Each successive encounter saw the would-be captors become more and more frustrated, more aggressive, and more mystified at their lack of success. Their reason for failing to capture the prize might well have been the close-lipped nature of the would-be plunderers.

Almost everyone knew that it seemed impossible to take the creature by surprise, but teams and individual characters kept their own counsel concerning the success of other actions. Clearly the incalculable worth of the treasure and the repute to be had from gaining it worked to diminish cooperation, the one thing that makes success in adventuring most likely.
This effect was not foreseen, but the actions of the players made it easily recognizable. To reflect the attitudes of the PCs, it was natural to use innuendo to suggest one or another character was planning to capture the Jeweled Man alone. Solo adventures among the most able players were rare thereafter, as their peers were loathe to allow one of their number a chance to catch the Jeweled man alone.

To this day the begemmed thing–and I use that term advisedly, as no one has discovered exactly what it is–haunts the great chamber in the mid-levels of the dungeons of Castle Greyhawk. it has been years since any determined effort to capture the creature has been made, but the veterans of the storied times when exploration and derring-do were meat and drink to a large company still speak of it. Suggestions that it was an illusion fall flat because several different groups launched failed attempts to prove it unreal. there are growls about “DM cheating” too, but these complaints are half-hearted. Simply put, the players concerned know deep down that they never made a truly concerted effort, and each suspects they just might one day succeed.

Perhaps they will, and then the tale of that triumph will be told and retold. As it is, however, only sad stories of the one that got away are related.

Of course, I now realize that this was a terrible idea. Juxtaposing Gary Gygax’s thoughts on role playing with my own is not likely to create a favorable comparison. But what’s done is done. I can only hope Wizards of the Coast demands I take the post down.

Among the number of lessons to be learned here, I think the most important and the most clear is that it’s important for players to be able to fail. Gary certainly thought so, because as best as I can determine, he took the secrets of The Jeweled Man to his grave. I managed to find a forum post, apparently written by Gygax, which was written just about two years before his untimely death. In the post, he says he’ll discuss the concept in general terms in some then-upcoming modules, but that he does not intend to reveal how the encounter operated in his original campaign.

That’s dedication to the craft.

Personally, I don’t know how he did it. When I GM, and I make something cool, I want to tell people about it. Of course I want my players to figure it out on their own, so I don’t drop any undue hints. And if they fail to solve a mystery I’ve crafted, I have to bite my tongue to stop myself from giving it away to them right then and there. Then I have to bite my tongue again at the end of the adventure to avoid letting it slip during the post-adventure chatting. It’s difficult. I think I’m missing a few pieces of tongue at this point.

The best solution I’ve come up with is to tell people not involved in the game in question all about my brilliant game mastering. That’s not always advisable, though, because sometimes those people later want to join the games I’ve told them the secrets for. That has happened to me, and it’s a pain in the ass. But I’ve meandered off topic.

I feel that the importance of player failure is undersold by most of the modern sourcebooks I’ve read. Many people will agree that one of the best parts of role playing games are the stories you get to tell about your adventures. And the best stories always contain an element of failure or sacrifice. Like the time you were ambushed on the way to the dungeon, and killed in a single blow. Or the time your paladin died to foil the villain. Or, in this case, the way the Jeweled Man always managed to get away.

Players can always roll new characters. And if you let your players fail, then they’ll know that their successes are their own. Not just fudged dice.

Designing a Village in Detail

Not too long ago, Zalekios conquered a small village. It’s something I’ve wanted the character to do for some time. And, in our last game, my GM was gracious enough to include an opportunity for conquest. To be honest, I have no grand and evil scheme to further overpower my character through corrupt governance. Certainly, I have plans on how I’ll make use of my subjects, but the ways in which the town will benefit Zalekios are much less interesting to me than the challenges and opportunities ruling over a town will provide. The need to fortify it, defend it, and ensure that my subjects are unable to oust me while I’m out adventuring, all sound like interesting and entertaining challenges to me.

So once I had the town under my thumb, I asked my GM if it would be alright for me to make a detailed map of the village. He agreed, and we spent some time going over what my limitations were. Geographically, the village is located in a large area of plains, with no major shifts in elevation or terrain type for several miles around. Neither are there any significant bodies of water, or forested areas nearby. Honestly, I think he just made the environment as simple as possible because he’s afraid of my ingenuity. But that’s okay with me. I like a challenge.

I was also told that I had a total of 377 villagers, 27 of which could be level 1 experts, adepts, warriors, or aristocrats. The rest are level 1 commoners. Other than that, he left everything up to me. I’ve checked in with him periodically throughout the town creation process, but he hasn’t vetoed any of my decisions yet. Of course, I’ve kept everything in line with what one would find in a dirt-poor town, so he hasn’t had much to say “no” to. He and I have been playing games together long enough that we have a pretty good sense of what the limits are in each other’s games.

Now, even as a GM, I don’t often have the opportunity to truly build a thoroughly detailed community. Normally it’s simply not an efficient use of time. It’s much easier and faster to simply plot out the most basic outline of what the town is like: what kind of government it has, what its economy is based on, whether it has any unusual traditions or culture, and whether it has any noteworthy landmarks or NPCs. Everything else can be generated on the fly. Even with more detailed cities which my players return to often, I rarely do more than sketch out general “districts,” and identify the location of the main roads through the town. The port city of Niston, which the players in my Ascendant Crusade game have visited in between adventures for several years now, is still just a rough collection of squares marked “Affluent Area,” “Merchant Section,” “Slum,” “Docks,” and so on.

As a player preparing to govern this town, however, I find the idea of exacting detail appealing. Knowing precisely how many warriors are in the town guard will help me plan my defenses. And since the character in question is Zalekios, knowing just how many commoners I can eat before my breeding stock gets too low is important! Additionally, a large part of my plans involve modifying the town, in the form of watch towers, walls, work camps, etc, so I want to know precisely what I have to work with.

I decided to start by figuring out what kind of population I have. I broke my population into three age based groups. First would be children, defined by Pathfinder as anyone under 15 years old. Last there’s the elderly, which I defined as anyone over 55. In between those two groups are the adults. So out of my 377 total population, I needed to figure out how many people fell into the three groups. I decided to use a population pyramid to work out a basic percentage. I spent some time looking for one which applied specifically to medieval villages, but didn’t have any luck finding one. So I just stuck with the closest to average I could find. What I wound up with, using some very rough estimation, is 91 children, 260 adults, and 26 elderly. I figure that, to keep things simple, I would split the genders evenly. Since my population is an odd number, I flipped a coin, and determined that the odd person out is a woman named Old Ms. Dyterran, by far the oldest person in the village at 84 years. Her children are dead of old age, but she lives with her grandson and his family. She likes to tell scary stories to children.

Outliers such as old Ms. Dyterran aside, I find these numbers to be telling of the type of community this is. With a max population of 377, it’s a very small community. People’s lives will be interconnected. But I would estimate that the community is still too large for everyone to know everyone else. Even acquaintance level relationships are difficult to maintain when there’s several hundred of them. However, when you break things down by age, the numbers get remarkably smaller. If there are only 91 children under the age of 15, then how few must there be between the ages of 8 and 12? If there’s only ten or twenty kids your age in town, you probably know all of them. That goes doubly so for the old folks, who probably all know each other quite well by now.

Moving on, I estimated that there would be 89 households, based on the adult population. That’s assuming that every household is centered around an adult couple. Children and elderly would live with said couples, as would a number of dependent adults who are over the age of 15, but have not yet struck out on their own. This would mean that there are 2.9 adults per household, 1.02 children per household, and 0.29 elderly per household. So if you walk into one of these 89 homes at random, the odds are that there are two wedded adults there, who live with one young child and one adult child. And there is a roughly one-in-three chance that one of the couple’s parents is still alive, and also living in the house. So most homes contain 4-5 people.

Once I had some ideas on what the population numbers looked like, I moved on to economics. Fun fact, if you google “Plains People,” all you really come up with are the Plains Indians, and they were nomads, so information on them was no help in this project. However, Wikipedia has a great deal of information on plains which I found extremely useful in this endeavor. While it may not be an ideal source if you’re looking for facts you can rely on, Wikipedia more than accurate enough if you’re just looking to inject a little realism into your role playing games. Turns out “plains” is an exceptionally broad category, which covers dozens of terrain types.

I decided that my GM’s goal in providing me with an endless flatland of plains was probably closest to the American prairie. Which, I learned, is excellent for farming. However, farming there required more advanced farming equipment than was available when it was first settled. Apparently, up until that point, farmers used wooden plows, but steel plows needed to be developed to handle the tougher earth. I decided one of my experts would need to be a dedicated toolmaker. Animal husbandry is also an option for people living in an area like the American prairie. Using that information, I decided that farming would be the main source of food and income for this village, with pigs and chickens providing them with some dietary variety.

The only major landmarks of note are the homes of the mayor and wizard, both of whom Zalekios killed in his secret coup. Since Zalekios is impersonating the mayor, he’s taken up that residence, and billeted his small army of 33 goblins in the Wizard’s home. I mocked up this “Town Character Sheet” in open office writer.

From there, it was time to draw the map. As with the previous steps, I decided to do some research first. I dug through a number of sources for maps, including my own books, the Cartographer’s Guild, and just plain old google image search. I saved a few dozen samples to reference as I went to make my own map, and used elements from several of them. However, this map, from the Warhammer Fantasy RPG, was my biggest aide. It is at the same time both extremely simple, and extremely detailed. If you step back and look at the whole map, you see what appears to be a birds eye view of a large city. Each building and side street is distinct, and you get a sense of what the town is like from a street view. There are clearly affluent areas near the parks, with larger houses, etc, along with poorer areas of much smaller buildings clustered together. Yet for all its detail, the map is drawn quite simply. Each individual building is little more than a brown shape with either an “X” or an “I” drawn on top of it to indicate the slant of the roof.

To start with, I sketched out a “districts” map, like the ones I mentioned above. It looked like a series of circles, like a bulls-eye. The small, center circle was designated for important buildings, like the mayor’s residence. It’s also the location of the town square, where meetings would be held. Around that is the residential area. This was a much larger section, which would contain most of the town’s buildings, arranged around the center of town roughly evenly. The largest circle, by a significant margin, is the farmland, which surrounds the entire town.

Here’s what I’ve come up with so far:

The areas of brown within the town indicate pig pens, whilst I imagine many homes have chicken coops next to them. The small circles in the center of the two ancillary “town squares” represent wells. The two white buildings are the Mayor’s residence and the Wizard’s home. The crosshatch patterns surrounding the town represent farmland.

There are still a number of problems with this map. My scale is way off, for one thing. The more important buildings near the center of town should be much larger, while the residential buildings can be relatively small. The farmland was also truncated due to the limited size of the paper. Normally I’d remake the map before posting it, but at this point I’m not sure I’ll bother remaking this map. Even though it’s not “to scale,” it effectively demonstrates the layout of the town.

Anybody else have experience detailing small towns? Any tips on how to improve my process?

Star Wars: Periods for Play

I thought I’d round out Star Wars week with a summary of the classic time periods available to Game Masters. The political and social landscape of the galaxy changes drastically as time progresses in the Star Wars Universe. Each provides unique opportunities for adventure. And while you may want to stick to what you’re already familiar with (either from the films, or from books you’ve read) this list can help foster ideas about where you’d like to take your games as time progresses in your own little version of the Star Wars Universe. Or, perhaps, even give you an idea of which periods you’d like to look into further.

As with all Star Wars posts, this list focuses on the classic Star Wars trilogy and the fiction based on it, rather than anything based on the prequel films, which were bad. For those unaware, the Battle of Yavin (where the first Death Star is destroyed) is used as year zero. Dates are measured as either Before the Battle of Yavin (BBY) or After the Battle of Yavin (ABY).

Pre-Rebellion Imperial Era
From the establishment of Palpatine’s New Order in 19 BBY, to the signing of the Corellian Treaty in 2 BBY

Most of the truly iconic imperial technology had not yet been deployed during this period. The Death Star was, obviously, still being designed and built. And ship types such as the Imperial Star Destroyer, and the Executor Class Star Destroyer (or “Super” Star Destroyer) were likewise still on the drawing table. Though some would have been under construction in secret shipyards owned by Kuat. The Emperor also humors the Imperial Senate, providing the illusion of representative government.

There is no organized resistance to the Empire. There are many dissident groups, but they are independent from one another, and easily crushed by the Empire. It isn’t until two years prior to the Battle of Yavin that a group of Imperial Senators, in an act of treason, sign The Corellian Treaty, bringing the disparate rebel groups together to form The Rebel Alliance.

Rebellion Era
From the signing of the Corellian Treaty in 2 BBY, to the Battle of Endor in 4 ABY

Also known as the First Galactic Civil War, this period is probably the most well known, as it takes place primarily during the original trilogy of films. The Rebel Alliance and Empire engage in a brutal conflict. Many of the Empire’s most notable atrocities and most terrifying weapons occur during this period: the destruction of Alderaan by the Death Star, and the creation of the Executor class Star Destroyer among them.

Early New Republic Era
From the Battle of Endor in 4 ABY, to the Conquest of Coruscant in 7 ABY

After the death of both Emperor Palpatine and Darth Vader at the Battle of Endor, the Galactic Empire is thrown into chaos. A whirlwind of successors hold the reigns of power for a short time, only to be assassinated or otherwise removed from power. Sometimes a single leader dominates, other times a small group will declare itself a ruling council of some kind. Meanwhile, more and more powerful Imperial leaders simply split off from the Empire, becoming Warlords.

In the days after the Battle of Endor, an interim government is formed by the Rebel Alliance, calling itself the Alliance of Free Planets. And one month after the battle of Endor, the Declaration of a New Republic is issued. Planets begin breaking off from the Empire immediately, joining the New Republic. Imperial responses to these “secessionists” is sporadic at best. Most of the New Republic still relies on secret bases, but the government makes itself visible. The New Republic continues to be viewed as a feeble government, in its infancy, until the conquest of Coruscant three years after the death of Palpatine.

New Republic Era
From the Conquest of Coruscant in 7 ABY, to the signing of the Pellaeon-Gavrisom Treaty in 19 ABY

The New Republic consistently grows in power, whilst the Empire becomes continually weaker. There are some brief periods of upheaval, in which the Empire surges and becomes a serious threat to the stability of the New Republic, such as the dreaded Thrawn Crisis, or the brief rule of the Reborn Emperor.

This is simultaneously one of the most and least varied periods in Star Wars history. On the one hand, the number of major events which occurred during this period are numerous and interesting. Yet when all is said and done, everything returned to more or less the status quo.

The Empire’s territories steadily shrink during this period, until Fleet Admiral Gilad Pellaeon, as supreme commander of the Empire, with the backing of the Moff Council, signs the Pellaeon-Gavrisom treaty, ending the 21 year Galactic Civil War.

One other major event occurs during this period which will shape the fate of the galaxy through the future: Luke Skywalker establishes his Jedi Praxeum on Yavi IV in the year 11 ABY, officially beginning the training of a new generation of Jedi Knights.

Late New Republic Era
From the signing of the Pellaeon Gavrisom Treaty in 19 ABY to the start of the Yuuzhan Vong War in 25 ABY

Remarkably little has ever been written about this period. Primarily just the children’s books and young adult novels written about the youthful adventures of Han and Leia’s children and their friends. So aside from those relatively minor threats to galactic peace, these few years are a time of relative tranquility in the galaxy.

New Jedi Order Era
From the start of the Yuuzhan Vong War in 25 ABY with the First Battle of Helska, to the end of said war in 29 ABY with the Liberation of Coruscant.

The Yuuzhan Vong invade the galaxy, initiating one of the most brutal and bloody wars in galactic history. The Yuuzhan Vong’s organic technology is, at first, completely invulnerable to any attempts to attack it. Thousands of worlds are conquered by this technology-hating species, and completely reformed to fit the needs of the Yuuzhan Vong. Trillions upon Trillions of beings are killed, and many completely loose hope that anyone can stand against the onslaught.

The New Republic has grown complacent and weak in the years since the treaty with the Empire, and is ill prepared to handle the invasion. It consistently makes major blunders, and eventually loses control of Coruscant to the invading Yuzzhan Vong hordes. After the death of Chief of State Borsk Fey’lya, along with much of the senate, Cal Omas was elected leader of the New Republic. And shortly after the New Republic victory at the Battle of Ebaq 9, it was decided that a new, more united government would be required if the war was to be won.

And so the New Republic was dissolved, and reformed as The Galactic Alliance, which also included the Imperial Remnant, as well as the Hapes Consortium. And, with the cooperation of the Chiss Ascendancy and the Jedi Order, the Galactic Alliance was able to push back the Yuuzhan Vong, defeat their war machine, and make peace with those who remained.

Galactic Alliance Era
From the Liberation of Coruscant in 29 ABY, to the blundered Operation Roundabout in 40 ABY, sparking the Second Galactic Civil War.

This is yet another period of relative calm, like the late New Republic era. The damage done during the Yuuzhan Vong war is never fully undone, but much effort is invested by the Galactic Alliance in trying to soothe the wounds of the war. Finding new homes for a planet’s worth of refugees, and so forth.

Second Galactic Civil War Era
From Operation Roundabout in 40 ABY, to the Battle of Shedu Maad in 41 ABY

The planet Corellia begins to express a lack of satisfaction with Galactic Alliance rule, and talks of succession. The two governments posture at one another, until a series of blunders leads to an all out war between Corellia and the Galactic Alliance. Neither side has the moral high ground in this conflict. More than any war prior to it, the Second Galactic Civil War pits family members against one another.

Guided by Sith teachings, the grandson of Darth Vader, Jacen Solo, gradually assumes power over the Galactic Alliance, and takes the name Darth Caedus for himself. Under his leadership, the Galactic Alliance becomes as loathsome as Palpatine’s empire before it. The Hapes Consortium withdraws from the Galactic Alliance, and the Jedi Order abandons it.

Darth Caedus is killed at the Battle of Shedu Maad by his sister. Natasi Daala is named Chief of State of the Galactic Alliance.

Star Wars: Creating Atmosphere

Atmosphere is essential to creating an authentic Star Wars experience for your players. A good GM knows that atmosphere is important in any game. But Star Wars presents a unique challenge, because the goal isn’t creating an atmosphere which enhances feelings of dread or excitement. The goal is to create a far more specific atmosphere which enhances the illusion that the players are acting out a continuation of the Star Wars films. There’s a certain feel to the Star Wars mythos, one which sets it apart from other internally consistent fictional universes. It’s a dirty, gritty place, yet never a hopeless place. It’s a universe of stark contrasts between good and evil, where even characters who exist as a shade of gray have picked a de facto side.

The West End Games core rulebook for the Star Wars Roleplaying Game (second edition, revised and expanded) has some great tips for creating the Star Wars atmosphere. These are some of my own thoughts on how to enhance that atmosphere.

Used Universe
One of the core principals behind the original Star Wars films was the Used Universe philosophy. Unlike other future-tech media, which was filled with gleaming white, or worse, chrome technology, the Star Wars universe is a dirty patchwork which breaks down half the time. Many other works of fiction, such as Firefly, have adopted the used universe philosophy, and it is arguably the most important part of the Star Wars atmosphere.

Very little in a Star Wars game should look pristine and new. Even the ships of the Imperial Navy should have obvious score marks from battles, off-color hull plates where replacements were added, and corrosion here and there. Outside the Imperial Navy, this should be even worse. The ships of the rebellion, or ships owned by smugglers and pirates, often have multicolored hulls from the numerous replacement hull plates which have been installed over the years. And the interiors should be no better. Things get piled in corridors or empty store rooms, sections of ships might even be completely shut down to save on precious energy if money is tight.

Ancient Universe
Have you ever really thought about the line “For over a thousand generations the Jedi Knights were the guardians of peace and justice in the Old Republic?” That means the old republic must have existed for at 1001 generations. A generation is an imprecise method of describing time, but even by lowballing and saying that one generation is equal to thirty years, we’re talking about a single government which lasted longer than the entire history of human civilization. And before the rise of the Old Republic, there must have been hundreds or thousands more generations of pre-republic history.

Nobody remembers a time before traveling around the universe was commonplace. No planet has a history which is unaffected by the existence of interstellar travel–at least no history which anyone remembers.

That said, it doesn’t mean there are no unexplored planets. And there’s always the unknown regions to provide unknown challenges.

Tactile Universe
The original Star Wars films were made in the late seventies and early eighties, and reflect the technology of the period. In the cockpit of the Millennium Falcon, Han solo flips switches, adjusts levers, and even spins dials. Holograms are grainy and heavily tinted to green or blue, and computer readouts are primitive, to say the least. This can create cognitive dissonance for players who already own technology much more advanced than that seen in Star Wars. The handheld comlink Luke Skywalker uses to tell C-3PO to shut down the garbage masher doesn’t really stand up when it’s compared to a Samsung Galaxy II, or whatever the kids are excited about this week.

This dissonance can be solved somewhat by mixing your tech levels based on the technology being used. Ships and military hardware, for example, should have more tactile controls. Mechanical parts which need to be physically manipulated in order to bring about the desired effect. This can be explained as simpler hardware being more reliable than touch screens and fancy high definition readouts. Don’t be afraid to mix a little bit of high-end future tech in there as well, though. Traditionally, datapads have always been a kind of cross between an e-reader and a TI-85 calculator. But there’s no reason you couldn’t let your players use them as tablet computers.

Fantasy, not Science Fiction
Star Wars should never be confused with science fiction. There’s nothing scientific about it. The distinctive scream of a TIE fighter would never be heard in the vacuum of space, no planet could ever exist as a single biome, lightsabers make no sense, and The Force is magic. A Star Wars GM could never make a bigger mistake than enforcing the laws of science onto the fantastical universe of Star Wars.

That’s all there really is to say on the matter.

Droids Like Their Lot
Stories which take place in space tend to fall into two groups. Either there are no robots, or very very few robots, such as in Firefly or Star Trek. Or robots are omnipresent, but they’re secretly plotting the downfall of humanity, such as in the Terminator or Matrix films. Such stories often place emphasis on the balance between how advanced artificial intelligence has become, and whether humanity has granted civil rights to those artificial intelligences. Personally I take the Speaker For the Dead / Questionable Content position on this issue, but that’s neither here nor there.

In Star Wars, robots (which are always referred to as droids, despite rarely being androids of any kind) are both highly intelligent, and completely content with their subservient position to the organic species of the galaxy. There are a handful of exceptions within Star Wars cannon. IG-88 and 8T88 are both good examples. And, of course, there was the great droid revolution, but that was an isolated incident.

Their contentment with subservience doesn’t mean they’re always docile, or even that they’re content under whichever master currently owns them. More highly intelligent droids can do plenty of grumbling, and R2-D2 is notoriously sarcastic, even with his beloved master Luke. Droids can have very strong personalities, but it’s unlikely that they’ll ever actually turn on their masters without outside interference, such as a malicious hacker (or “slicer” in star wars terminology).

Unique Terminology
A GM who isn’t a devoted Star Wars fan might find this to be more trouble than it is worth, but I for one find the unique terminology of the Star Wars universe to be an important element of immersion. Many things which exist on earth, and also within Star Wars, have alternate names. Paper is Flimsi, Coffee is Caff, and a bar is a Tapcaff. I could create a list of cross-referenced terms (like some kind of English to Star Wars dictionary) and might actually do so at some point, but simply making a point to use the terms you’re already aware of can be helpful.

In the same vein, it’s good to make use of Star Wars’ unique slang and material names. You, like me, may feel that “Bantha Fodder” is a shitty sub-in for the word “shit,” but many of the later novels have done a good job of creating more organic sounding profanity. Words like “Sithspit,” “Stang” or “Karking” have the kind of punch we expect from profanity. Other examples of slang include “Eyeball” for a TIE fighter, “Squint” for a TIE Interceptor, or “Impstar Deuce” for an Imperial Star Destroyer Mark II. And it never hurts to make up your own. Just remember to avoid making up terms which sound as goofy as “Bantha Fodder.”

As a quick example of how helpful this can be, consider this scenario: Your players are rebel commandos. They’re on a transport on their way to a mission. As they come out of Hyperspace, the NPC pilot exclaims:

“Shit! There’s a Star Destroyer out there. Looks like a victory class, and it’s launching TIEs! Man the guns, people!”

There’s nothing wrong with that, but I don’t think it holds up well when compared to a more flavorful exclamation:

“Sithspit! There’s karking Star Destroyer, looks like a Vic. And it’s deploying squints! Get to the quads!”

Star Wars: Movie Hooks

Well, that little break lasted longer than expected. That’s how my self discipline works I suppose. If I give up an inch of my ironclad mental schedule, then my tendency towards laziness will take a mile. Fortunately, my self loathing was really on top of things this time. By the end of my little “vacation” (which caused me to miss all of two posts) I was so frustrated with myself that getting back on top of writing became my only escape from a constant barrage of self recriminations. Go self loathing! About time you started pulling your weight.

As a change of pace, I thought I would end 2011/start 2012 with a week dedicated to my beloved Star Wars D6 RPG by West End Games. As a geek, Star Wars is my specialty, and I have a soft spot for the simple and elegant system designed by West End Games. I’ve been writing about Pathfinder nonstop for months now, but I’ve always imagined this project as one which can be more diverse. Pathfinder is my focus, certainly, but there are so many systems and possibilities out there. It would be a shame not to give them some of my attention.

Today it’s plot hooks! Every adventure needs a starting point. Something to get the players excited about the game they’re playing, and what they’re doing in it. It’s a springboard for the GM to get the action going. You never have more of the player’s attention than you do in the first minute or so of the game, so you’ve got to make it count. With a Star Wars game, GMs have a unique opportunity to hook their players into a game by intersecting that game with one of the three good films. Unless you’ve got a game group full of avid Star Wars fans (in which case, I hate you) it’s likely that your players are somewhat wary of playing in the Star Wars universe. By giving them a touchstone to something they’re familiar with–the films–you help make everyone a little more comfortable and familiar with their surroundings.

Ultimately, how you intersect the films is up to you, but I’ve arranged these according to the methodology which I feel is most appropriate. The idea is for the players to fit into the background of the films. Perhaps someone with a moment of screentime, or someone who was standing just off camera during a specific scene. These characters can then go on to change the course of the entire saga if they want to, but starting your players out as Obi-Wan Kenobi’s ‘other jedi apprentices’ simply strikes me as awkward and masturbatory. Like bad self-insertion fan fiction.

A New Hope

Death Star Plans: Imperial Players who would like to explore the sophistication and grandeur of Palpatine’s New Order can start the game with orders to recover the Death Star plans. Eventually this would intersect with the opening scene of A New Hope, where the Star Destroyer Devestator is giving chase to (and eventually capturing) the rebel blockade runner Tantive IV. When the plans are not found (having been hidden with R2-D2) the Imperial players can continue down to the planet, and continue following the plan’s trail. Particularly successful players may be able to capture the plans before they eventually reach the rebels, stopping the destruction of the Death Star. The rebellion would be a great deal weaker after losing the Battle of Yavin, but that wouldn’t mean they couldn’t still pose a threat for your players to fight against!

If you were so inclined, you could start the quest even earlier, with the players on the planet Danuta following Kyle Katarn’s theft of the plans–a classic moment in the Star Wars continuity, and more well known than many other stories from the Expanded Universe (EU).

Death Star Plans: Alliance If your group prefers the more traditional route of playing as rebels, the Death Star plans can still provide impetus for gameplay. In the film, when Darth Vader and the Devestator capture princess Leia and the Tantive IV, the rebellion’s leadership has every reason to suspect that they’ve been compromised. Not only have the Death Star plans been (supposedly) recovered, but an important leader has been identified and captured by the enemy. As much respect as anyone might have for Leia, can they really trust that she wont betray the Yavin IV base when subjected to torture?

So the rebel leadership is faced with two problems. First, they must find a way to counter the Death Star. Such a weapon is too devastating to be ignored, even in the face of massive setbacks. Likely this would mean formulating a new plan to re-acquire the schematics for the station. But after the destruction of Alderaan, they may feel that it is worth the risk to attempt smuggling operatives onto the Death Star itself to destroy it from within. Secondly, the rebellion needs to find a new base, which I’ll discuss more below.

New Base: Alliance Regardless of how events transpire, it is highly likely that the Rebellion’s Yavin IV base is compromised. Whether it’s simply assumed due to Princess Leia’s capture, or whether the Empire follows the tracking device planted on the Millennium Falcon, one way or another, the rebels need a new home. Eventually this new home will be Hoth, as seen in Empire Strikes Back. However, GMs could run some very interesting exploration games where the players are rebel scouts, looking for suitable planets for the rebellion to hide on. Hoth is remote, and has the benefit of per-existing structures for the rebels to use, but if players find something better, that could change the course of the saga.

There’s a lot of benefit to this hook. First, it presents an opportunity for the players to make a significant contribution to the story immediately. That ability to have a real impact on events is rarely so clearly spelled out, and players like to feel as though the outcome changes based on their actions. That’s what we call Player Agency. Second, the possibilities are wide open for the type of adventure you could run. First players need to figure out where to go, which allows them to pick from a number of options. Then the players need to get there, which provides an opportunity for space-based adventure. Once the players arrive, they’ll need to scout the area, giving the GM plenty of opportunity to create all manner of conflict. Since the players will want to find a planet with existing facilities for the rebellion to use, you could even use that as an opportunity to include a dungeon delving-esque adventure.

Bounty on Solo: Bounty Hunters Rebels and Imperials are not the only types of characters players enjoy. Thanks to the popularity of characters like Boba Fett, some people view playing as a bounty hunter is the best part of the Star Wars universe. Considering the sizable bounty placed on Han Solo’s head by Jabba the Hutt, players may be very interested to hear (or better yet: witness) Solo’s cold blooded murder of Greedo in a little tapcaf on Tatoine.

Sand Crawler: Droids I don’t have many ideas regarding this, but if you’re GMing for a party of droid characters, they could all meet up on the Sand Barge where R2-D2 and C-3PO are reunited.You might even bend the plot of the story a bit by having R2 entrust one of your players with the Death Star plans, and the task of taking them to Obi-Wan Kenobi

The Empire Strikes Back

Hoth Escape: Alliance After the battle of Hoth the rebellion is completely routed. The surprise attack on their hidden base left them scrambling to escape, taking massive losses during one of the most exciting and memorable battles in any of the films. There’s a reason this encounter has been repeated ad-nausea in almost every Star Wars video game ever released, and it’s a perfect place to jump into the game as Alliance players.

Right off the bat, players are faced with the deadly battle against the invading imperial force. The group could start the game in the trenches, then fall back as the Stormtroopers press further into the base. Or if the players prefer, they could be pilots, zipping about in agile air speeders, trying desperately to figure out how to take down the towering imperial AT-ATs. But Hoth is a losing battle, and any combat is merely to provide cover to allow time for other rebel personnel to load transports and begin the escape. The players who survive (which, given the fatality rates in the Star Wars game, probably won’t be all of them) must then escape from the planet themselves. If they’re pilots, this can be even more exciting than the battle below. If they’re not, then they’ll be huddled in the belly of a rebel transport, hoping they don’t get blown out of the sky.

Vader’s Task: Bounty Hunters A short, but memorable scene in Empire Strikes Back is shortly after the battle of Hoth, when Darth Vader meets with a group of bounty hunters and tasks them with finding the Millennium Falcon. The scene introduces Boba Fett, and includes the now infamous “No disintegration” line. There was actually a whole book about it called “Tales of the Bounty Hunters,” which was remarkably good. But I digress. The major problem with this hook, of course, is that most players will already know that Han Solo is on his way to cloud city. None the less, there’s some opportunity for a good game here.

Occupy Cloud City: Any During Empire Strikes Back, Cloud City is occupied by the Empire. This becomes particularly problematic at the end of the film when the Empire’s occupation becomes permanent. Cloud City is a mining outpost, but it’s also a haven for smugglers, gamblers, and manner of riff raff. There are doubtless even some rebels amongst the populace. The frantic escape from Cloud City doesn’t give the game much direction, but it’s a fun and interesting way to tie your game into the film.

Return of the Jedi

Free At Last: Any Jabba the Hutt was a powerful crime lord. Head of the powerful Desilijic crime family of Hutts, his underworld power was matched only by Prince Xizor of Black Sun. In his Tatooine palace, he had any number of droids, slaves, mercenaries, bounty hunters, and other hangers-on around him at all times. His death would have caused a frantic scramble either to escape from the fallout of a collapsing criminal empire, or to try and claim a piece of that empire.

Players who don’t mind playing as villains may even be interested in starting the game earlier, and having an opportunity to prevent Han from being rescued by his friends. Or, if the players wish to start out as slaves, perhaps they help the heroes escape Jabba’s sail barge, and follow them to join the rebellion.

Assault on the Death Star: Rebels The most impressive space battle in the entire trilogy, in my most humble opinion, is the fight to destroy the second Death Star at the end of Return of the Jedi. After the fleet jumps in-system, players will need to fight tooth and nail just to survive while the shield remains staunchly in place. And once the shield is down, small craft can dive into the structure of the massive space station, and perhaps join Tycho Celchu on his ‘merry chase through the Death Star.‘

Assault on the Shield Generator: Rebels If players aren’t particularly interested in space combat (and in fairness, it can be tricky to pull off well) then the action on the ground of Endor is another great place to start. Particularly if one of your players wants to be an Ewok. The conflict on the ground is long, and comes in multiple phases, which provides good structure to the adventure. First the characters must use stealth as they avoid Imperial scouts as they make their way to the generator, then they must fight to get in. Once in, it’s revealed that the whole thing was a trap, and they must fight against insurmountable odds to accomplish their mission. If the players in the game manage to be more skilled than the characters in the film, then the destruction of the Death Star may even go a great deal more smoothly, perhaps leading to promotions for the PCs, and more dangerous missions in the future!

Spicing Up The Battlemat: Deserts

I’ve never liked deserts. Even when I was a kid, I found stories which take place in deserts to be pretty boring. The character is thirsty, the character is hot, it’s cold at night, boom. Deserts. Of course, I’m aware that deserts have their own forms of diversity. Geological formations in deserts can be quite mysterious and beautiful, and the types of creatures with the ability to survive in such harsh environments are often fascinating to learn about. Despite that, I still don’t find deserts all that enjoyable. It’s a bias of mine. Cold deserts are a little more interesting to me, but those will not be covered in this post.

But you can’t just send your PCs through forests all the time. Sure there are idyllic forests, creepy forests, dense forests, sparse forests, coniferous forests and deciduous forests, forested mountains, and forested planes. But for some reason, players eventually get tired of trees, and you need to throw in something else. Eventually that something else ought to be a desert. In all likelihood, since we are playing Pathfinder, that desert is going to produce a creature which is going to try to kill your players. And unless you’re fine with all of your desert combat occurring within a featureless box with a desert painted on the background, you’ll need to find some way for the environment to become a factor in combat.

The problem is that in many ways, deserts are featureless boxes. The box just extends further than the eye can see in every direction. None the less, there are a number of ways in which the players can use the environment to their advantage, and ways in which the environment can betray them.

Sand

Blinding Attack If movies have taught us anything about sand, it’s that sand makes for a good quick blinding attack. (if movies have taught us a another thing about sand, it’s that people are softer than it.) If players want to throw sand in their opponent’s eyes, you can treat it as a ranged touch attack (range of 5ft.) which can be performed from a prone position. If the target is wearing any kind of full eye covering, the attack fails. Success causes the target to be dazed for one round. Bear in mind, as GM, that most creatures which evolved in a a desert will have better protection against this kind of attack than most humans would, and may not be susceptible to it.

Blinding Wind Deserts are often very windy, and that wind tends to pick up sand and carry it around the battlefield. This effectively functions as the blinding attack noted above, but against all players facing a certain direction. How often this effect occurs is entirely dependent on what the whether is like. If the characters are fighting during a sandstorm, then any time they open they’re eyes they’re going to get hit by the dazed effect. More likely, though, players will need to deal with either a consistent wind, or a sputtering breeze.

—Consistent Wind: The wind is coming from a single direction. If this wind is not present and defined before combat begins, roll 1d8. A result of 1 means the wind is coming from the side of the battlemat opposite your position at the table, or “north.” A result of 2 means the wind is coming from the “top right” corner of the battlemat, or “north east.” Results continue in a clockwise fashion around the battlemat. The GM may, at any time, roll 1d6. A result of 1-2 means the wind shifts one “space” in a clockwise direction (West becomes South West, East becomes North East, etc). A result of 3-4 means the wind remains the same. A result of 5-6 means the wind shifts one space counter clockwise. Any players facing against the wind without eye protection must succeed on a reflex save DC: 16 or become dazed for one round. Players facing a direction which is only one space off from the wind direction are allowed a reflex save DC: 13 to avoid becoming dazed for one round. Note that since Pathfinder does not include a facing mechanic, facing must be determined based on the direction in which the player performed their last action. If the player wishes to turn in their space, treat it as a swift action which provokes an attack of opportunity to any enemy the player turns their back towards.

—Sputtering Breeze At the start of each round the GM rolls to see if there will be a gust of wind this round. There is a base 20% chance (which can be raised or lowered depending on the current weather patterns, but should never be above 50%) that the battlefield will be affected by a gust of wind this turn. If there is a gust, roll 1d8 to determine which direction the wind is coming from as noted above. The effects of the breeze are as noted above under Consistent Wind.

Poor Footing Sand makes for poor footing, particularly when moving up and down the sides of dunes. Any characters not intimately familiar with desert environments suffer a -2 penalty to their CMB and CMD for any combat maneuver which requires them to have firm footing (resisting a bull rush, tripping, charging.) This penalty rises to -4 if the character is standing on a particularly loose area of sand, such as the steep side of a dune. In such an instance, the character also loses their dexterity bonus to AC.

Gets Everywhere Sand gets blown around so much, and is so fine, that it can get into anything. And if enough of it gets into a mechanical device, odds are that device will stop working. If your game includes guns, these would be particularly susceptible to this danger. But any number of devices which rely on moving parts could be at risk. Clocks, locks, or even crossbows! Players can avoid this trouble by wrapping their equipment and keeping it protected, but if they fail to do so, then they risk a 5% failure chance in the first two days, a 10% failure chance for the rest of the first week, a 20% chance the second week, a 30% chance the third week, and so on. For guns, these numbers would likely double. Fortunately for bowers, crossbows are relatively simple, and a standard action to clean out the sand in the triggering mechanism should be enough to restore the device to working order.

Just Beneath the Surface The wind over a sandy desert covers up anything quickly. It would be essentially impossible to actually track something through the sand. It would be be similarly impossible to see anything buried just beneath the sand. If foes are springing a trap on the PCs, they could easily have tripwires beneath the sand which would be impossible to detect. Weapons could also be hidden just under the surface of the sand to give the appearance that a group was unarmed. Sand could even hide a trap door with ease, allowing GMs to prepare deadly ambushes where additional foes can spring forth from the sand itself.

Dune Collapse Sand dunes form in a “wave” formation, with one gently sloping side which the wind blows over, and one steep side which is blocked from the wind. Dunes can grow quite large, and oftentimes, quite precariously balanced. A sudden change of wind can potentially cause a dune to collapse towards the steep side. This would have similar effects to an avalanche (Pathfinder Core Rulebook Page 429)

Detritus

Underfoot As noted in the Pathfinder Core Rulebook, hot deserts are not always endless wastelands of nothing but sand. Stones, sometimes a lot of them, often litter the landscape of a desert. Occasionally, even extremely resilient shrubs can manage to survive in the harsh desert landscape. So light undergrowth, light rubble, and dense rubble are all possibilities in a desert environment. See the Pathfinder Core Rulebook page 430 for more information on that.

Bones Perhaps it was once a large native creature, such as a blue dragon. Or maybe it was a pack animal brought here by travelers, or simply a wild creature who became lost. It could even be the remains of a creature who died here when this desert was lush and green. Wherever it came from, and whatever the cause of death, all that remain now are bones stripped clean of any meat by the persistent winds. While small creature’s bones may only be good for improvised weapons, the skeletal remains of a blue dragon or dinosaur could potentially provide a good vantage point for archers, or just an interesting environment in which to fight. Hopefully the players don’t try to use it as a landmark, however, since the nature of a shifting sea of sand is that it will sometimes completely conceal the presence of these bones under a dune of sand.

Geological Formations
Big rocks are, without a doubt, the coolest thing about deserts. The unique element of sand constantly being blown around seems to create an environment where literally any kind of rock formation imaginable can theoretically be produced. The sheer level of variety makes it impossible to discuss in any meaningful way. Instead, here are a number of photographs of interesting desert rock formations. Let your imagination run wild here. Click any of the thumbnails for larger versions.

Not to sound like an advertisement, but if you like the options which a hot desert environment provides, and would like to run a session or even a campaign in a desert environment, you might consider picking up Sandstorm. It’s one of the better Dungeons and Dragons 3.5 supplement, and it manages to retain most of its relevance in the Pathfinder system. The only reason it was cut from my recent list is because I thought it would be odd to mention it without the other “Environment Books” (Frostburn, Cityscape, etc), which I don’t yet own and have not read. The book contains a lot of great information on running sessions in a dry desert, as well as some really cool desert monsters and specific locations to adventure in. I’ve wanted to find a use for the “Dry Lich” monster for ages. Now that I’ve got myself all hyped up to give deserts a try, I just might get a chance…

Obfuscation Through Volume

GM: After falling through the floor above, you land about 10 feet below. As the dust settles, you see that you’re in a simple stone room which appears to have been used in the recent past as a large creature’s den. There are bones scattered about, and a nest of some kind in the corner. The walls in the South East corner have been knocked away, and a ten foot wide tunnel extends beyond them. To the north is a simple iron door.
Lirnef: If we just fell into the nest of the Forest Serpent, then we need to get out of here. We barely escaped that last encounter. Lets head out the door.
GM: Does the party agree to exit through the door?
*Party nods*
GM: What’s your marching order?
*Party looks amongst themselves*
Merrag: Sedger, you have the most HP. I think I have spell to boost your saving throw prepared, let me cast that.
Sedger: Alright, I think I’m ready. I open the door.
GM: When you place your hand on the door’s handle-
Sedger: Woah, woah! I didn’t say I put my hand on the handle.
GM: Then how did you plan to open it?
Sedger: I kicked it open.
*GM facepalms*
GM: You…kick it open?
Sedger: Yup.
GM: Well since you didn’t turn the latch, you’ll need to roll a strength check.
*dice clatter*
Sedger: 28!
GM: The door falls inwards. The poison dart trap in the handle fires impotently into the stone wall.

Every GM is familiar with the scenario above. It is our bane, but sometimes we must ask questions which allows the players to easily infer some knowledge which they shouldn’t know. As GMs grow more experienced, they learn ways to counteract the most common of these questions. Marching orders can be established at the start of the dungeon, requiring players to speak up beforehand if they think they’d like to change it. And common actions, like opening doors, are performed using common methods unless the players specify otherwise in advance. Yet the problem remains. Even players who try to avoid metagaming don’t want their characters to get hurt, and if the GM tips his or her hand with a poorly timed question, who can blame a player for taking advantage of that?

A few years ago, I scrolled down below the Goblins comic to read Thunt’s blog. Normally his blog is just comic news, convention news, life news, things like that. But on this particular day, it was a collection of dungeon mastering tricks which had worked for him in the past. Unfortunately, there’s not really a good navigation for the blog part of the site, and google isn’t turning up the specific entry I remember, so I can’t link to the original. In the post he mentioned an idea which has stuck with me: the problem of a GM’s questions providing players with unintended information can be solved by asking ‘useless’ questions.

As an example, lets imagine that a player who wields a sword and shield is leading the group through a door. After failing a stealth check earlier, the orcs on the other side of that door, which the players don’t know about, have been alerted to their presence. As soon as the door opens, a half dozen orcish bows will fire arrows at whoever is standing in front. Since the lead player’s shield will have a strong impact on how many of those arrows hit him, the GM might ask “What do you do with your sword and shield when you open the door? You’ll need at least one free hand to grasp the latch.” This is the kind of question which any competent player will recognize as indicative of something unusual going on. That doesn’t mean the players will always make the right choice. The lead player may decide that their sword will be important as soon as he or she opens the door, and will tell the GM that they set down their shield. Or they might also choose to stand to the side of the door, and open it from a covered position. The problem isn’t the choice they make, but rather, the fact that those choices are informed by information they shouldn’t have.

Now consider the same scenario. Sword & Board leader, door, orcs with arrows, and the question. But this time, imagine that the GM had been asking simple questions at many of the previous doors as well. Not all of them, and not always the same question either. Three doors ago the GM had asked which hand was used to open the door. Two doors before that, the GM said the the door was just slightly stuck, and asked how the player wanted to apply additional force to get it open. There had also been that wooden door, when the GM wanted to know whether the players opened it inward, or outward. None of those doors had anything special behind them, and at this point the players don’t expect there to be. So this time, the player won’t set down their shield because they think they’ll need their sword more, nor do they stand to the side of the door and open it from cover because they’re worried about traps. The player does whatever seems the most reasonable, which is precisely what you want them to do. Not because you want them to fail or to succeed, but because you want your players to experience the game without outside influences.

Asking questions like this has an added benefit as well. In addition to obscuring a GM’s important questions, asking players to describe how their character perform simple actions gets the players thinking the way their character would. I can imagine that after a few sessions, players might even start offering some information without being asked, if they feel they may be in danger. So even the ‘useless’ questions aren’t entirely without value.

I’ve put together some examples of situations where the GM might ask questions, along with a selection of different questions to ask so you don’t start to sound like a broken record. Bear in mind that most of the time, only one of these questions should be asked at a time, and not every time the action is performed. The goal is to ask often enough that your players don’t read into your questions, but not so often that you slow down the game.

Opening a door or chest

  • What do you do with the items in your hand while you open it?
  • Do you open it particularly quickly or slowly?
  • It is somewhat stuck and does not open immediately. [Then, if the player decides to apply more force] How do you go about forcing the door open?
  • Which hand do you use to open it?
  • It opens both inwards and outwards. Which way do you open it?
  • Do you step through/reach in as soon as it is open?
  • It is particularly heavy and requires more strength than one hand. How do you apply greater strength?

Moving into or through a new area

  • Do you look back to see if there’s anything on the walls you just passed?
  • Do you walk through the light entering in through the cracks high on the wall?
  • How close to the statue do you walk?
  • [If the players indicate a door they would like to exit through, or object they would like to inspect] What is your path through the room?

An inventory item is used

  • [If the item is small] Where do you keep this item on your person?
  • [If the item is large, or if the previous question was answered “it’s in my pack.”] How do you remove it from your bag?
  • Do you need to take other items out of your pack to get to it?
  • How many of those do you have left?
  • [For potions] What do you do with the container once you’ve used the potion?

An object is touched or picked up

  • Which hand do you use to touch it with?
  • Are you wearing gloves?
  • Are you touching/grabbing it more gently, or more forcefully?
  • Do you look at it first, or do you place it immediately into storage on your person/in your pack.
  • Do you let the other party members see it?

Crossing a bridge

  • How far apart do you walk from one another?
  • How quickly do you cross the bridge?
  • [For a rope bridge] When the bridge sways, do you stop and hold on, or continue walking?
  • Where do you direct your eyes? At the other side,or at your feet?

Walking down a corridor

  • [If the corridor is wider than 5ft] This corridor is wide enough for you to walk two abreast. Do you, or do you walk single file?
  • Are you making an effort to move particularly cautiously or quietly? If so, what precautions are you taking?
  • Are you testing for traps with your 10ft pole?
  • Do you attempt to break up cobwebs before walking through them, or do you just ignore them?
  • Do you try to shield yourself from the water dripping from the ceiling?
  • Is the bard humming?
  • Are you paying any particular attention to the architecture?

Setting up camp for the night

  • Do you make a fire?
  • Do you cook any food, or just eat trail rations?
  • Do you leave the campfire burning while you sleep, or not?
  • Are you keeping watch? If so, what is the watch order?
  • Is anyone with abilities requiring 8 hours rest (Wizard, Cleric, etc) part of the watch rotation?
  • Do you leave your food out, or do you pack it away before you go to sleep?
  • Are you sleeping around the fire, or within a tent?
  • What direction does the tent face?
  • What are the sleeping arrangements?
  • Are you sleeping with your armor off, or will you take the exhaustion penalties tomorrow?
  • About what time do you decide to go to sleep?
  • Do you explore the area around the campsite at all before settling down?

Breaking down camp in the morning

  • Does the Wizard / Cleric wake up earlier than everyone else to prepare their spells, or do they wake up with the others and make them wait?
  • What time do you wake up?
  • Do you put out the fire before you leave?
  • Do you attempt to conceal your campsite at all?
  • Do you have breakfast before you leave?
  • What time do you wake up, and how long before you set out?

Looking for something in a city, or “asking around”

  • What types of places do you go to ask about/find what you’re looking for?
  • Do you attempt to bribe anyone?
  • How open are you in your questioning?
  • How do you phrase your questions?
  • To you tell people your name?
  • Do you tell anyone that what you’re seeking is urgent, or of great importance?
  • Do you lie to people to get answers if necessary?
  • Do you speak to anyone in a guard’s uniform?

And one final note. The paradigm example of this problem is the perception check. The GM asks players for a perception check to see if they notice something, and the players roll low. But since players aren’t dumb, they know that the GM’s announcement that they didn’t notice anything only means that whatever is out there is too stealthy for them. This problem is easily solved by making note of each character’s perception skill, and rolling in secret behind the GM screen, without any announcements in the first place. I sometimes roll meaningless rolls and glance at the result just so my players won’t come to associate unannounced die rolls with missed checks.

Puzzling Obstructions

A Pathfinder GM has any number of time tested challenges to present his players. The most common is combat, but to focus on combat exclusively is to lose much of the flavor which makes fantasy role playing so entertaining. Bargaining with an NPC, planning a raid, exploring the wilderness, crossing a river of magma, or any one of innumerable challenges can be utilized by a skilled GM to provide players with engaging games that keep them coming back to your table for more. One of the most maligned, and most poorly implemented, types of challenge is a puzzle.

I’d like to define precisely what I do, and what I do not mean by ‘puzzle’ before proceeding further. Note that these are not common definitions, simply terms which I find useful to facilitate clarity of discussion.

An obstacle is anything which hinders a character’s progress towards a goal. A lock would be a very basic example of an obstacle.

An obstruction is a simple, or even natural, type of obstacle. Obstructions are general-purpose, and likely identical to any number of similar obstructions of the same type. Examples of obstructions would be locked doors, walls, pits, or even most traps.

A puzzle is a more elaborate form of obstacle than an obstruction. It is almost always created by an intelligent force, and is likely unique in its design. Examples of puzzles would be riddles, a door which only opens when four statues in a room are turned to face each other, or a box with no visible lid which opens only when submerged in holy water.

Puzzles are some of the most difficult obstacles to manage successfully, and should be used sparingly. In fact, a great many GMs I’ve spoken with over the years believe that puzzles should be considered verboten. And they have an excellent point! Puzzles can stop a game in its tracks. Almost by definition, puzzles have only a single answer. So instead of the players attempting to concoct their own solution (a great strength of tabletop RPGs) they’re attempting to figure out what the GM’s solution is. And if they get stuck when trying to figure that out, then the progress of the game can come to a screeching halt. And that’s when people start looking for a new GM.

But I hold that puzzles have their place. Maybe it’s it’s simply because the early Legend of Zelda games are near and dear to my heart. No dungeon, temple, or crypt seems quite complete without a puzzle. Recently I ran a game where the players faced several puzzles crafted for them as a test by a master illusionist. All of the puzzles challenged my players, without becoming game-stoppers. I’ll use those puzzles as examples.

Puzzle The First

GM says: “You enter what appears to be a small grassy field within the tower. The walls and ceiling are made of dirt, and a dirt path at the far end of the room leads down. There are [number equal to the number of characters present] horses present, docilely grazing.”

Additional Information: The horses were very friendly, and could be ridden easily. If any character attempted to walk down the dirt path, they were asked to make a reflex save. Failure meant they fell into the path as though it were water. A round later they fell out of the walls or ceiling of the room, taking one point of damage. After one player did this, the voice of the wizard filled the room with “Your feet won’t work there! You’ll need these!” and as he speaks, clovers sprout from the grassy ground.

Intended Solution: The players were supposed to ride the horses down the dirt path. If they did, they would suffer no adverse affects. The clovers were a hint about cloven feet, but if they’d strapped the clovers to their feet somehow, I would have allowed them a half-success. They would sink up to their waist, and be able to slog their way down the ramp. I also would have accepted simply jumping off the edge, down to the bottom of the ramp. Though though as it was a 20ft drop, falling damage would apply if they didn’t make a successful acrobatics check.

What they did: My players were, at first, very wary of the horses. Just outside the tower they had been dealing with a stampede of horses, and didn’t want to get thrown off another raging horse. They did attempt to walk down the ramp, and triggered the hint. Someone suggested strapping the clovers to their feet, but before anyone tried that, one of my players decided to mount a horse and go for it. It worked, so everyone followed suit. The entire puzzle took perhaps 3-5 minutes to solve.

Puzzle The Second

GM Says: “This is a small room with a stone floor. There is a line on the floor ten feet away from a door opposite where you entered. The line is painted on a single, long piece of stone, and beneath it is written in common ‘You must stand behind this line to open the door.‘”

Additional Information: The stone which the line is printed on is 12ft long, and loose. Characters can pry it up easily, and beneath it is a 15ft coil of rope. The door is on on hinges which allow it to open both in or out. Pushing on the door while between the line and the door will be next to impossible. However, the door will open easily to even small amounts of force, so long as the originator of that force is behind the line.

Intended Solution: None, really. Though I did have three expectations of how the puzzle might be solved: The 12ft long piece of stone might be used to push the door open, the rope might be tied to the door, and pulled from behind the line. Or, alternatively, the players might throw heavy objects (or even each other) at the door.

What they did: My players really surprised me with this one. Rather than doing what I expected them to do, they first tried to open the door by taking the rope they found beneath the stone, and laying it out right next to the door, then trying to push the door open. When this didn’t work, they tried the same thing, but this time they moved the stone with the line on it. Given the way I worded the rules, I decided that this should work, and allowed them to open the door. However, if I had decided that the line was somehow intangibly tied to its original spot, I think my players still would have figured the puzzle out promptly. This one was quick. Perhaps 2 minutes tops.

Puzzle The Third

GM Says: “There are 5 buckets hanging on the wall with labels on them. Each apparently has a different color of paint in it–red, blue, green, yellow, and black. Across the small room from the entrance is a plain door.

Additional Information: Behind the door is a stone wall. However, when the door is painted, opening it creates a portal based on the color used. The color/portal associations are as follows: Red opens a portal to the doorway the PC’s entered this room through, Blue successfully allows the PCs to progress to the next room, Green opens a portal to the first layer of hell, yellow causes those who pass through the portal to simply come back out of the portal again, and black opens into space looking down on the planet (a wall of force stops any air, or players, from going through the black door.) The labels describe these locations, but are written in gnomish (the language of the illusionist who created this trial). This was intended as a hint to the illusionist’s identity. He had thus far presented himself as a 9-ft tall humanoid.

Intended Solution: To paint the door blue.

What they did: My players probably struggled with this one the most. I probably should have provided better clues. Rather than paint the door, they painted the stone wall behind the door, but I decided to allow it. It took them perhaps 5 or 6 minutes to progress past here.

Puzzle The Fourth

GM says: “There are three iron doors exiting this room. High on the wall is a window made of grass. A green light filters into the room, the blades of grass creating a collage of lines and edges over every surface the light touches. In the center of the room is a large lens mounted on two axes so it can be turned in any direction. It is presently focusing a small beam of light onto the floor, warping the lines and edges created by the grass window’s light.”

Additional Information: All three doors open easily, with no trouble. This is the first puzzle the players encountered which was truly dangerous, as two of the doors led to particularly deadly traps, the natures of which are not important to the puzzle. If the characters examine the area of distorted light, they will notice that the lines & edges of the light form the word “look” in common. Directing the lens toward the doors will identify them either as “Death” or “Forward.”

Intended Solution: To go through the door which reads “Forward” when the light is directed at it.

What They Did: I must confess, my memory is somewhat fuzzy on precisely how this final puzzle played out. I do recall that they were somewhat confused by the lens at first, but they did notice that it said “look.” (I allowed them a passive perception check to notice it.) After that they made the leap to directing the lens at the doors, and found the correct way out easily. The entire process was brief, perhaps 2-4 minutes.

I view all four of these puzzles as successes. The players enjoyed themselves, and had some good discussion about what solutions they should attempt. Up until that point, these players had participated in sessions which focused on exploration and combat, so it was a good way to give them a new type of challenge. As mentioned before, setting up a good puzzle can be extremely difficult, so it’s important to proceed with caution if you’re planning to use one. While hardly exhaustive, I find these tips very useful in designing my puzzles.

  • Puzzles should almost never be required for progression through the adventure, and if they are, they should be easier than normal. You might notice that the four above puzzles were in fact required for progression, since the characters were after the illusionist for help. But neither were any of them particularly difficult to sole, and I was flexible with my solutions. If you do make solving a puzzle a necessary, then you risk the players becoming stuck. And if they get stuck, the GM is left with two options. One, the GM can give them out-of-character help, or somehow allow them to bypass the puzzle. This steals player agency, and makes players feel as though they’re being railroaded. The other option is simply to allow them to remain stuck for as long as it takes, even long after they’ve lost interest. Both responses suck the fun out of a game. Since the GM is the fun facilitator (or the funcilitator!), sucking the fun out of a game is a pretty severe failure of GMing.
  • Make sure there are clear hints to help players succeed. Looking at the puzzles above, the first one had the four leaf clovers, the second had its conditions spelled out, and the fourth had the spot of light which formed the word “look.” Only the third puzzle lacked a clear hint, and that was the puzzle which stymied the players longest.
  • Allow “half solutions” which help the players get there. If the players try something that doesn’t work, they’ll rarely attempt subtle permutations of what they’ve already tried. So if they attempt a solution which is close to the answer, but not quite, then after they fail they’re likely to try something completely different, rather than try something similar to what has already not worked. If the solution your players come up with is near the mark, give them some indication of that. If it’s a door they’re trying to open, have the door open just a crack, but no further. In the first puzzle above, I would have allowed players to have some success by putting the clovers on their feet, even though this was not the “correct” answer.
  • What is obvious to you as the designer of the puzzle will never be as obvious to the players as those challenged by the puzzle. This rule is absolute. Err on the side of caution. It’s better that your puzzles be too easy, than too hard.
  • In order to help with that previous point, confer with a third party before the game. Asking a friend who won’t be playing in the game to solve your puzzle will give you a better sense of what works and what doesn’t.