I quite like writing in Word. It feels fully featured and does everything I need it to. Mike Mearls in his Happy Fun Hour writes in Word, and if it’s good enough for him it should be for all of us. However, it’s quite wonderful having your content look like a Player’s Handbook cutout.
There’s a website called the Homebrewery which lets you do that really well.
However, there’s an even nerdier way of doing it.
Today I updated my Merchants supplement to be written with LaTeX using a template from Evan Bergeron (and the other contributors) on GitHub. On a slightly less nerdy point, I’ve no idea how to write LaTeX. So, I had to turn to Overleaf which provides a simple UI for it.
It’s a good place to properly store your progress (with a perfect revision history), keep all your images and other files together, and collaborate on the files Google Drive style with other people. Nothing is locked in either – I push all my projects to GitHub just via the UI.
It takes a while to end up in a good TRPG group. If you’re lucky you have a group of friends and can persuade them to run a game with you. Often though, your friends just aren’t that into it, or aren’t into it enough to satiate your appetite. That’s when people end up at their local Meetup.com group. From this point the ‘quality’ of gamer is a mixed bag ranging from ultra-conservative rules lawyers to hyperactive murder hobos and tyrannical DMs.
Eventually though, and I hope this happens before you burn out, all these people – like you, the sane ones – will come together (fleeing their past groups) and make a very sensible game. Good players, smart characters, all of you involved in the world your DM is unravelling.
So, there you are, enjoying Faerun or Tal’Dorei when you come across a minion of the Big Bad. Finally! A lead! You grasp at the chance to gain a little more information about your villain. Your first couples of rolls are a bit so-so though, and not much information is gained. For all your yelling at him, he’s staying tight lipped. This is the situation my group found itself in recently.
I’d decided we had gotten all we could from this guy. He was at our mercy, we’d scared him enough. Our rogue felt differently. He first asked, “is there a bucket of water around?” It was an odd question that the DM narrowed his eyes at and said there was. The rogue then described holding his blade in one hand and the ganger’s ear in the other…
I’m unsure how everyone else around the table was feeling but personally I was wondering if we wanted to turn into a group that role plays this sort of thing. Totally ignoring the considerations of in-character morality, do I want to sit at a table with a bunch of guys ogling over a torture scene?
No, of course not. I’ve been with this group for well over a year now, playing weekly. Our humour has never centred around that type of gameplay. So, I felt safe saying, “how about we skip this scene and just say we roughed him up a little more?” (We still got a fairly detailed map out of the whole thing.)
I don’t blame the guy for trying this out. If it were a different game – a darker game like Shadow of the Demon Lord – maybe I’d feel different. Pushing these social boundaries is the only way to find out where they are. As one of the good, receptive players, our rogue picked up on the hint and dialled it back. He’d discovered our boundary. Paying attention to the table, and not just the DM, is vital to see everyone’s comfort levels.
Maybe there’s an official Code of Conduct for the Meetup group, but I have not read it, and don’t care for it beyond the obvious “don’t be a jerk”. A written code might come from an innocent place but may well be restrictive to the ambiance of certain stories.
I play on-and-off with three different groups and the boundaries in each are very different. A curse word in one group might drop like a deadweight, but the same word in another goes unashamed and even adding enough emphasis to add advantage to an Intimidation check. Generic codes of conducts don’t work from table to table. They should be prodded into shape by the people around them, changing and evolving with the group.
A natural, and concerning, conclusion to this method of self-regulation between tables is groups full of no-holds barred depravity. The good news is this isn’t something I’ve ever witnessed. There’s a certain cringe-worthiness that comes with those scenes which prevents most socially-minded creatures from roleplaying, especially whilst staring into the eyes of their friends.
If you do find yourself in such a group, you’re within your rights to ask them to tone it down – if someone is getting carried with an amorous NPC try interjecting with “and then we fade to black!”. I’ve seen this work at least twice. It diffuses the tension with a laugh and is a subtle nod to your boundaries.
The conventional wisdom here is to talk to the player after the game. I don’t know about you, but I’d find that far to awkward. Nip it in the bud as soon as it happens. With humour and grace, if possible.
If they still don’t get the message, and don’t adjust their boundaries, you may have to stand up and find another table. This sucks but you may have found yourself where your boundaries don’t align with the rest of the group. This isn’t a failing on your part – you’re probably a fine player. It was a failure of the group; either they should listen to your (even subtle) signs of discomfort or they mis-advertised their group to you before the start of the game. Of course, there’s a place for groups who want to be a little more edgy, but the onus is on them to let new players know before-hand.
Everyone has a right to feel comfortable at a gaming table. It’s all of our jobs to make sure that happens.
I’m going to share with you something which might shake you to your very core: when playing Dungeons and Dragons, you can steal from whatever books you like. Think further than Tolkien, and much further than the core rulebooks. Unless intellectual property lawyers have infiltrated your party, you have free reign over all books, comics, and music ever written. (On the off chance that Tom, who sometimes wears a tie to games, is an undercover operative from the Random House legal team, I think you may well get off lightly.)
Published adventures especially need some variation from what’s in the book, to stop them being single-serving stories. There’s no reason why you can’t play Lost Mines once a year, so long as you have added something interesting.
When people like Matt Colville say to just read the first and last chapters of a published adventure and then do what you like with the middle, or Chris Perkins tells you to make the adventure your own, they’re not suggesting you do that within the rigid confines of Forgotten Realms. They mean go and liberally steal, add a saucy twist, and run with it. There’s no need for your sauce to be homemade either.
I just finished reading Terry Pratchett’s The Colour of Magic and have come away with too many ideas to fit into a once-a-week D&D game. Every wizard and his familiar has a bag of holding in Forgotten Realms. Your players are heroes they deserve a sapient pearwood trunk, which they found trapped at the bottom of a cave system, sitting loyally by its late owner. Once they’ve found out how to befriend it, think of the fun they’ll have watching scoundrels lose their fingers. Think of the jealous wizards who recognise the distinctive dark rings.
Spice up your death saving throws by having Death sitting next to the adventurer once they become unconscious, patiently waiting (or not so patiently) for that critical failure. Whilst He’s there your warlock with truesight spots him and has a bit of a chat, revealing a clue that might set up the rest of the campaign. What if this was the only state which you could communicate with Death in, and your players start an odd death cult just for these nice get-togethers.
Don’t let cats be boring cats when you can steal straight from JK Rowling and make them Kneazles. No good detective should be without one, considering their ability to detect truths and lies. Instead of lockpicks, give your forest gnome rogue a Bowtruckle, the adorable and sensitive stick insect-like creature from Fantastic Beasts. There’s no need to change any game mechanic when doing this – maybe instead of proficiency with the lock picking tool, the player can use their animal handling.
Reskin Find Familiar as Find Dæmon for a select few people who live in a recently discovered distant land. Oh, and how interesting, the special connection between the person and the dæmon can be harvested somehow. Just plain rip off Philip Pullman’s Northern Lights and make it into a campaign. Your players will be both excited to play in a world they know, and curious to see which bits you’ve changed.
Swap out your big bad cultist or power crazed wizard for a young girl who’s just discovered her mighty telekinetic powers who’s causing a rather significant amount of bother. Set in the middle of the events of Carrie (Stephen King), how will your murder hobos handle subduing a budding woman when they understand her complex motivations. Surely they’ll have more of a dilemma than merely fighting Krad the Cruel, the latest monster of the week.
Run with a simple idea like the recent discovery of magic which allows you to carve a beautiful marble dragon, slowly leaking your soul into it, bringing it to life fantastically and powerfully. Check out the Assassin’s series by Robin Hobb to find out how that works out.
The lesson you should take away today is that anything is up for grabs. Don’t stick with fantasy. It’s possible your players will cotton on to what you’re doing very quickly, but in my experience, that’s never diminished the game. Being in an already fleshed out world only makes the whole scenario more real. The ideas are already out there; all you need to do is remix them a little.
There’s no stat block for merchants in any of the D&D books I have, so I was forced to write my own.
The special aspect about a merchant is their job; they’re good at buying and selling common and exotic items. A good merchant sets their prices smart enough to make a good profit and still attract those looking for a bargain. That requires a keen eye for pricing an item. So, I made up the Appraisal mechanic, which simply outlines what type of check should be made to work out the value of an item.
Charisma is used when the price is found from socialising with other merchants or even trying to figure out how much a customer would be willing to spend by feeling the general atmosphere around the market.On the other hand Intelligence might be used based on knowledge of the markets far and near – the economy. Charisma is the people-based knowledge gathering, and Intelligence lends itself more to understand the cause and effect of various outside forces.
Our DM was away for a session, so I took the opportunity to run a one-shot. I didn’t want this to be a ordinary D&D game, and so wrote a murder mystery where each player was working against each other to find out who the murderer was first.
The set up was this: a wizard, in his new lich form, was furious with his death and demands to know who killed him. He’s already gathered evidence around his home and has bought the people he suspects most to his mansion. He then gives them the instructions to find out who killed him, and that only the first person that brings him back the correct answer will get to leave his home alive.
This is rather different from a normal D&D game: the heroes aren’t really heroes, and they don’t need to work together. In fact, working together will make it more likely that they’ll get stuck in this house as the lich’s guest.
The players were to hunt around for clues in each of the rooms in the mansion, and then later on share the clues they’ve found. Mechanically, they did Investigation checks in each room. Once in a while the lich would summon them to his dinner table again and allow them to question each other.
Each player has their own set of secrets to hold onto. They’re all either funny or incriminating. When a player asks another player about a specific piece of evidence, that might prompt the player to reveal a secret. For instance, one of your secrets might say “you must reveal this information if you’re presented with a beat up horseshoe”.
Only the murderer has three secrets to reveal that are relevant to the case. Find the guy with something to reveal about three secrets and you’ve found your murderer. You’ll need to race around to find the evidence before you can ask someone about it though.
(What’s the murderer doing during this time? The same as the players: investigating the rooms, but he’s only looking for ways to escape.)
Writing the murder was fun. In my mystery the solution was that one player killed the lich because he was in a relationship his parents wouldn’t approve of, and the lich was blackmailing him using that information. There’s hundreds of ideas for why someone might kill someone though. Once you’ve figured that out, it’s easy to pick the motive, the weapon, and make a player a murderer. Seed the house with lots of evidence (some red herrings, and some not) and watch them scramble to find it first.
The idea seemed great in my head, and on paper, but actually running the game had some issues I need to think on more to fix.
First of all, there’s quite a lot going on for a one-shot. The players have a lot of things to do (especially if the rooms are filled with puzzles). In my game, we were an hour and a half in before we got to our first clue. This was an issue. That gave the players two hours to get loads more clues – it didn’t seem possible. To “fix” this, I fell into a trap I’ve been in before: I made everything too easy to speed it up. The solution to the shadow-pit-fall-trap was easy to spot, the magmin died after two hits, and I gave clues out for rooms where clues shouldn’t have been found. The players definitely noticed this rushed type of DMing, which meant I didn’t get to have as much fun and they probably restricted themselves to the quickest action.
The issue is that turn based games – as I ran the entire game in initiative, as it was a race – are very slow. I should have accepted a piece of advice I was given during the game: let’s just carry on another time, don’t rush what we’re doing here. It’s fine to make the one-shot take two sessions.
I did have more combat and role playing planning, but skipped over a lot of it due to the timing issue. However, even with all the combat I had planned, there was still very little of it. That was strange to my players because I mislead them with a wonderful armoury where they could find tonnes of magic weapons. Why give the weapons if they weren’t going to be much use?
What I should have done is embraced it. Announced loudly that this game isn’t heavy on RP or combat which would have been totally fine! Lets focus on the story and the fun of investigating.
The next time I run this game I might just give out backgrounds to players, rather than having them come up with their background on their own and monkey patching on the backgrounds I needed them to have. This was another piece of advice my group gave, which makes sense. Players don’t mind being given a background, especially in this quirky format and setting.
I’ve listed a lot of the problems here, but all the players said they had a good night playing. One player said it was one of his favourite nights playing D&D, so that’s exciting! I feel like I’m on to something here, and will keep polishing it until it runs like a good, fun game for when you want to run something a little different but still within D&D.
I’m on holiday where I’ve found myself with a huge amount of time to be writing.
I stumbled across an image of a man scuba diving which I couldn’t parse straight away – the seabed dust was being kicked up obscuring a lot of the photo. The man was holding a little machine to help propel him through the water. To my eye, in this hazy image, the man was a dwarf holding his pick in the murky depths.
Since then I haven’t stopped thinking about an underwater dwarf civilisation, and how they would end up there. With a liberal use of the Water breathing spell by tribal-like sorcerer leaders, and a helping hand for a god or two, I think I’ve come up with a fun little story.
What’s most fun is that their isolation means that they can be there in your story, but never come up. Maybe there’s a legend or two of a ship travelling the ocean coming across the dead, bloated body of a dwarf where a dead dwarf has no business being. Or maybe a spark of wild magic transported a leugart onto dry land.
I added some notes in to make them possible player characters, but I quite like them being story-based, like the duergar.
Spoilers for the DM Guild adventure Giantslayer are below, so skip this story section if you’ll likely play it!
The sun shone through the canopy of the leaves above onto an eclectic gaggle of adventurers below. Adventuring often brings together the strangest of people, and this time was no different. Elves of all stripes, mingling with ruffians who made a name for themselves as pirates, and dark eyed gnomish thieves. There was as much kindness mixed in this group as there was darkness. Presumably, when travelling through the woods in these parts its best to go as a group – why else would these mismatched people be with each other?
They shortly ran into one family who did not take that advice. Two beasts cackled and berated the human family up ahead, stopping the family in their tracks. The satyrs seemed not actually to be doing any harm, other than their relentless bullying and fearmongering. The children in the back of the cart sat silent in stony faced fear.
Our adventurers rushed to the aid of the human farmers… at least, some of them did. The dark eyed gnome sulked immediately into the forest out of sight. Whilst the rest of the party helped to defeat the beasts, this gnome sauntered up to the family to “check on their wellbeing”, but not before swiping their coin purse.
Once the battle was successfully won, they gathered around the family to ensure their safety and were told their sad story. A giant had recently ransacked their village, and driven everyone out. With family in Frickley, that’s where they decided to seek refuge. Kindly, the adventurers stayed with the family to see them safely to their destination.
Once they had arrived though, it seemed that the giant – Bonebreaker they called him – had been busy. He had also been to this town and made similar demands: “feed me all your best food, or else.”
There was a mix of thoughts in the town. Should they flee right now, knowing that the giant would return again and again, or should they stay and deliver all they could? After all, with enough time they could send word to bigger cities to send aid. The inn keeper offered a third suggestion: how about they fight it themselves?
This, the populous decided, was a shit idea. Sure many of them were strong of body, but for the purposes of farming, not giant killing. But there was some hope – a legend really, which few knew if it held any truth. Jahia the Giantslayer. Likely an old lady now, but the inn keep remembered great stories about her. Maybe, if she could be found again, she would know the tactics to bring down the giant. Who better to send out to look for her than a hardy group of adventurers, who seem to have arrived as if summoned by fate itself. Also they had nothing better to do, tbh.
The adventurers agreed, and set out into the forest following a trail where rumour indicated the hermit giantslayer might be found. The forest took some time to get through. Dangerous rivers, giant insects, and odd druids (who refused to be mugged) stood in their way. But they did eventually make it to Weeping Rock, where their best guesses lead them. From a top the rock, they spotted a simmering chimney and a sleeping, old lady. As they approached they could see that she indeed was quite old now, but still looked tough in a way only fighters were born to be.
Jahia sighed in frustration at being asked to return to a role she had long since left. The party persuaded her though, reminding her of the thrill of battle, the honour of protecting those who need it, and some other genuinely heartfelt urges which I’ve forgotten.
They returned to Frickley just before the sun began to set. They chose to spend the time plotting how to defeat the giant. All night they had villages dig pits, which they filled with flammable hay, lying in wait of the clumsy giant.
They set themselves up to their satisfaction and held themselves steady, ready for Bonebreaker.
And then, Bonebreaker was killed pretty anticlimactically because we had to leave at 8pm, and I forgot to make him as dangerous as I should have! It didn’t help that he had been mostly blinded and everyone hid so well!
Although we didn’t quite finish the “thank you!” ceremony of the villagers (we’ll get to that next session), rest assured that the giant menace of Frickley has died off… for now. You can’t help shake the feeling that giants this far from their natural homes is a rather bad omen.
I’m pretty sure everyone had fun, and I really hope to be able to carry on the adventure with my colleagues every couple of weeks or so.