Run Smoother, More Enjoyable Games (By Removing XP)

DMs are always looking for ways to make their games better. They ask where they can get the right music, which monsters present the best challenge, and whether the plot hooks they have are suitably baited to keep their players interested. One of the biggest challenges DMs have, though, is figuring out how to manage experience points in their games. How do you balance out different levels when some players made game, and others didn't? Do you give XP to those who dealt the killing blow, or to everyone? Do you award XP for alternative solutions to problems? For good roleplay? What's to stop your party from killing everything they see in order to level up?

There's an easy way to nip this problem in the bud; stop giving your players experience points.

You can crunch the numbers of you want, but I'm telling you, this is WAY easier.

XP Causes More Problems Than It Solves

What do experience points do? Well, ideally, their purpose is to represent how much stuff the PCs have accomplished, thereby showing they've come far enough in this campaign that they need access to more class levels in order to continue. It's a gauge that shows how powerful your PCs should be at this stage in the game.

However, because XP can be granted by doing almost anything, it's not long before it becomes a meta concern. Players know they can sneak past an encounter, or solve it diplomatically, but will they be docked XP if they don't kill the bad guys? Sure, they might know that this group of guards is way too low to be a threat to them, but hey, they're almost to the next level and it might be just enough to push them over that peak. What about that town of commoners? Sure they might not be worth much, but that troll-blooded dragon just kicked their asses, and they need all the help they can get.

If we burn down the forest, we'll get XP for EVERYTHING in it!

If you want players to take the decisions that make the most sense for their PCs, or which make the most strategic sense, or which aren't blatantly evil in the pursuit of XP grinding, the obvious answer is to just take away experience points. Once there's no more counter keeping track of who killed who, or who disarmed which trap, you've done away with what can be a problematic motivation.

What Do You Replace It With?

Here's a new term you're going to learn to love as a DM; Milestone Leveling.

Milestone leveling is just what it sounds like; once players reach a certain, pre-determined milestone, they level up. It doesn't matter if they slaughtered the entire cavern of orc warriors, made peace between them and the human town, or hired them all to be personal bodyguards; if the plot has been solved, and the story is progressing, boom, the party levels. Even the players who missed a session or two. Even the ones who maybe didn't do as much damage, or contribute as much. Everyone levels.

I repeat, everyone.

As the DM, you can set whatever milestone you want for the little leveling button. It could be every third session, like you see in Pathfinder Society. It could be whenever players complete a certain plot arc, or just whenever you feel like chucking bigger, badder beasties at them. It might even be as a reward for doing something clever, or unexpected.

The point is that if players know their actions will not lead to the direct reward of more experience points, then they're more likely to do what comes naturally, what suits the story, or what's smart, instead of what will ensure they get another level. Because when you reward a behavior, that behavior continues. Even past the point of logic, sense, or alignment shifts.

That's all for this week's Moon Pope Monday installment. I hope it was helpful for my fellow DMs out there, and that if you try it you find it helps your games. If you want to keep up-to-date on all my releases, then follow me on Facebook, Tumblr, and Twitter. And, if you want to do your part to make sure Improved Initiative can keep giving you great content like this, head over to The Literary Mercenary's Patreon page. All I ask is $1 a month, which helps me pay my bills, and which will get you some sweet gaming swag just for becoming a supporter.

GM Rule #1: Always Review Characters Before Starting A Campaign

I'd like to tell you a story I came across on a Reddit page a little over a year ago. Players were giving advice, and telling stories of the dumbest moments they've seen at a table. One fellow brought a dwarven warrior to the table. He was deeply religious, as many warriors are, and he fought for his faith. The game had been going for some time, when said dwarf opted to crush an enemy's head with his hammer, rather than accept what he suspected was a dubious attempt at surrender. The DM then went into a big song and dance about how he felt his connection to his god slipping, and how the powers Torag had granted him had deserted him.

There was just one problem... the character didn't have any paladin levels. He was just a fighter.

Who, me? Nah, mate, I just work here.

This story was amusing, in that, "lol, the DM got so caught up in trying to make the paladin fall that he didn't even check to see if he was a paladin," kind of way, but I kept seeing other stories like this. Players who just show up to the table with no prior discussion of what they're playing, and who start rolling dice without once talking to the DM. I've also heard stories of DMs who just tell their players to, "bring whatever," and start a session without so much as glancing over the characters who were participating. The storyteller, in these cases, is finding out about the PCs at the same rate the rest of the party is.

Now, if you want to do that, more power to you. However, you're setting yourself up for serious problems.

Know Thy Challengers

The idea of just starting a game without talking to your players about their concepts, and looking over their sheets, is ludicrous. At the very least, running a game means you should make sure everyone followed the character creation rules you discussed in Session 0. This session is, of course, where you tell your crew what game you're playing, what limits are placed on character options and available books, and make suggestions on tone, styles, etc. More on why you should have one of these intro sessions can be found in The Importance of "Session 0" in Your Tabletop Games.

Goddammit, Steve, why are you playing an awakened bear?

Beyond checking everyone's math, and making sure no one decided to play as a frost giant or a mongrelman without permission, you also need to get a sense of what it is you're working with. This is true in a story aspect, since it pays to know that the alchemist has no interest in money, but he is something of a sucker for saving defenseless innocents, but it's also true in a mechanical aspect. For example, if you are planning on ambushing your party with a band of orcs, and there's a ranger with orc as a favored enemy, then you might need to alter the fight to ensure it doesn't end in two rounds. Maybe that means adding an extra ambusher, or using a template on the leader so he can stand up to the ranger, but regardless, you need to know what characters are starring in your story.

Can you run a game just trusting your players to abide by the rules, do their math correctly, and have them reveal to you the types of characters they're playing piecemeal? You can. You can also drive a car blind-folded. Even if you think you know where you're going, and you've driven the route a thousand times before, there's a much better chance that you'll plow into a wall if you can't see where you're going.

So why run a game with a blindfold on if you don't have to? Especially since you, and your players, would likely enjoy getting to the end of the campaign a lot more than you would crashing and burning due to unexpected circumstances in the third session. Plan out the long-game, and you're a lot more likely to get where you want to be. Incorporate the PCs' stories, abilities, and achievements into the game, and your players will never want it to end.

That's all for this week's Moon Pope Monday. I don't think this is a controversial position to take, but who knows, I've been proven wrong before. As always, if you'd like to get more content like this, why not support Improved Initiative by putting a little bread in my jar? Just go to The Literary Mercenary's Patreon page, and become a patron. As little as $1 a month goes a surprisingly long way. Lastly, if you haven't followed me on Facebook, Tumblr, or Twitter yet, well, why not start?

Challenge Rating Is Just A Number

We're all familiar with challenge rating, and how it is supposed to work. Under ideal circumstances, a party at a certain level (APL, or average party level, is the term we use for this) will be able to take on a creature, trap, or other encounter that functions at their level. Challenging encounters will be of a CR equal to the APL+1, hard encounters are APL+2, and epic encounters are APL+3.

The key word here is ideal circumstances. And as anyone who has ever sat behind a DM screen knows, your plans will never survive their first brush with the party.

Player characters... not even once.

Challenge rating is a tool that deals in generalities. That's all well and good, but you aren't DMing for some theoretical group. You're DMing for your group, and for the characters and players sitting in front of you.

Beating The CR Doesn't Make Your Character "Broken"

I bring this up because it seems there are a lot of dungeon masters out there who are under the impression that CR is some kind of ironclad metric, and that if characters deviate from the "accepted" level of challenge, then those characters must somehow be illegitimate. If the players are following the rules, and playing the game how it's supposed to be played, it should be impossible for them to punch 3 and 4 ranks outside their CR on every, single encounter.

Or so the logic goes.

It is just science.

If you are one of those people who buy into this argument, and use it as a way to criticize characters, builds, or concepts for being "too powerful," then I would like to point out some holes in the logic.

First and foremost, CR cannot predict what kinds of characters show up to the fight, or the abilities and equipment they have available. Say, for example, that the DM throws out a Babau. This demonic assassin is traditionally considered a solid CR 6 encounter. So let's say you have a 6th level paladin, good-aligned warpriest, good-aligned cleric, and a ranger with demons as a favored enemy. The spells and class features those characters bring to the fight are going to smash a demon that's meant to be at their level. If the party in question brought bigger guns to this fight, say they have cold iron weapons to ignore its DR, or weapons with either the demon bane or holy enchantments on them, then the thing will be lucky to last more than a round or two.

If you flip the script on that fight, though, and you have a party made up of a brawler, a monk, an evil-aligned cleric, and a ranger with undead as a favored enemy, that demon is going to be a serious problem. The class features that the first group had that reduced a demon's threat level aren't present, and none of them are built to fight demons. If they don't have the appropriate items to hand that allow them to overcome the Babau's damage reduction, and they don't have resistance to its acid, then this party is going to be in for a slog.

Sometimes, though, advantage can come from something as simple as proper use of tactics, terrain, and environment. For example, say you have a party made up of half-orcs, tieflings, and a dwarf. Everyone in this party has darkvision. If they are assaulting a bandit camp where all the bandits are humans, and they're doing it in the dark of the night, the party has an inherent advantage. If you flip it around, and have a human party being ambushed by orcs in the middle of the night, then the advantage goes the other way in terms of concealment, darkness, and challenge.

Now, you might argue that a party should know what it's going up against before a fight starts, and that it should be prepared for every eventuality. Sometimes that's the case, but sometimes there's no way to know. After all, if you're invading the den of a dreaded necromancer, why would you expect him to have made pacts with demons to guard his lair? But that might be what happens.

Addressing The "Overpowered" Myth

As I said last week in my post "Multiclassing" is Not A Dirty Word, there is no such thing as an overpowered character, or an overpowered party. There are effective characters, and effective parties, but being good in a particular situation doesn't mean players are somehow breaking the rules. It means it is your responsibility, as the DM, to craft a situation that is unique to your group, and your party, in order to challenge them.

You have access to every spell, every feat, every piece of equipment, and every monster. You could put Cthulhu and his pet elder wyrms on the mat, if you so chose. Your players cannot defeat you. And they aren't trying to. They're simply trying to accomplish the challenge you have laid before them.

Whatever that challenge happens to be.

Your goal, as the DM, should be to give your players a challenge that is geared for them. This isn't a standardized test, where everyone takes the same exam. If you have a team of experienced, serious players who have created a party that works as a unit, and can mop the floor with the standard layer of difficulty, then what are you doing messing around with the standard layer of difficulty? Bring out your big guns, and let them fight, sneak, and practice diplomacy against something that is operating on the same level they are.

If students are blowing through their third-grade schoolwork like it's not even there, you don't chastise them for not being normal, average third-graders. You let them skip a grade, or maybe two, until you find the level of challenge they're actually operating at. CR is a way to ballpark where your players should be, but if they're not feeling challenged, maybe it's time for harder traps, bigger monsters, or just tweaking your encounters' strategy.

Just remember, it's not about beating your players. That's never a question. It's about challenging them so your story can operate at the optimum level for keeping interest, and involvement.

That's all for this week's Moon Pope Monday installment. Hope there were some folks out there who found it useful. If you'd like to help support Improved Initiative, all you have to do is stop by The Literary Mercenary's Patreon page to leave a small donation. A $1 a month tip is all I ask, and sweet swag comes along with it. Lastly, if you haven't followed me on Facebook, Tumblr, or Twitter yet, well, why not start now?

The Importance of "Session 0" in Your Tabletop Games

So, you told your group you wanted to run a new campaign. Everyone in your group agreed that a new campaign sounds like a topping idea. You agree on a time and a place for the session, and then you spend the next week fitting together a complicated political drama for your players to get embroiled in. There will be subtle maneuvering, assassination attempts, duplicity, and it will really keep them on their toes. You take a step back, and admire the thing you've created.

Then your players show up. That's when you find out your "party" consists of a chaotic evil necromancer whose motivating goal is to raise an army of the dead to raze the nation to the ground, a gunslinger whose on the trail of the barbarian chief that murdered his father, a ravenous halfling whose chief motivation is seeing how much cheese he can steal from every inn he passes using an obscure 3rd-party class you've never heard of, and a ronin samurai who thinks with his sword instead of any more viable parts of his anatomy.

Problem?

It's bad enough that no one in this group is really a hero (and at least one of them has no real interest in becoming an adventurer), but they have no connection to the plot, or to each other. Attempting to bring this hodgepodge group together is already going to be a headache and a half, but trying to get them to follow a subtle, political plot is bordering on psychological self-harm.

Fortunately, you can prevent this sort of scenario by making sure you start every campaign with Session 0.

What Is Session 0?

An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure, and Session 0 is a DM's best preventative. What you do is sit down with your group, and set all the ground rules for the upcoming campaign. If you want to use point-buy instead of rolling for stats, you bring that up in this session. If you aren't allowing 3rd-party content, this is when you tell players. If you want to make any other blanket rulings, like no evil alignments, no gunslingers, no construct crafters, or no non-core races, this is the time to do it.

Standard dice only.

Once you've laid down the basic rules, and made your pitch for your campaign, you open the table to questions, comments, and discussion. For example, your group might like the idea of doing something different than the average dungeon crawl, but they want to know what you mean when you say "political thriller". Does that mean they should all bring non-combat characters, or does it mean that you're going to be doing more of an urban game? Does it mean you'll be allowing assassins or ninjas for PCs? Does everyone in the party need to be from the same nation? Should they all have background ties to one noble family or another?

There are innumerable questions that can, and should, be asked during Session 0. Here's a list of some of the most basic things you need to cover.

- What system are we using?

- What world is this campaign set in?

- What books will and won't be allowed?

- What are the general themes and overall goal of the campaign?

- What is the method of stat generation?

- What house rules are going to be in-play?

Once you've covered all the basics, you should let players discuss character concepts, both with you and with each other. Ensuring that you're present while this process happens allows you to answer any questions your players have, and it allows you to get an idea of how the party is shaping up. You can also point out deficiencies in party strengths, and warn players that certain concepts, while valid, might not get as much time in the spotlight as they're hoping.

It's Preventative Maintenance On Your Campaign

Session 0 takes a bit of work, but the amount of trouble it will save you down the line is totally worth it. Gone will be the days of your players trying to port in stuff from older editions that have been changed, or taking unusual templates or races without checking in with you first. And, if you're lucky, the players will work together to form a party that has connections, and cohesion. Any problems that do arise can be nipped in the bud, rather than waiting until they've grown a size category or two before trying to tackle them.

Also, before you get your campaign rolling, you might want to check out 4 Common DM Mistakes (And How To Avoid Them), as well as The 5 RPG Characters We Should Stop Playing.

Hopefully you found this week's update helpful, and useful. If you'd like to help support me and my blog so I can give you more content just like this one, then why not stop by my Patreon page today? For as little as $1 a month you can make a big difference. Also, if you want to be sure you're getting all my updates, follow me on Facebook, Tumblr, and Twitter!

The Reason Rules Matter in Roleplaying Games

Normally when a Monday post rolls around I'll dig through my bookmarks and history list to find something that made me laugh, or which intrigued me, that I want to share with other gamers. You know, stuff like how a date has been set for the world's first giant robot battle, the Beyond the Barrier web series, or the Who The F#%K Is My DND Character? random background generator. This week, though, I'd like to talk about something that's been niggling at me. This weird argument that crops up again and again that the rules apply to everyone at the table... except the DM.

So you want me to make a Reflex save, but you're just going to pick whatever DC you feel like?

The Social Contract of Gaming

The social contract is one of the most common components of modern moral philosophy, and most people associate it with Thomas Hobbes, author of Leviathan. For those of you who skipped philosophy in favor of harder sciences, you can read what the social contract is at The Internet Encyclopedia of Philosophy. If you don't feel like digging through text from a few hundred years back, here's the basis of the social contract; we all agree to give up certain freedoms, and in exchange for those freedoms, we expect everyone to abide by the rules of this society we have formed.

We see this everyday, and we see it in big and small ways. For example, we all know that if you commit murder, then you have broken the law. We all gave up the freedom to kill whoever we want in exchange for living in a less-violent society than a Mad Max wasteland. In the same way, we know that if you're checking out at the grocery store that you have wait in line, and that you go in order. Someone who cuts in line will feel the wrath of everyone they line jumped, and possibly the clerk and the manager as well.

That's the social contract in action, and it applies to the gaming table just as surely as it does anywhere else.

Just as we agree not to murder the DM, so the DM agrees not to murder us.

We like to kid around by saying that the DM is god, in much the same way people talk about the President of the United States as being the most powerful man in America, if not the world. In a way, this is true, but it gives the impression that both the POTUS and your DM have completely unchecked power that they can use how and whenever they see fit. If you've ever watched the news, you know that certainly isn't true for the former. It isn't true for the latter, either.

This is where the game rules come in.

Your rule book represents a social contract, of sorts. When we sit down at the table we all agree that barbarians, fighters, and rangers get a full base attack bonus progression. We agree that touch attacks ignore physical armor, and that you can't use a bastard sword in one hand unless you have the exotic weapon proficiency. We agree to build our characters according to the rules, and to give our sheets and back stories to the DM so they can be rubber stamped as okay for the game.

That is a two-way street, though. The DM, you see, only has the power to rule the game table with the support of the players. That means the players and the DM have to have an understanding; they have to be on the same page, and part of the same team. The DM may be running the villains, but the DM shouldn't be the villain. Down that path lies madness, broken games, and possibly ruined friendships.

But What About Rule 0?

We are all aware of Rule 0: if the rules get in the way of playing the game and having fun, then get rid of the rules in question. This is a great thing, and it can make games better when used responsibly. However, Rule 0 simply means that you, and the DM, can work together to amend the social contract. In much the same way Congress can amend the Constitution. Just like how the President can't walk into the Oval Office and revoke the second amendment, so, too, the DM can't just throw out rules he doesn't like or agree with willy nilly.

The players have to give their consent.

This is where we see a lot of old school vs. new school gaming clashes. In the early days of tabletop gaming, or so we're told, there were no real rules. It was theater, loosely guided by a set of principles, and directed by the man (or occasional woman) behind the screen. If the DM said you succeeded, you succeeded. If the DM said rocks fell and everyone died, then rocks fell and everyone died. That was the way it was. As games evolved into later editions, though, many of them codified what could and couldn't happen according to their worlds' rules. Dungeons and Dragons 5th Edition, Pathfinder, and a dozen other games eliminated a lot of the wiggle room, and took away a great deal of the improvisation required by older editions.

In a real sense, it was like the transition from frontier justice to the codified legal system we have in the modern day. The judge can no longer bang a gavel and sentence someone to be hanged. Now, everyone gets a representative, there is a bargaining process, and centuries of case law may be brought to bear on the current decision.

So what's the point?

The point is that Rule 0 is alive and well in modern gaming, and that house rules and home brew games are right where they've always been. However, the DM needs to remember that his decisions have to be accepted by the players according to the rules of the social contract. Put another way, if a group of gamers sits down at the table to play Pathfinder, and there have been no amendments made to the rules as they stand, then players expect everything to work the way it says it does in the books. But if the DM decides that rogues cannot detect or disarm magical traps with no spellcasting ability of their own (despite that being the language of the trapfinding class feature), and the DM decides this without informing players and receiving their agreement, then that is a clear violation of what was implicitly agreed to. It's also likely to really piss off the players with rogue characters.

There are, of course, varying degrees of violation, and the reactions to those violations will also vary. For example, a DM may state that, for this game, natural 20s and natural 1s are automatic successes and failures on skill checks as well as on attack rolls and saving throws. Even though this is a clear rule change, it may be seen more as saving a space for a friend in a line instead of cutting to the front entirely. It may make some players grumble, but it will generally be tolerated. The bigger the change, and the less effort that's made to get the players to agree before the change is made, the more volatile the reaction is likely to be. For example, changing the god a cleric worships without that player's consent for no reason is going to cause problems. Stating that the barbarian's damage reduction, or the tiefling's fire resistance, stops working for no reason other than plot inconvenience (and without any game-legal ability that would allow this to happen with no necessary rule change) is also likely to result in difficulties.

It isn't that the rules are sacred, and can never be changed. It's that, much like amending the Constitution, you need to have everyone agree to the change, and inform them of the change, in order to get support for it. By treating the players like pawns with no say, or like enemies who need to be controlled, a DM violates this contract, and may find the table is no longer willing to play the game.

As always, thanks for stopping by Improved Initiative to see what I've got to say! If you'd like to keep up on all my posts, then follow me on Facebook, Tumblr, and Twitter. If you want to help support Improved Initiative (something I'm always eternally grateful for), stop by my Patreon page to toss a little bread in my jar. Not only that, but if you become a patron before the end of November, there's a free book in it for you!

All That Glitters is Not Gold: Non-Monetary Rewards For Your RPG Party

Congratulations, you've conquered another dungeon! You've defeated the Beast of Brackenbridge, slain the wicked cult that brought it sacrifices, and laid to rest the victims of this vile monster. Your reward? A magic sword, and as much gold as you can carry. Again.

Sure, I guess. If that's all they've got.

The first few times players get this reward they're ecstatic. They're low-level adventurers who've been scraping by on a few spare copper pieces, and all of a sudden they're flush with cash and armed to the teeth. But how many times can you get the same reward before it loses its meaning? Three times? Five? How long before even epic level weapons (even ones created with this unique, alternative system for making magic weapons and armor) and enough gold to buy a country just feels like a ho-hum reward for your dragon slaying?

If you really want to keep your players interested, give them something they can't buy.

What Are You Talking About?

I'm glad you asked, bold Italic text. What I'm talking about is the concept of a non-numerical reward; something beyond XP, gold, and calculated magic items. These rewards aren't found on a table, and they don't require any number crunching on your part as the DM. Despite that though, these rewards may be what players talk about for years to come when they sit down to tell people about the coolest things their characters ever accomplished.

Status

Great deeds come with great rewards, but one of the most common rewards that gets left out of any game is a promotion. Take the cleric for instance. After serving faithfully and defeating the enemies of the church it would make sense for the lowly priest to be raised up to the position of chaplain, herald, or even Commander of the Faith. The post would come with increased responsibility, but it would also come with better quarters, access to more of the church's resources, and even lower-ranking priests to delegate responsibilities to.

Personal bodyguards in silly outfits are not out of the question.

The same is true no matter what game you're playing. Modern fantasy characters might be knighted by the faerie court, and given rank and power as well as access to the world between (actually being knighted is pretty damn cool no matter what game you're running). High fantasy warriors might be granted titles and land, elevated from sell swords to lords and ladies complete with heraldry and fiefdoms to oversee. Even something as simple as being moved up the ladder from patrolman to detective (sergeant to captain, watchman to inquisitor, etc., etc.) is a reward that will add more to the story and character development than any number of mechanical macguffins.

Reputation

Actions have consequences, and one of those consequences is a reputation. Whatever a character or a party does is going to leave its marks on them and on the world, whether for good or for ill. A pious quick draw specialist who always gets the first shot off may be known as the God's Gun. An acrobatic knife fighter known for her use of envenomed blades might earn the title of the Cobra Queen, the Poison Woman, or the Pestilent Princess. A heavy-handed gangland enforcer might earn the word "iron" before his name, and a slick-talking rogue who could make you believe anything might be dubbed The Salesman.

No one asked why they called Yuri the Horn Blower.

Fame or infamy, if you have a character who's done anything then that character is going to be known for that act by someone. The bigger the actions characters take, the bigger that reputation is going to loom. At earlier parts of the campaign characters might just be known by a small quarter of a city, or maybe by a small town. Once the party really hits its stride and the tales start getting told characters should be hard-pressed to go somewhere they are't recognized (unless they take steps like not wearing signature pieces of gear, disguising their faces, or making sure that the bards telling stories give purposefully false descriptions of the characters in question).

Giving characters a reputation among certain parts of the game world makes them feel more organic. It might also mean they can avoid some fights (since no one wants to challenge the Coffin Maker to a duel), get special treatment, or be sought out by plot hook NPCs who require men and women of their skills and abilities.

Following

Anyone who gains fame will also develop a following. A knight of great renown might draw crowds to a tournament if word gets out that he'll be riding in the joust, for instance. An infamous wizard might find acolytes at her door, begging for the privilege of becoming her apprentice. Characters who have renown, good or ill, will inevitably have people who want to learn from them, be like them, and pledge themselves to that character's service.

The Bowman's Children are not to be trifled with.

Sure there are ways to gain followers mechanically. Pathfinder, Dungeons and Dragons, World of Darkness, Savage Worlds, all of these game systems and many more besides provide ways for your character to have a set number of followers. However, while characters can use these rules to buy followers, simply purchasing them can be more mechanics than roleplay oriented. This is the primary reason many storytellers won't let players use these rules to add more characters to the party; in the wrong hands these rules can be bent till they scream.

The point is that a following and followers are similar, but different. If a character has followers then that means a player has a specific set of NPCs he or she can call on, and it can put a small army at a PC's beck and call. A following on the other hand can be an amorphous pool of people who are there for roleplay purposes, but whose mechanical capacity is entirely up to the storyteller. Followers can be bought, but a following is earned as a product of roleplay and a character's actions in the story.

But What About Loot?

What about it?

Ooooh... what does this do?

No one said to stop giving players magic items, XP, and money (again though, you might want to consider these alternative systems for generating magic weapons and armor to keep things interesting). I'd be willing to bet that special items, whether they're super-science gadgets in Spycraft or enchanted steel in the Iron Kingdoms, will always be a solid present for your players. But if you want to keep them interested and striving as hard as they can it's a good idea to create some rewards tailored to fit what they've accomplished in game so far.

And for DMs who just want lower-cost loot that is worth less than a gold piece (but which is still useful while adding flavor to your game), you might want to check out 100 Pieces of Miscellaneous Tat To Find. I wrote this guide for Azukail Games some time back, and it's ideal for giving treasure that isn't really all that valuable. The original was written for Pathfinder, but there's a system-neutral version, too.

I'm not suggesting you give status, reputation, and position instead of loot... rather, try to diversify the rewards you give your players. Because these kinds of non-monetary achievements let them feel like they're having an effect on the game world rather than just playing through a pre-determined set of rails with occasional loot drops. That individual attention, and an award tailored specifically to a given gaming experience, is something you won't be able to find on a random rolling table.

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Avatar Games: When Players Play Themselves

Any gamer who's seen the Dungeons and Dragons cartoon show, or who's read books like the Magic Kingdom of Landover series has wondered what it would be like to step out of their normal, everyday lives and into a true adventure. We wonder whether we would be able to master swordplay well enough to fight for a nation's freedom, or if we'd be able to match wits with centuries-old vampires and come out ahead. For players who want to take the fantasy one step further, an avatar game is the next step.

What's an Avatar Game?

No, you don't get this till level 20.

An avatar is a manifestation of a Hindu deity, whether in human or animal form. The term is also used to discuss an archetype, or someone who represents an idea in physical form. In our case the term is used to describe a character who is as close to the player as the game rules allow. When an entire party is formed this way, the result is an avatar game.

How to Play

Character Creation

Avatar games are not like any other games. Players aren't creating a concept; they're re-creating themselves. We all like to think that we're stronger, smarter, more dexterous or more charming than we actually are, though, which can lead to problems if you let people choose their own stats.

I should totally have an 18 strength guys. Guys? What's so funny?

Because of this unfortunate tendency we have, it's important to come up with some method of character creation that takes as much creative control out of the individual player's hands as possible. One option is to design a test that all players take which provides them with basic stats and a class (if you're playing a game that uses a class, that is). There are dozens of these online, and I'm sure you've all seen them. On the other hand, if all the players have known each other for a long time it's often fun to have the players rate each other with the skills, attributes, and classes they think an individual should have. The storyteller can then average the other players' thoughts together, providing a finalized sheet.

It's important to mention that an avatar game should be accurate, but it should also be fun. If a player is really disappointed by what the measuring stick says he or she should play, then work together to find alternatives. Maybe the consensus is that an individual should be a rogue, but that person feels in a world of magic that he would throw himself into the study of the arcane to become a wizard. Listen to your players, but at the same time don't just give them everything they want. If the player with the graduate degree and an aversion to the gym really wants to be a master swordsman though, provide him the opportunity to pursue that kind of training as the story goes along.

The Hook and the Deus Ex Machina

Once characters are made, the DM needs to come up with some way to make these very normal players enter a very unusual situation. For some games this is exceedingly easy; for others, not so much.

"And, lo, four shall come on the full moon and speak these words," Huh... weird.

The further removed the game world is from the reality players live in, the more difficult a believable hook is going to be. For instance, if players are in a World of Darkness Mortals game, or even a Call of Cthulhu game, all the storyteller has to do is leave clues to the dark creatures lurking just behind the scenes. Maybe a local reporter hears about a rash of murders that track back to a vampire, or a police officer notices a pattern in animal attack reports that lead to a squamous being from the outer planes. These characters are just human, and the hook is that they've been living in the game world this whole time without any knowledge of it. Until now.

High fantasy avatar games, like those running on Pathfinder or Dungeons and Dragons, take a bit more work. Maybe players decide to visit some local ruins to check out a spook story, and end up accidentally stepping between worlds. Maybe they're victims of an anomaly that tears open different planes of existence caused by a reactor explosion, or a large Hadron collider experiment. Or, my personal favorite, a wizard mis-spoke a spell, and instead of pulling in a demon lord or a celestial host, what he ends up with is a party of 4 or 5 very confused geeks who were all in the middle of one activity or another who now have to figure out where they are and what the hell just happened.

Let The Games Begin!

The biggest challenge a storyteller has is, once the party has been assembled and the hook jerked, how realistic is the world around the players? For instance, if they're now in Golarion, does anyone speak English? Do the players take up a trade or some kind of apprenticeship to incorporate themselves into the fabric of a community before becoming adventurers? If players discover a group of cultists in the local goth scene, are they the kind of people who will call the police and the media, or are the players in fact the sort who would go in fists swinging?

You do what, now?

Building a realistic world is key for getting players to, well, be themselves. While there's going to be an unavoidable bit of "OMG, I want to start playing super-powered me already!" it can be cut short with solid world-building and the right atmosphere. Don't nit-pick every little thing, but don't just look at them and say "And you're in Ravenloft! Okay, what do you do now?"

Tips and Tricks

Avatar games can be a lot of fun; they're also very easy to mess up. As such there are a few things that the person running this whole mess needs to keep in mind.

Rule One: Show, Don't Tell

You expect me to believe what now?

One of the best ways to make players really keep their heads in the game is for storytellers to paint a scene. I covered this here on the Literary Mercenary, and here on this very blog, but it cannot be repeated enough. Don't tell players what monsters they're fighting, what world they're in, or even what country they're seeing. Make players, and their avatar characters, dope it out. This keeps the players involved, and it keeps them on their toes. Out of character talking and idea sharing is sometimes all right, but it will kill the mood and destroy the tension you need in order to really sell the world players have entered.

Rule Two: Level One Characters Aren't Heroes

This is not the hero you're looking for.

We know, because we're playing the game, that the party is going to be the focus of the plot eventually. However, even in a game like Scion where players are the half-breed children of gods, no one starts at the top. So, if a storyteller feels that the "chosen ones" card must be played, it's going to strain credibility. Who are you, after all, but a bunch of nobodies. Just because you managed to find a changeling freehold, or you accidentally wound up stumbling into the Forgotten Realms, that doesn't make you special. Especially not if the threat in question requires characters of exceptional power to take on.

Rule Three: Beware the Monkey Wrench

Where the hell did I put that thing...?

We all know this player. He's the guy who decides to take the left hand path for no apparent reason, or the girl who decides she'd rather stay at the tavern and drink than go ogre-slaying. These are the players who say "no" to plot, and who will do their level best to avoid whatever needs-to-happen stuff that goes on in a game. Monkey wrenches are like very stubborn mules; give them a carrot, and they will chase it right where it needs to go.

For instance, say that your party has been transported to Golarion. The entire goal of the campaign is for players to try and get back home because of friends, loved ones, spouses, children, etc. However, let's say your resident monkey wrench decides that he really likes living in a world of magic and mayhem. Perhaps he decides he'd rather carve out a kingdom and live like a duke than go back to a 9-5 gig working retail. Or flip the circumstances around, and say that everyone else is gung-ho to become the next lords and ladies of the realm, but one character's entire focus is to get home to her children. It's your job to dope this out and to incorporate it into the game so that everyone can move forward.

This is another reason why really powerful rails are a bad idea. Establish some general things you want to happen, and work out with your players the arcs they'd prefer to go through before the first session. Don't tell players what to do; lay out the options they have, and see which way they go. You will have far fewer headaches by simply setting up the world and the events in question than trying to force anyone to do anything.


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Dungeon Master Alchemy: Turning Stats Into Story

Numbers are the basis of most roleplaying games. In the World of Darkness you have dots, in Pathfinder you have skill ranks and ability scores, and in Deadlands you have traits and backgrounds, but at the end of the day they're all different names to describe what player characters can and can't do in the game world. These statistics are meant to help participants get a proper image of what's happening when they start rolling dice, and in order to build an effective character it's important for players and storytellers both to understand how these mechanics work together. That said though, there's something important to keep in mind.

Statistics, by themselves, are boring as hell.

My stats have bigger dicks than your stats.

If you want to make your game sessions interesting, push the story forward, and keep everyone's collective heads in the game, here are some rules you might want to institute when it's time to rattle the bones.

Rule #1: Visualize the Violence

Every roleplaying game on the market has violence in it. In some games, like Pathfinder and Dungeons and Dragons, that violence takes center stage. In other games, such as Vampire: the Requiem or Grimm, it's often a little more low key. Game designers know that sooner or later (probably sooner) a character is going to try and solve the plot by kicking it in the crotch. So when that violence happens you need to ask yourself one question; what the hell does it look like?

Make us feel this. I dare you.

Combat is very easy to muddle. Between attack rolls, damage rolls, skill checks, the number of actions a player can take, and which special abilities are being used it's easy to lose track of what's going on. Combat is supposed to be fast-paced and tense though, and numbers tend to put a blockage between the player and the action. As such, it's a good idea to encourage more description and roleplaying to keep everyone involved.

Players can go big or small with their narrations, depending on their comfort levels. For instance, if players don't want to take a lot of time they might add a little flair to their combat round with something like, "Arturo springs forward, rapier darting for the zombie's face." That's easy, it's serviceable, and it's worlds better than "I attack." If a player is feeling more verbose though, there's no reason to hold back. "Fangor crashes his hilt against his shield, charging forward and bellowing 'death to the unbelievers!', laying about him with reckless abandon," is a little more descriptive. Every player gets a moment in the spotlight, and they should feel free to make the most of it to add their own narration to the scene.

Once attacks have been made though, it's the storyteller's turn to pick up the thread. Say that Arturo the dashing swordsman rolled a 2 on his attack, which is a solid miss. That doesn't necessarily mean that the fighter who's trained his entire life in the martial arts suddenly becomes a fumble-fingered fool. Perhaps his sword glanced off the zombie's skull rather than piercing through its eye. Perhaps the corpse wheeled right unexpectedly, and the sword sailed past. If the creature has a weapon or a shield, maybe it parried. Showing the enemy's competence keeps the fight tense, and all participants stay riveted on the action.

Let's flip back over to Fangor the barbarian. Maybe his player's on fire, and she rolled a natural 20 on the attack. She confirms the critical hit, and deals some significant damage. The entire table heard how much damage she dealt; it's the storyteller's job to tell the players what that damage looks like. So, does Fangor's broadsword cleave up through a bandit's skull in a spurt of blood and brains? Does the warrior instead slam the sword up under his enemy's armpit, ramming it in through the heart? Or does he simply cut deeply across the other man's guts, doing him great harm without killing him outright? That's the sort of thing the storyteller should be doing. By giving players a real sense of what effect they're having, and allowing a moment to shine, the battle goes from an exchange of die rolling and number writing to real, visceral storytelling.

Also, don't forget that this can work the other way when the monsters attack the players. If they hit, let players be dramatic. If the monsters miss, let players explain how and why. Back and forth is great for scene building.

Rule #2: Selling Your Spells

Whether you're playing a high fantasy sorceress, a modern-day magus, or you've slipped on the skin of a vampire, characters with supernatural abilities need to work a little bit harder to do their part when it comes time to step into the spotlight.

Otherwise this is what you'll look like. Seriously.

Just as fighters have to describe swinging swords and combat styles, magic-workers need to take the rules and claim them as their own. For instance, practically every game with magic has a spell that lashes out at enemies from a distance with a wave of energy. What does it look like when your character uses it? Some players might choose to use hand movements, doing some semi-arcane gesticulating before rolling a die. Others might speak a short series of Google translated words in Latin, German, or Japanese. Players who are less hands-on might describe a nimbus of blue light, or a shout that travels like a wave before smashing into the target. Spells that open pits in the ground could be accompanied by stomping a foot in the dirt, and those which grant flight might come with an avian howl or a halo of celestial light.

Magic and the supernatural is a prime example of "show, don't tell" (more on that here). For instance, if players are going up against a necromancer who summons a stream of black tendrils that sap away a fighter's strength, don't just tell the players what spell was cast unless they know what it is in-character. Describe the bells and whistles that go with the magic to keep the mood going. This happens with creatures that have some ability to shrug off damage, or who can regenerate health quickly. Whether players are fighting werewolves or dragons though, don't just say "not all of your damage went through." How? Why? Did the bullet wound close back up, pushing the slug back out? Did a thick hide prevent the knife from cutting deep enough? Does the crossbow bolt simply sit there, with no blood oozing out of the cold, dead flesh?

Rule #3: No Out of Character Numbers

It's easy for statistics on the character sheet to be used as short hand for in-character description. We talk about strength scores, hit points, dots of presence, etc., when what we need to be doing is taking a moment to discuss what other players are seeing.

You see a man with bronze skin, and an 18 strength.

In the aftermath of a battle, players should never say how many health levels they've lost. Instead, they should describe the sort of damage they've taken. Is the party leader limping because she took a stab wound in her calf? Does the cop who went toe-to-toe with the hungry dead have cuts on his arms and cheeks, or is there a seeping wound in his side just beneath his flak jacket? Is the knight simply singed, or has his skin been blackened by the dragon fire he walked through? These are things you need to know.

The same is true when it comes to first meetings or in-character description. A player shouldn't say "a bard walks up, flashing a smile that lets you know he has an 18 charisma or better." Sure, players at the table know what that means in game terms. Talking like that takes players out of their in-character head space though, and it doesn't really do much to explain what people are looking at. A better way to handle this might be to say something like, "a man strolls up to the party, his thumbs hooked behind his belt. He's brightly dressed, but chain armor glints beneath his shirt, and the short sword at his side looks very well-used. He grins, and when he tosses his hair back you can see his ears narrow to a point. His voice is pleasant, and it catches the ear of passerby." This is a pretty simple explanation of what a half-elf bard looks like, but at no point in time was he described using the words "half-elf" or "bard".

This goes for monsters and NPCs as well as PCs. Storytellers shouldn't use the names of creatures characters wouldn't know, even if the players do. Those who live in the mountains and have fought goblins their whole lives will recognize goblins when they come boiling out of caves to spring a trap. However, the exact nature of a spell-stitched ghoul might elude characters who are not experts in the arts of necromancy, or who have not made extensive studies of the undead. Storytellers can keep a lot of drama in a scene by keeping the players guessing about what is happening. Giving the players too much information calms their nerves and leaves them confident about their chances. Don't tell them. If they want to know the details, then players need to make in-character observations about the world in which they live.


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How to Build Your Campaign: A Step-By-Step List

A roleplaying game is about story. A session is a chapter, an arc is a novel, and a campaign is a series of collected adventures showing the full breadth and depth of how a party grew and changed, struggled and strove, eventually going from humble beginnings to perhaps challenge the gods themselves.

For those willing to step behind the DM screen, I salute you.

You poor, foolish bastards.

You have accepted the challenge of taking four or more disparate characters over whom you have only the most infinitesimal amount of control, and decided to weave them into your epic narrative. That is a colossal task, and one that is very, very easy to lose your grip on. Don't worry, Improved Initiative is here to help by providing you with a handy checklist to get you from start to finish without losing what's left of your mind.

Step #1: Choose Your World

Any time, any where. But seriously, you have to pick one.

Where is your game taking place? Are you in Paizo's Golarion? The Forgotten Realms? Perhaps you're taking a spirited romp through the Grimm Lands, or you've decided to see how well your players can handle the Deadlands of the weird West. You can choose whichever world you want, but this is the fundamental building block you need to start with.

Pre-made worlds are the easiest ones to use. These worlds already have rules for how games function, they have histories, countries, deities, and a list of creatures that do and don't exist. These worlds can be thought of as training wheels for the creative process; if the world is already fleshed out, then that takes a huge burden off of the storyteller. It's sort of like fan fiction in a way; the world is already set up, and all you have to do is tell an exciting story within that world. And learn the rules. Always familiarize yourself with a setting before taking any further steps.

Also, because we're talking about realms of fantasy and the power of the imagination, there's nothing that says a storyteller can't just make up his or her own world. Commonly referred to as homebrew worlds, this is what happens when a storyteller wants to stitch a setting from whole cloth. While there's nothing wrong with doing this, it isn't for everyone. If world-building and rules balance aren't your strong suits, then it's a better idea to stick with pre-existing worlds rather than trying to make a certain game's rule set adhere to your private creation.

Step #2: Choose Your Conflict

Choose wisely.

Before your campaign can get started there has to be some driving force; a conflict that kicks off the adventure. The black knight's undead army is marching on the capital city. The Maltese Falcon has been sighted and everyone's trying to get their hands on it. An evil cult is stealing children and sacrificing them to awaken ancient, eldritch gods. In short, a thing is happening and adventure awaits!

What often gets overlooked is that a storyteller has to plan out not one, but many conflicts. For instance, the big, overarching, end-game conflict might be the heroes attempting to stop the unleashing of a bound god bent on the destruction of the entire world. That's a pretty heavy load to lay onto a 1st level party. In fact chances are good you will completely snap their suspension of disbelief right then and there. So what you need to do is to create a chapter plot, and then a novel plot, that feeds somehow into the over-arching series plot that is your campaign.

So what does that even mean? Well, examples work best, so that's what I'll give you.

Your first-session chapter plot is an easy one; your heroes are in a town when it gets raided by goblins. The heroes fight off the goblin threat, and find out that this has been going on for some time, and a plot hook is dropped to persuade the party to trail the goblins back to their lair. Over the next several sessions the heroes cross through the woods and into the mountains, then go on a dungeon crawl through the caves. The party slogs through fetid tunnels, dodging traps and battling ambushes, and in the end they square off with a bug bear and his hobgoblin lieutenants. The party finds some stolen treasures and supplies... but not many. Not enough. Where did they go?

That's the end of an arc. A fairly big threat has been dealt with, and the party has probably gained a few levels. They've come closer together as comrades-in-arms, and there's a hook for the next arc. Who took the treasures? Where did they take them, and why? Were the goblins really acting on their own, or was a greater force using them as a cat's paw?

The next arc deals with your heroes getting more involved. Perhaps they managed to recover some treasure of modest value. Black-robed agents ambush the party days later to reclaim a statue which, on the surface, seems like worthless junk. The assassins are unknown to anyone, but the leader carries a letter commanding they bring the statue to Lord Aaron Vaile once recovered. More information could be had from captives, and from knowledge gained about local happenings. Does the party disguise themselves as the assassins and infiltrate the Lord's manor? Do they report the happenings to the constabulary, who asks the party to come with on a raid? Does the Lord flee into a hidden escape tunnel, or offer bland excuses? Is he a member of a secret cult, or is he just a middle man who might provide more information if leaned on? When the party discovers his masters, how deep will the plot go?

This second arc draws the party in more deeply, providing them with enough challenges to level them up, but at no point in time putting the fate of the world on the shoulders of some fairly average people who lack any special powers. You as the storyteller can choose to have your entire plot linked together as if it were one story, or you can have arcs which are separate, individually-wrapped books that just happen to feature the same party growing in power. Maybe the goblin raid leads to corrupt lords, which leads to an evil cult, which leads to a plot to awaken a god. Maybe the goblins were completely separate, but the fame and notoriety the party gains from defeating them leads a knight to offer a place in his service, which will lead to even more adventures. That choice is up to you.

Step #3: Fill Your World

There is nothing, and I mean nothing, more unforgivable than empty world syndrome.

I go and talk to... someone.

This is where you put meat on your story's bones. You need to name the head bad guy, and all of his cronies. You need to decide what their motives are, what spells they know, what items they have, and who knows about them. You need to work your way down the line, expanding outward until you know the towns, the bars, the shopkeepers, the old hermits, the sheriff, the butcher, the baker, and the candlestick makers as well as you know any character you've ever made. Take a look at a few campaign modules to get a feel for how much information you need to have.

Do you need to know why Broke Tooth, the goblin berserker decided to leave his brood and become a bandit? Probably not. Generally speaking you don't need to name every NPC and face in the crowd players will come across. You should have a list of names and attributes for NPCs which you know for certain the players will talk to, and you should probably work out what these characters sound like, along with a general gist of what abilities they do or don't have. Is Solomon the dwarven barkeep a veteran of the Green Tooth Orc Wars? Or is he just a guy who serves drinks and enjoys a good smoke at the end of a long day? Is he both? These are the sort of things you need to know, and you need to know them for a disproportionate amount of your cast. Don't be afraid to draw up characters, take notes, draw out maps, and write timelines. We call that being a good storyteller.

Step #4: Choose Your Heroes

Some storytellers leave this completely up to the players. They say "just make whatever you want, first level, anything in the core rules." That sounds like enough guidance, but trust me on this one, it isn't.

Unless you're okay with an entire party of this guy?

If there's a certain story you want to tell, you have to look at the kinds of party members you want to have. If you want to have a low magic game then you have to tell your players up front there are no spellcasters allowed. If you want to have more of a sword and sorcery feel rather than high fantasy you may need to inform your players that it's humans only, other races by special review only. You might need to say there are no evil-aligned party members allowed, no worshipers of certain gods, and no one is allowed to take the Leadership feat.

Players don't traditionally respond well to a list of thou-shalt-nots, though. So what you should do instead is get everyone together and pitch your idea to them as a group. Let the players ask questions, make suggestions, and get a feel for what you're doing. If your players agree, then have a character creation night where you work with each player on build and character motivation, ensuring that they will fit right into your game and that you as the storyteller know what will pull a given character in a given direction. You aren't the author, and you can't generally make them do anything, but you can nudge the story one way or another if you're tactful. More on motivation at Kobold Quarterly here.

Step #5: Roll Out

I had to.

Once you've detailed your world, the plot, and you know who the heroes are, you are ready to get going. All the prep-work is done, which means one thing.

Your players are going to make everything you planned irrelevant.

Don't get upset about this, and don't try to force your players to follow heavy, iron rails in the direction you want them to go. Running a roleplaying game is not a choose-your-own-way adventure; it's more like a chess game. There is a board, and the players can move all over it. They each have different abilities, and different methods of getting to the other side. Maybe the party decides to storm the gates and fight the ogre king like you pictured. Maybe they opt to climb over the mountain and scale down from above Mission Impossible style. Maybe they poison the king's food, and walk away without a single initiative check. Maybe they negotiate a peace, allying the nation of ogres with the elf kingdom.

Give your players a goal, but don't dictate how they get there.


As always, thanks for dropping by Improved Initiative. I hope that all my fellow players and storytellers find this checklist useful, and that it enhances every game you play from here on out. If you want to show your gratitude then share the links with your friends, or toss a couple of nickels into our "Bribe the DM" cup on the upper right side of your screen. For advice on how to be a better writer, check out the Literary Mercenary, and to keep up to date with what's going on follow us on Facebook or Tumblr.