One thesis of Yax’s article is that, given scheduling restraints and the challenge of pulling off a long campaign, your game can go rules-lite. This is an excellent option, especially for experienced gamers who can easily shift gears between rules-lite systems by virtue of their general role-playing ability, but I also think that almost any system can be adapted to “short play” by virtue of campaign design. Here are a few considerations for a short campaign played using a system most often associated with long campaigns:Limit your scope

A rogue-centric campaign in Waterdeep that plays like a half-season of The Sopranos is limited in scope but rich in storytelling opportunities. You won’t have to worry about melding the long-term goals of the Lawful Good Deva Paladin with those of the Tiefling Warlock; the DM can lean on the City of Splendors as a manageable (yet detailed) backdrop; and a built-in affiliation amongst the player characters gives them common cause right out of the gate.

Manage expectations

Specifically, you and your players should raise the bar with regards to how they use time in-game. Players who come into a D&D game without knowing that it’s limited in scope might linger a bit longer at the store or run back-and-forth between different locations to make sure they didn’t miss a clue. In a long-term campaign it’s a good sign that the players are chewing the scenery, but in a short campaign the play is the thing, not the bit players. It’s a fine line to walk, though: don’t be the pushy player who tells everyone to “Get a move on, the DM is obviously pointing us towards this mountain.”

Encounters should count

This is a cousin of previous tip and is directed more towards DMs. Use smaller “set designs” (e.g., dungeons, temples, aristocratic villas) and run less encounters, but make every one of those encounters central to your story: you don’t need cultists on the first floor and a cult leader on the third floor, with two traps and a puzzle in between combats: you need a really good puzzle, perhaps a skill challenge and a meaningful battle with the cult leader. A flexible approach to monster morale can keep you from getting bogged down at the tail end of a combat: “These two kobolds were so impressed by your display of power that they’ve decided to flee the cavern. The seal on the altar suddenly begins to glow….” It sounds elementary because when we’re doing our best campaign design every encounter should be special, but adopting an aggressive “cut-to-the-chase” approach in your short campaign will keep your story on a slick track.

Crowdsource

It’s 2010: soliciting player input and collaborating during both the design and play stages of your campaign isn’t just an idea anymore, it’s an expectation. Intense collaboration away from the table—in terms of setting and plot—can help you make the most out of a short campaign. If each of your players writes 100 words about a major setting element and publishes the information to a wiki (try Obsidian Portal) then you can focus on the story at hand; you can benefit from their ideas in generating your adventures; and the other players will have more skin in the game. More skin in the game means more soul in the game, and in a short campaign you need every bit of soul you can get your hands on before the dice hit the table.

A rules-lite game system is optimal for running a short, memorable campaign, but these tips can help tighten things up if a) your group is short on time and stuck on one system or b) you want to tell small stories within the context of a larger game setting which your group already knows. With regards to the latter, expect to see a personal sub-manifesto for DMs who want to run what I call “serial campaigns.” Stay tuned…

I still hold to my primary thoughts on character death in RPGs: that character death is a very decisive example of PC failure, and that creative game masters should instill their campaigns with a full spectrum of positive and negative outcomes that includes death but doesn’t rely on it as the primary shade of PC failure in their game. Even the simple idea of a “slain” character being taken prisoner and enslaved presents richer role-playing opportunities than all but the most heroic deaths.

Comprehension involves knowing what you, as a DM, will be dealing with as you design a new campaign. Experience has taught me that the earnest campaign designer needs to comprehend his players–both individually and as a group–and that he needs to understand both the game he plans to run and the amount of work that will go into designing a campaign that “will provide a satisfying long-term gaming experience for [his or her] group.” Comprehension is about cultivating the fundamental knowledge which will let you know whether or not you have a chance of achieving your goals as a campaign designer. I’ve seen the best efforts of mice and gamers wasted because the DM (often myself) didn’t think about what he was getting into at the outset: I’ve crafted complex plots, powerful points of conflict and compelling NPCs, only to see my final product fall flat because I spent too much time in my own imagination and not enough time considering the milieu in which I was working.

While the DM/campaign designer will put more effort into his game than all of his players combined, those efforts will be for naught unless he understands the needs and goals of his players early on in the design process. Many words have been written about identifying player “archetypes,” and I defer to Robin’s Laws of Good Game Mastering as a canonical primer on the subject. It would make little sense for me to design the ultimate 500-room crypt crawl for my campaign if most of my players fit the molds of method actor or storyteller; likewise, my time would be ill-spent designing a Harlequin novel’s worth of personal intrigue for my new campaign if most of my gamers tend towards the “hack and slash” side of the spectrum.” Robin’s Laws is the magnum opus of one Robin D. Laws, a prolific game designer whose contributions to the 4th Edition D&D Dungeon Master’s Guide help make that tome one of the best books on role-playing ever published but it is best used as a set of guidelines than as a field manual for identifying gamers. We are all power-gamers, casual gamers, method actors and specialists, in our own way, but Mr. Laws sheds light on one fundamental principal of campaign design: we must recognize the different “buttons” the our games can push for ourselves and our players, and we must coordinate the pushing of those buttons if we are to pull off a successful campaign.

Crafting a campaign that scratches the various itches of your players is a big part of the comprehension process, but a DM who designs his own campaign must also understand the group as a whole, particularly with regards to “off table” factors. Is your group likely to stay together for an extended period of time? It would be a shame to weave plot hooks into a character’s backstory if that player’s character is unlikely to stick around long enough to nibble at those hooks. If the player group is likely to see a great deal of turnover then you might still put a lot of work into your setting, NPCs and metaplot, but you would be ill-advised to wager too much design time on a character who might be moving out of state before you can resolve his role in the story. Weigh the likelihood of group disintegration against the amount and nature of design work which you’re willing to put into your new campaign.

Another aspect of comprehending group dynamics is understanding the potential for group conflict: disagreements between PCs is fodder for drama and adventure, but if you see the possibility for player-on-player conflict–or even violence–derailing your campaign? If so then proceed with caution: the best campaign environment for PCs who often find themselves at crossed purposes is a “sandbox” style, but a group that is over-ripe with internal strife runs the risk of falling apart, and as DM/designer you should adjust your expectations and campaign goals accordingly. I, for one, would find little point in running a game in which one or more of the PCs involved constantly worked at cross purposes from the rest of the player group: such an arrangement almst always involves splitting the party, and has the added effect of pushing players away from the game so they can set squarely against one another. Comprehend the cohesiveness of your play group before you begin your design project and adjust (or abort) your efforts accordingly.

Rules comprehension is key to the success of your campaign. No DM is expected to quote chapter and verse from every rulebook, but a thorough knowledge of the game system with which you play your campaign is essential to campaign design. Not only will you be called upon to adjudicate rules disputes at the table, but you’ll also be expected to create combat encounters, skill challenges, etc.. which will challenge your players–such “crunchy” design cannot be achieved without a solid fundamental understanding of the rules. It’s safe to assume that one player in your campaign will no more about the rules than you do, but he or she should be the only “rules lawyer” whom you can’t handle quickly. Players will know a great deal about the rules regarding their character’s abilities but you should have a sound understanding of the rules frameworks which underpin those abilities. Never allow yourself to be caught flat-footed on a rules question: be prepared to run your game and to provide a sound response to those players whose knowledge exceeds your own on a specific topic. Never be afraid to seek advice or suggestions on rules questions at the table and never allow yourself to be seen as entirely ignorant of a rules concept. Amongst some gaming groups such ignorance can derail your rapport with the players and undermine your campaign.

The last area of comprehension which I’ll cover in this article is self-knowledge. Know your strengths and weaknesses as a game master. Design campaign elements which highlight your strengths and find ways to avoid or patch over your weaknesses. If you excel at improvising NPCs then make incidental NPC encounters central to your game; if you’ve never pulled off a successful large combat scenario then you might just avoid such battles, or you might spend a great deal of time preparing one and running through it yourself before bringing it to the table. Most importantly, know how much work you want to put into your campaign: the best campaigns require a great deal of work, much of which is never seen by the players, so be honest with yourself about how much time you want to put into your game and adjust your approach and expectations accordingly.

I hope that this discussion of Comprehension–the most abstract of the Seven C’s of Campaign Design–has been helpful to you. In my next post I’ll let you know how I’ve applied my own advice in the design of a brand new campaign which I’m working on. Until then, happy gaming!

I’ve always liked paper and cardboard options. The cardboard stand-ups from the Dragon Mountain boxed set made a huge difference in the quality of my 2E combats, but paper miniatures of that quality are hard to come by these days. I tried Paper Heroes, but the “lie flat” thing just didn’t do it for me.

Time Spiral posted instructions for great stand-up, paper miniatures. His example graphics are very high quality, and I like the potential for customization. I haven’t had the chance to put these into use yet but I’ll report back when I do.

I hate it. If players think that their characters will never die in combat then they’ll play recklessly, and will eventually become bored with the game, but is character death the only way to create tension in your game? A good D&D game provides a variety of challenges, not just combat challenges, and these challenges should provide a spectrum of possible outcomes, good and bad.

On the other side of the screen, why would a player even write a backstory for his character if he didn’t expect that character to make it to 2nd Level? I want the players in my game to become invested in the world and in their characters: if they’re motivated to engage the game then the prospect of failing a skill challenge, losing an ally or having to take the long way through Mordor will excite them. The possibility of character death, when raised, should horrify a player, but the “killer DMs” of the 1980s made it old hat.

As a rule of thumb, everybody gets one in my game. If a character picks the wrong fight in the first session or sticks his hand into the mouth of that demon sculpture at the end of the hallway then I’m not afraid to invoke Deus ex Machina just once just to keep them in the game–to give them a chance to build some ties to the campaign, to make that backstory worth their time, and maybe to introduce a story hook (the wandering cleric who saved your life requires a favor of you…).

3rd and 4th Edition have drastically increased both the power and durability of 1st Level characters, which is great, but in a long-term campaign I’ll always give a low-level character one pass. After all…

Take, for instance, Aaslund the Innkeeper. When the characters entered his inn you pulled his name off a list and, after glancing at another list, decided he was greedy. It would be simple to say that he’s just a shrewd businessman pinches every penny: that motivation makes sense and you can run with it. In this capacity Aaslund will forever be lost to the history of your campaign.
But what if you took a second to think of another reason why Aaslund is greedy? What if he’s scrambling for gold so he can afford to move to another town? He might be afraid of the newly-appointed Captain of the guard, whom he used to pick on as a child, and who is now shaking him down for protection money. These few simple details will make Aaslund a memorable NPC (as opposed to the guy whom the PCs pay for their night’s rest).

Aaslund’s municipal nemesis might be symptomatic of the widespread corruption that the player characters are already investigating: this would integrate Aaslund the innkeeper into a larger campaign story arc. The Captain’s protection racket might be an isolated incident which gives your players the opportunity to complete a small side quest. Aaslund’s quarrel with the Captain might just be a bit of local color to make the PC’s stay at the inn more interesting.

Understanding the motivations of common “set piece” NPCs (e.g. barmaids, blacksmiths, or palace guards) will help you bring them to life. At the very least these well-developed characters will give your players a stronger sense of setting and spur them on to some in-character role-playing. In other situations you can use “set piece” NPCs to launch side quests, highlight larger campaign themes or even provide another “point of entry” for your adventures.

It would be silly if every stable boy were an exiled prince, and it would be a burden on the Dungeon Master to script a background for every beggar or minstrel that crosses the PC’s path. It helps to think of specific NPC backgrounds during adventure design and to keep a mental “bank” of generic NPC backgrounds to use at your discretion. When fleshing out minor NPCs on the fly the most important thing is to work with your players: if a character suddenly takes a shine to a particular gardener then roll with it and use an appropriate motivational hook from your NPC “bank” to keep the story moving and reward the player for interacting with the game world.

If you don’t believe me then try this experiment: the next time your player characters get into a fight with, oh, say, some kobold, and only one is left standing, give that kobold a name. Have him throw down his weapon, beg for mercy and explain that he drifted into a life of banditry because he looked up to his older brother, who also robbed caravans. Make him pledge to lead a straight-and-narrow life.

He’s still just a kobold. He may or may not know anything that would help the PCs in their quest. He might suffer a coup-de-grace at the hands of a particularly cold-hearted Striker, or he might resurface as a paladin ten sessions down the road. But your players will remember him and regardless of whether or not they let him live they will have more fun than if he were just another minion who fled or died anonymously.

NPCs give a Dungeon Master the best return on his design investment because they draw players in: a funny shopkeeper can loosen the players up, a haughty nobleman can push their buttons, and a nasty villain can motivate even the most combat-oriented player to kick a little more ass. NPCs close the distance between the players and the Dungeon Master in a powerful and direct way: well-crafted, well-played NPCs are the sharpest arrows that a DM can have in his quiver.

So how do you create great NPCs?

In my travels I’ve seen lists of names (and one application that makes them obsolete), complex lists of personality traits and backgrounds, and even collections of canned NPCs. These resources belong in any DM’s toolbox but a name and a personality quirk or two aren’t enough to bring that gnomish librarian to life. He needs something else.

He needs a motivation.

In the words of award-winning screenwriter and playwright Aaron Sorkin, “I try not to show the audience who the character is, I try to show what the character wants.” Gruver the paranoid gnomish librarian (who frequently sneezes into a giant red handkerchief) is all well and good, but if you want your players to immerse themselves in your game then you’re going to have to do better than that. You need to know why Gruver is paranoid and, if the opportunity presents itself, pass that knowledge along to the player characters.

Motivation is the heart of any fictional character: it brings them to life and keeps them moving. Motivated NPCs are also close to the heart of your role as Dungeon Master: they pump fresh blood into your campaign–not just by explaining why things happen but by informing how things happen and, sometimes, even making things happen.

In future articles I’ll explain in greater depth the ways that motivated NPCs can enhance your campaign. Until then, motivate yourself to get your NPCs into the game: if you do then you’ll bring that much more of the game into your players’ heads.

Under 2nd Edition rules, a Fighter requires 2000 Experience Points to reach 2nd Level. A Kobold slain in one-on-one combat is worth 7 Experience Points, meaning that a 1st Level Fighter acting alone would have to slay 285.7 Kobolds to level up.

Compare those figures to Dungeons & Dragons 3.5: our Kobold-killing Fighter needs 1000 Experience Points to reach 2nd Level, and his tiny, reptilian prey of choice is worth 300 XP if slain in one-on-one combat. That’s 3.3 dead Kobolds to reach 2nd Level, or 282.4 less Kobolds than it would have taken him to level up in AD&D 2nd Edition.

I’ll always have a soft spot for AD&D, but the insane amount of effort that goes into gaining levels under that system is just one of many game elements that I’m glad WotC has fixed in the later editions. Those who played any PC games in the Baldur’s Gate or Icewind Dale series were given a clinic on the slow pace of 2nd Edition level advancement: arbitrary story-related experience awards were the only means of making those games–and our 2nd Edition campaigns–playable.

4th Edition D&D boasts a finely tuned system. Wizards of the Coast must have tapped some MIT-level talent during the development of this latest edition because the numbers don’t crunch so much as they click. The downside to such a finely-tuned tabletop engine is that it makes it hard to work under the hood without screwing something up (although plenty of third party publishers are putting out fine 4E rules supplements).

I like the cohesive, clockwork nature of 4th Edition mechanics. It helps me focus more on the game setting and the action at hand. Characters in my 2nd Edition campaigns didn’t level up the hard way–there were no 285+ Kobold body counts–but the players probably would have enjoyed themselves more had their characters leveled up with greater regularity. 3rd Edition fixed that problem, along with many others, and 4th Edition has built the entire game system around a model of mathematical consistency.

Gaining levels still isn’t easy, but at least it’s no longer needlessly hard.

Campaign design requires a lot of work and nothing discourages a Dungeon Master more than seeing their design work wasted on a failed campaign. One way to avoid a failed campaign is to think about your design in terms of The Seven C’s: Comprehension, Conception, Collaboration, Construction, Consummation, Continuation and Culmination.

Comprehension means understanding the game you want to play, the group with which you’ll play and the amount of work involved in designing and running a campaign.

Conception is the development of a “big picture” for your campaign and/or setting. This idea isn’t limited to designing a classic high fantasy campaign that rides the Plot Railroad from point A to Point B: conception means defining the major ideas and game elements that will guide your work.

Collaboration has long been absent from campaign design and is establishing a strong presence in the world of RPG design. It can be as simple as making sure that your campaign doesn’t zig when anything other than zagging will ruin your group’s fun, or as complex as designing a shared game world. The important thing is to make sure that your campaign isn’t built to fail because you never talked to your players.

Construction is what most gamers think of as the core of campaign design: documenting the game world, writing the adventures and producing important player handouts are all parts of construction. The amount of work involved depends on your strengths as a DM and the expectations of your group, but Construction is all about putting the pen to paper and preparing to play.

Consummation includes creating characters, introducing players to your campaign and getting your first session off the ground. Again, the amount of work required here will vary from campaign to campaign, but campaigns that get off to a good start stand a greater chance of surviving than those that don’t.

Continuation is what you do to keep the campaign alive. It involves making adjustments to your design as the game is played, defining clear effects of player characters actions and keeping track of what happens. This is where the Dungeon Master’s skills as a  “game-runner” are tested and honed, and where players experience the satisfaction of overcoming challenges, improving their characters and immersing themselves in the game world.

Culmination is often, but not always, the end of a campaign. It can also be the major milestone that lets the players know that they’ve entered a new phase of the game. Without culmination players might always wonder about what might have happened in a campaign that was cut short, or they might just wonder why they gather around the same table every week without experiencing any major outcomes.

In the coming weeks I’ll share more thoughts on each of The Seven C’s and share notes on how this approach to campaign design effects my own ongoing work. If nothing else, I hope that I can keep Making the Campaign from resembling a season of Making the Band.

My ordering experience started off on a bad foot: the Chessex website lacks e-commerce functionality, and I had to copy the order form from their website, fill in the required information (including product numbers) and paste it into an email to their sales department. This part of the process was exactly as convenient as you would expect it to be…but their post-order customer service made me forgive the company for its lack of online shopping expertise. I received an order confirmation via email within eight hours, made my payment via Paypal, and received my dice only two days after I had placed my payment. The speed with which they fulfilled my order floored me, especially considering the specificity of my purchase: I had ordered one 7-piece set, an extra d20, and two each extra of d4, d6 and d8s.

As far as the product itself is concerned, I received the same sort of high-quality dice which I have come to expect from Chessex. I chose the opaque black dice with white numbering because they were inexpensive; because the white-on-black numbering is easy to read across a gaming table; and because these dice were for my Rogues, and Rogues deserve black dice. The dice were well manufactured and showed no defects. For the truly curious, here’s a picture of my new bones, taken before they saw their first action:

I now own enough high-quality black dice to meet the needs of my Paragon-tier Rogue for the foreseeable future. Despite a cumbersome ordering process Chessex provided A+ customer service, and their product lived up to the quality standards that I’ve always associated with their brand. Thus ends the portion of the review for which Chessex is even remotely responsible…

…and thus begins my insane rant of gamer superstition. My new dice roll for shit! They played their role (no pun intended) in a TPK during a Living Forgotten Realms mega-adventure (two sessions rolled into one) last week. I’ve been down the new dice road many times during my gaming career: my last set of Chessex dice (a 7-piece set rendered in, I believe, Arctic Stone) rolled poorly out of the gate, but after six months of isolation in my closet they emerged as the MVPs of my dice bag. Seriously, those dice roll higher than the Wu-Tang Clan in Amsterdam.

My new set is currently in solitary confinement (i.e., an extra Crown Royal bag in my desk drawer) until Thursday night’s session. If they don’t shape up then I might have to put the in General Population with the other dice, in the hopes that they’ll learn how to roll. Let’s hope it doesn’t go that far, because gen pop isn’t pretty: those lifers from the Basic set will chew a 20-sider up and spit him out if he even looks at them wrong.