This is bad timing, but this week–in between far less pleasant excitements–I’ve become an uncle. The birth has been an all-around happy and uncomplicated one, if much earlier than anybody expected, but I will admit it’s caught me with my buffer down. It’s not that I haven’t written my next post–I actually have–but I haven’t edited and reviewed it properly, and with this series, that takes considerable time. I won’t give badly-phrased or incomplete GMing advice if I can help it; that’s the closest somebody like me can ever get to malpractice.
To make up for the lack of essay, I’ll be showing up for this week’s Diecast and Spoiler Warning recordings (typically I take the second week of the month off). Until then, I leave you with this brief anecdote from the first long-term D&D campaign I ever ran:
It’s high school, and like most high school DMs I’ve got big dramatic plans. Long before I’ve got my players lined up I’ve got this whole winding path of murder, conspiracy, and ritual intrigue planned. I can play it forward in my head like I’m remembering a beloved TV show–they’ll find the cryptic runes on an ancient corpse, dramatically uncover matching, bloody marks on a fresh victim–there’ll be the search for a killer, the trail of bodies, the close encounters with figures in the dark and glimpses of the secret powers that run the world. You know <popular, slightly overrated videogame or film franchise>? I’m not saying it’s a ripoff or anything, but I’m pretty sure it’ll feel exactly like <popular, slightly overrated videogame or film franchise.>
I make up a full map of the main city, a list of custom-tailored Gods, a sketch of the political climate, and even–when I get really bored–some encounters. As the introductory session approaches I sit down with my first player and we play a few brief adventures set in my homemade world–something to stave off my RPG cravings and help me get a handle on my lore. She’s got as much experience gaming as I do and when it comes time to make her character for the full campaign, it’s a painless process. “Pick a class. Pick a race. Pick one of my Gods to worship. Cool. We start in a few weeks.”
A few days later I sit down with my other two players–both eager-but-inexperienced new friends with some CRPG experience but no actual table time. I walk them slowly and patiently through the character creation chapters of the rulebook. “Here are the classes–pick one to take a level in. Here are the races–pick one to be. Here is the list of Gods in the book–pick one to worship. You got all that? Good. Remember, I totally know what I’m doing.“
Only later do I realize my mistake. I have one player who already knows my setting and has picked one of my made-up deities, and on the other hand, I have two new players who have just very carefully and with much deliberation picked out premade Gods from the rulebook. The campaign hasn’t even begun and I’m already contradicting myself.
Some secret and not-terribly-subtle rewrites ensue. Suddenly the very first session features religious riots and temple burnings as a war between my made-up Gods and the established Pantheon the old orthodox traditionalists and dangerous upstart cultists reaches a sudden, never-before-mentioned fever pitch. Since I didn’t cover the schism or its source during orientation, this citywide brouhaha raises some questions–so I answer them with events, exposition, and NPCs in the next session. And some more in the next one. Very next thing I know it’s eight months later, the campaign’s over, and it turns out the whole damn thing’s been about this religious war that I invented to cover up a stupid mistake in character creation.
I tell all GMs the same thing–if you can keep your mouth shut and think on your feet, there’s no limit to how often and how hard you can screw up.
Rutskarn is a writer, author, wordsmith, text producer, article deviser, prose architect, and accredited language-talker. If you enjoy his contributions to this site you could always back his Patreon.
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