Hi.
You’re a creative.
I know that because anyone who plays Dungeons And Dragons is a creative to some extent. We all like experiencing amazing moments, rambling through an amazing and fantastical world as described by, or driven by someone whose vision is unfolding in front of you like a very inexpensive yet no less effective therapy session where you’re not sure whether the therapist is helping you or getting you into a headlock.
This is the creative force billowing in the sails of every moment. A social experiment on a small scale, amplifying everything you know about dialogue, politics, action, suspense. The crucible of innovation and improvisation.
All tied together with the near-divine spice of dice; being the ones that ultimately decide your fate. Mirroring the fickle and seemingly unjust hand of fate that gives and takes in every moment of our life.
I’ve seen Tabletop Roleplaying games described as escapism, and I’ve always resisted that description as reductive. How can you call it escapism, when it is the very act of creation that gives meaning to our lives from a moment to moment basis? To compare this wonderful thing to a simple avenue for escape, and to distil it to just some silly game doesn’t just do the hobby a disservice, but everyone who has built their professional and creative lives from it – who it has helped realise that there is so much more to do, to be.
This thing, this absurd pastime that is as much a folk tradition as a hobby has contributed more to my life, my creative freedom than any time sitting in front of the keyboard ever could.
The very reason I’m typing this right now is because I desire for other people to know just how much potential there is in engaging with hobbies such as Dungeons And Dragons. You build experiences and lasting memories from out of the very aether; you share a part of your soul with those you play this game with. It hurts; actually hurts sometimes, in those tense moments or when a beloved character dies by the whim of the universe.
You’re asking the question, you’re unsure, you’re insecure about your game – whether you’re making it difficult enough, or interesting enough, or if it’s boring or if the people playing really want to spend the time.
You’re missing the point entirely.
Ask yourself only two things:
Are you communicating with your players – the other creative forces that inhabit the world you’re ferrying down the turbulent river of your collective?
Are you being true to the fickle and tumultuous nature of the dice?
These are the two most important things in being a Dungeon Master.
The first, because the more you communicate with all the people in the game, the easier your storytelling (or story-shepherding as I like to call it) will be. They will almost make the story for you, if you’re willing to incorporate, in a sane and believable manner, their ideas into the world. Let them breathe life into the countryside, and let them explore it, and have it reach out and touch them.
The second is the dice. Be true to the dice. I absolutely hate fudging, even though it is entirely necessary at times; just because the random number generator creates those unbelievable moments, where things could be snatched away from you in a split second. We don’t make these stories in spite of that possibility, but because of it. There is no reason for your characters to meticulously discuss their plan to storm the keep if there’s no way, even with a perfect plan, that it all goes completely wrong and crashes down around their ears.
As Jean-Luc Picard once said (And David Kemper once wrote): “It is possible to commit no mistakes and still lose. That is not a weakness; that is life.”
Conversations between characters start to take on more weight if they realistically think that it could be the last conversation they have – and it’s those moments that they will remember forever.
A campaign where the players dance on a razorblade between success and failure at all times will not just be more engaging, but more satisfying in its successes and meaningful in its defeats.
Stop being afraid to take a chance on danger. Kill your players.