The Player’s Craft

Much of my writing here focuses on the GM’s role or the designer’s skills. This time, let’s take a look instead at improving the experience of playing games rather than running or building them.

Be Attentive and Participate

This one’s free and easy. It’s probably the reason you play games to begin with, to take part in something, right? Indulge that. Lose yourself in it. Let go of the outside world and immerse yourself in the game. Put your phone on Do Not Disturb and close every browser tab that isn’t a game aid — assuming you have any tech at the table at all. Give your attention to the game, the GM, and your fellow players.

Remember what distinguishes games from traditional consumable media: the interactivity! Take your turn. Discuss your plans and actions. Coordinate. Reply. Act, if that’s your style. Be a part of the unique story you and your group are creating.

Note that this isn’t an excuse to bully someone into taking action. Some players genuinely play just to have a seat at the table, to share time with friends, so yanking them into a more active role might actually compromise their enjoyment. Invite, don’t browbeat.

Generate Evocative Detail

Part of experiencing an imaginary world is imagining its details. Ask questions of the GM. Sensory detail goes a long way. Beyond what you see, what do you smell, touch, and hear? The GM has a lot to keep track of, and offering them a chance to enrich the immersive detail by asking an evocative question is an opportunity few GMs will decline.

Orange fruit isolated on white

“Okay, sure, let’s say the alderman has an orange at his desk. Now what?”

Many GMs are willing to share the description duties of sensory detail, as well, since it takes some of the work off their plates at the same time it helps build authenticity in the shared  world. Offer up detail — the GM can overrule it if it’s not contiguous with the world, but more likely they’ll embrace it as part of the whole. Describe your billowing breath in the cold air, the scent you’re wearing in order to entice your lover, the sound of your stylus as you write the damning confession implicating the Prince, the aroma of the spices as you cook your fellows a meal. Remember, you’re not stealing the spotlight, you’re revealing your perspective on the world.

Involve Others

When you have the chance, involve another player in your actions. As a ranger, scout ahead with the wizard. As an investigative reporter, take the soldier to search for clues in the study. “Combos” don’t have to reside solely within the realm of combat tactics. When you take game actions with other players’ characters, not only do you probably increase the chances of their success, you strengthen relationships with those players and characters. And whether your action succeds or fails, you have another player to help you effect the success (or share the consequences…). In terms of game flow, a single player monopolizing the GM’s time can bog down the pacing of what the rest of the table’s doing. Abating that with character groupings can maintain the game flow as well as sustaining player attention during a time that they might be tempted to check out.

Fail Interestingly

Most often, players undertake game actions with the intent to succeed at them. This makes sense, as tabletop RPGs frame player actions as part of a continuous narrative, usually seeking the accomplishment of certain goals. And that’s all fine and good.

As a player, however, you can engage in a bit of positive metagaming, because you know that there’s a distinction between player-you and character-you. Character-you wants to succeed (probably). Player-you, however, aims to be entertained and engaged by the activity at the gaming table. This means that failure in a game action is actually an opportunity to take further game action, to set the course right.  If the reward for success is narrative progression toward the goal and systemic progress toward character improvement, the reward for failure is an endogenous chance for more gameplay. It’s all a question of how you look at it.


Game systems are tools, not hindrances.

Since most players seek an improvement to mastery during play, failure is a chance to grow knowledge — it’s proof that a certain tactic is unreliable, a certain approach to dealing with an enemy isn’t fruitful, or that the incriminating letter isn’t in the drawer of the desk in the library. Learning how not to face a challenge informs how to face it effectively. Narratively, failure is a chance to do more: to dig yourself out of a worsening negotiation, seek new aid against a common enemy, or otherwise emerge from the failure into accomplishment.

Success means you’ve accomplished your goal. Failure means you get to keep playing as you continue to pursue it. Either way, game on.

Propose Solutions and Approaches

A character sheet is a set of limitations. It’s a list of constraints in which your character operates. Hang on a minute — that’s a good thing.

It’s good because those limitations provoke your creativity. If nothing else, games are a venue in which you creatively solve problems represented by the limitations of your character.

With that in mind, creatively solve problems! If you assume the standard solutions to problems, you’re letting the rules hold you back rather than propel you forward. Talk things through with your GM, especially when proposing an unorthodox approach. Maybe the GM assumes the hobgoblin guard is there to be fought, but what if you bribe him? Negotiate with him? Cut him in on a share of what’s beyond the gate in exchange for taking all the heat if it’s an even greater challenge? “W want to purchase the house where the witches’ coven convenes and let it fall into foreclosure” is perhaps a more viable solution than burning the damn place down, especially since it leaves the witches alive and having to account for themselves at the solstice tribunal. Become credentialed as a press agent  to walk past the security guards instead of sneaking or knocking them out. Give a gift to the executive assistant instead of ambushing the bigwig in the parking garage. Buy a half-dozen pigs at the stockyards and deliver them to the kitchens of the hotel before the reception begins. (This also works to disrupt a high-school biology class, or so I’m, uh, told.)


This isn’t to say you should expect to be successful every time (see “Fail Interestingly,” above). Nor should every crackpot combination of game inputs even have a chance of success — you can’t seduce a stake into the Ventrue Elder’s heart with Charisma + Manipulation. But neither should that prevent you from bringing to bear your character’s attributes and features to bear in satisfying ways that may be a bit unorthodox. You’re not getting away with anything, you’re flexing creative muscles to solve the challenges the game puts before you.

Rewards are Beginnings, Not Ends

Here’s a simple encounter model: You have an objective. You undertake a challenge to accomplish that objective. You receive a reward.


Congratulations! You overcame the obstacle and got the goody!

…Now what?

In a games context, a reward should most often serve as a beginning, not an end. That simple encounter model above is one cycle of a loop, a repeating sequence. Which is to say, that reward can very effectively be used to engage players in what happens next, to encourage them to participate in the next cycle of the objective-challenge-reward loop.


Let’s look at it in the terms of my favorite toolbox, self-determination theory.


This is the big one. In tabletop RPGs, rewards often heighten the sense of heroic competence. The player obtains a better sword, new spells, improvement to a skill, a new Discipline, or better resources. Rewards often take the form of new or improved tools — which players then bring to bear against future challenges. They’re endogenous rewards: They serve to reinforce and improve the function of game systems the players have already demonstrated an interest in using. You like fighting orcs, so you fight orcs, and as your reward for fighting orcs you get a sword that makes you better at fighting orcs. Fighting orcs is intrinsically rewarding, and you just got better at it.

In additional to the improvements to character, players also gain an increasing understanding of their ability to act upon the world. Level-based systems used to take a lot of stick, but their increasing palette of options in fact works very well for keeping players from feeling paralyzed by a breadth of options. As player mastery increases, so does the significance and competence of their interaction with the world, because they learn to manage more options and they develop an understanding of combinations of options. Few players thrive when having everything available to them at once.


Wisely used, rewards open additional options to the player, or otherwise reinforce their volitional decisions. In a timeworn example, the players rescue the princess (objective) by slaying the dragon (challenge) and then gain access to the realm (reward)… where they find a host of new objectives to pursue. This is sometimes referred to as “gating content” (especially in video games), but it serves a greater function as a reward mechanism, and is also often used in onboarding players to new options, which is especially frequent in level-based systems. As the player grows increasingly familiar with their character’s abilities, their understanding of how they can use those abilities expands, increasing autonomy. Now that the realm is open to you, bold adventurers, what next? Now that you’ve deposed the tyrannical Prince, ambitious Kindred, what will you do in the domain? Now that you have the plans to the orbital battle station, you unintentionally noble space pirates, what will you do with them?


I often like to describe relatedness in terms of “the rewards of rewards.” Going back to our example of saving the princess, the players were granted access to the realm — but that’s not all. As they traverse the realm, NPCs they interact with greet them as “the dragonslayers!” and they see firsthand how their efforts have aided the realm: A scorched field showing signs of growth, burned villages being rebuilt, the sanctuary once again opens its doors. One of the intangible benefits of their actions is seeing the meaning of those actions, and understanding the improvement or aspiration that they’ve made possible.


You find a jar with parts of Stevie Nicks inside it.

Rewards that suggest more to the world satisfy relateness very well. Finding a key suggests there’s a lock somewhere begging to be opened. Finding a map suggests a destination, or perhaps a journey.

Relatedness can also take the form of reputation systems, for example, which lead to future opportunities. This can scale up to a sense of kingdom-building or the expansion of domain, development of “tech trees,” or access to portions of the coterie chart that were closed. Relatedness is part of what makes communities function, so a sense of ongoing betterment of the home base is a very satisfying reward, even if it confers no mechanical benefits. And as that community betters, new objective opportunities open up for it, which feed the players back into the loop.

Inverting the Expectation

One of the default assumptions with rewards is that they’re all rainbows and sunshine for the recipient. That doesn’t have to be true. As a GM, consider over-rewarding the players every now and then… but with certain strings attached, especially if those strings aren’t immediately evident. Sure, you’ve found Excalibur, but now Modred and Morgan La Fay are after you.


A reward can be a burden more than a boon, or invite new responsibility.

This is a reward technique to be used sparingly, but it’s compelling. In doing this, you must design the reward to be worth the extra trouble, but you don’t want to train your players to dread rewards. In this case, the players are gaining outsized mastery rewards as well as some additional relatedness rewards. Interestingly, there’s some amount of curtailing of their free will (autonomy) at this point, but it may actually increase their sense of volition, as they opt into being the caretakers of this particular artifact. Consequences are interesting after all. And what if the players decide that having Excalibur isn’t worth the added responsibility? How do they get rid of the damned thing?

As a Player

Constructing rewards typically falls under the purview of the GM in tabletop RPGs, but players can use their rewards to stimulate the process, as well. The simplest way to do this is in outlook: The very act of understanding rewards as a staging point rather than a conclusion is important for players to not only take satisfaction in their progress, but to project future goals. (See the previous post for more on goal-setting.)

Rewards can also send clear messages to the GM. If the party chooses to sell the Armor of Fire Resistance, that’s a pretty definitive statement that they won’t be interested in the journey to the City of Brass where they’d have to dance at the whim of the ifrit lord. Readily yielding the identity of the rogue ghoul to the Tremere Primogen is a fairly declarative that the coterie is more interested in the political story then they mystery subplot.

GM’s Craft: Cultivate Player Goals

Without an objective, a game’s choices lack meaning. It’s the function of the gamemaster to communicate the goals (in a more directed or plot-dependent game) or to clearly define the space in which the players can make their goal choices (in a more open game, such as a sandbox-style campaign). Naturally, players will have a lot of input on what a game’s goals may be. A pack of good-aligned monster hunters will have a very different goal than a crew of booty-hunting pirates, whose goals will be different from a band of rebels or escaped slaves.

It’s also the function of most games to provide enough “signposts” that players can gain a sense of progression through understanding the rules. For example, “gain a level” is a perfectly valid goal in a level-based game, while “gain a new dot in a Discipline” is a valid goal for a more open character progression game like Vampire.

Young stylish businessman

In multiplayer games like most tabletop RPGs, it’s also very likely that a group of PCs may be simultaneously working toward a common goal while they individually pursue orthogonal or even opposed goals. It’s possible that the paladin and warlock both want to slay the dragon, while serving rival gods or patrons. And the Ventrue and Brujah may both have a common enemy in the Tremere Prince but very, very different objectives in mind for how to pursue relations with the Anarchs.

But full circle, the game needs to indicate to the player or allow them to choose what’s next. If a player is wondering “what do I do now?” that may be a lack of information communicated by the GM, an underdeveloped progression system, or a lack of opportunity for the player to compare their choices and decide what’s next.

Manage the information at critical junctures — goals are what inform the player’s actions.

Technique: Prompt your characters to detail a goal their characters wants to pursue. It doesn’t have to be elaborate, they don’t have to provide it on the spot, and it can certainly change over time. They don’t even have to have just one; they may have several, of varying degrees of importance to them. Asking them about their goals gets them thinking about those objectives, however (if they haven’t been already), which puts them on the road toward better understanding their characters, and that in turn lets you better tailor the game to the shared story you’re telling.

Campaign Hacking: Tomb of Annihilation

Some posho’s flunky comes up to you and offers to strand you in a malarial jungle swamp, in which you must busk for enough money to outfit yourself for an expedition into a death-god’s lair and smash an artifact so the posho can have her hit points back. When you’re done, abase yourself before the merchant prince’s manor where she’s staying to let her know she’s good to go home.

Okay, maybe that’s a bit of an unfair summary of the framing device used to kickoff Tomb of Annihilation — but it’s not too far off course. For the record, I really like a lot of what ToA has to offer in terms of gameplay, but some of its setting assumptions rub me the wrong way. I’m planning to run it, but not stock out-of-the-book.


It’s no secret that I love exploration campaigns.

When preparing a new campaign, perhaps the most important ingredient is the call to action. Your “elevator pitch” to the players should suggest to them exactly the sorts of adventures they’ll be having, and they’ll imagine characters they can project into that expectation of action. Everything in your preparations should point back to that question: How will the campaign use this detail?

Luckily, I recently ran across this tweet, which prodded me in the right direction, I think, for a game more in keeping with my tastes, and also that empowers the players more than making them thralls to a fantasy one-percenter.

Yes. Excellent. Flip the assumption.

With that principle in mind, I bashed together the campaign notes below. So how, then, can I frame the events of Tomb of Annihilation so that they can be used in the context of a reverse-grave-robber premise?


The PCs are members of a sociopolitical faction known as the Reclamationists. They can be native Chultans with an interest in protecting their own destiny, or they can come from abroad, acting against exploitative interests seeking colonial dominance of the jungle. The PCs are rebels, a resistance faction, heeding a moral mandate.

(GM Notes: I actually probably won’t set this in Chult, as I’m more attracted to other campaign worlds, but I leave it untouched here for the sake of clarity.)


Playable characters. Okay, maybe this is a still from Black Panther. You get the point.


  • An ecological interrelationship exists between humans and nature, acknowledging the inherent connections between people and their surroundings.
    • “True freedom lies where folk receive nourishment and preservation, and that is in the use of the earth.”
  • Economic value derived from land (including natural resources and natural opportunities) belongs equally to all members of society.
  • Cultures and communities make sovereign decisions for themselves, and outside influence intrudes upon that sovereignty.

(GM Notes: This is swiped almost whole cloth from the Wikipedia entry for the Diggers, which seemed like a good conceptual fit.)


The most commonly accepted origin of the Reclamationists is the unification of a druidic circle and a locality of tenant farmers. With the spiritual guidance of the druids, the land-workers rallied to a common cause, giving rise to the faction’s motto, “All who believe are together and have all things in common.” Reclamationism spread among numerous land-working classes, and various offshoots of it exist, from deity-aligned dominionists to secular humanists and everything in between. It is a form of agrarian populism and often finds antagonism from traditional feudalists, across numerous nations.

(GM Notes: This section is pretty weak. It needs more supportive, actionable detail. It does, however, indicate some potential conflict, whether internal to the Reclamationists or from external entities trying to hinder opposition.)


  • Occupy! Reclaim public lands that have been privatized.
    • Dig them over, pull down hedges, fill in ditches, etc. to plant crops.
  • Return any items of cultural significance to the cultures that claim them, if such cultures are still extant
  • Ensure that any items taken for academic purposes are taken by reputable academics — none of this “sell it to a museum or private collector” nonsense
  • Harry the efforts of factions seeking to exploit the resources of Chult
    • Ex.: The Merchant Princes are speculators intending to profit from colonial interests plundering the resources of Chult
    • Ex.: The Flaming Fist at Fort Beluarian is a rent-seeking organization extracting revenues from those who would themselves explore and exploit the lost regions of the jungle
    • Ex.: The Order of the Gauntlet may have some admirable aims in opposing the undead, but it may have more imperialistic aims, and cannot be completely trusted until any other objectives have been discerned.
  • Act in opposition to those entities that extend their influence at the expense of others

Expect a great many undead foes. Undead are an inarguable call to action.

Opportunities for Action

  • Smash colonials, especially where they conflict with indigenous communities
  • Expand knowledge of indigenous entities
  • Recover items of cultural significance from those who would exploit that cultural significance for private gain
  • Explore the unknown

(GM Notes: Note the strong verbs in these last two sections, the calls to action. Most of them stand on their own, but some could use some touch-up. “Ensure,” “act,” and “return” can probably be replaced with more robust actions that are more engaging on their own.)

A Simple Narrative Model

In my day job working on computer games, I’ve been looking into a number of games that have procedurally generated features. From algorithmically built worlds to randomized characters, the computer creates various components and turns the manipulation of them over to the players. The result is an emergent narrative of the players’ story. Consider this in contrast to a more heavily scripted game structure in which the narrative beats are specifically planned. In games with key procedurally generated components, the heaviest decision making and the consequences imposed on the world are driven by the players’ choice, as opposed to the narrative designer’s (or in this case, the GM’s). While the GM always arbitrates the rules, some amount of outcome is always dictated as a result of player choice — because interaction is what distinguishes a game from more traditionally consumed media.

Heat Signature features procedurally generated characters and game spaces, and this critical video posits that three questions form the basis of the player’s interactions with and investment in the game. A simple expression of these three questions translates into the medium of tabletop RPGs, as well (and isn’t contingent on procedural generation).


Example procedurally generated 3D geometrical prints.

What do the players have?

In this case, “have” is a broad understanding of the characters’ capabilities. This can include everything from their equipment to their skills to unique powers or functions. D&D’s class features, Vampire’s Disciplines, Mutants & Masterminds’ Advantages: These are all under the umbrella of what the players have, and they go a long way toward satisfying the essential experience of the game. The players can have much or they can have very little — the story of the game is about using what they have to effect change.

What do the players want?

At its simplest, what the players want is their immediate objective. Save the princess. Slay the dragon. Intercept the shipment. Beyond that, the game grows in complexity and the story grows in meaning as the players layer their characters’ personal desires with the shared narrative goal. The archetypal adventuring party is the most common example of this, and Vampire made much of subverting common goals and interleaving them with conflicting personal goals. Most games build upon the relatedness of goals by constructing the players’ various aims that can be represented as Venn diagrams, and groups that have good dynamics often see player characters assisting each other in achieving their personal objectives.


An example of where a party’s interests and goals may overlap. Note that Limahl later went on to a musical career with Kajagoogoo.

What happens next?

This is up to you. This is the intersection of what the players have, what they want, and how the game systems model their attempts to achieve their goals with the tools at hand. This is where the verbs happen, this is where the static scene becomes a dynamic story. This is why everyone gathers around the tabletop.

A Golden Age

We’re living in a golden age for tabletop games.

When I was younger, I lucked into the pastime that became my hobby that became my career. My cousin had a D&D boxed set and ran a game. It was the quintessential old-school gaming experience, elves creeping into an imaginary underground that we envisioned with our minds there among the potato chips, Pepsi, Iron Maiden posters, and “Tom Sawyer” on the stereo. I had had no idea that this world existed, but in that moment, who I would become for the next 30-plus years had its genesis.

And it was pure serendipity. I didn’t even know these games existed. I didn’t seek them out. I didn’t stumble across them in a search for something for which I had a vague longing. It just happened. I got lucky.

[conclude flashback]

Compare that to now:

“Over half of the new people who started playing Fifth Edition [the game’s most recent update, launched in 2014] got into D&D through watching people play online,” says Nathan Stewart, senior director of Dungeons & Dragons.

The Verge

That’s amazing. People are able to find the hobby now. Less and less do they have to wake up surrounded by it like a Dunsanian protagonist.

I write a lot here about satisfying players’ psychological needs, and that’s what much of this points back to. Players have these needs — whether they know it or not — and the tools and channels available to us now not only help them meet those needs, they help them understand and identify those needs sooner. They discover opportunities for mastery, in seeing game systems bloom before them. They understand relatedness by witnessing players cooperating to tackle in-game challenges and growing relationships around the table. They see the autonomy of players choosing their fate and then reaping the rewards (or consequences…). It’s no longer sequestered in the basements of stoner cousins, it’s out there, and it’s beckoning. And more than ever, it’s inclusive. It’s representational. Players are seeing that games are for them, that games are for everyone.

(And in many cases, that relatedness expands beyond the table. People feel connections to other players they’re not even playing with, through the commonality of the games medium and through the ability to interact with those players via social media. Look how many people feel like they belong to various games forums where sharing and discussing ideas is the core activity, or who share a common love for the entertainment format of Critical Role and consider themselves a part of it, even if they’re not on the stream proper.)

A Roman bone dice and gaming counter on a wooden table

It’s not like it used to be, when you used to have to time travel to ancient Rome in order to find fellow games enthusiasts.

It’s absolutely a golden area for the games table, enhanced greatly by the virtuality and accessibility of it all.

So what does this mean for you? This is your chance to be an evangelist. This is your chance to welcome new people to the hobby, to share new stories. This is your opportunity to be someone’s gateway into a lifetime of satisfying hobby games, or the chance to introduce or even be the next great designer, artist, writer, etc. The barrier to entry has never been so low, and the rewards have never been so great.

GM Toolbox: Action Feedback

One of the major differences between interactive and non-interactive media is the concept of feedback. Games, as interactive media, show you the results of choices you make. If you’re running a game, that’s a tremendous boon for you, as understanding them is the key to keeping your players engaged. (And if you’re playing a game, receiving those feedbacks is part of why you’re playing.)

Computer games are very effective at communicating feedback. They pair immediate graphical output with nuanced sound and, in appropriate cases, fanfare that all demonstrate positive, desired outcomes. And in cases where a sub-optimal result has been achieved, or even failure, they can communicate that as well, imparting teachings that can increase player skill (even in their absence).


There’s little ambiguity about what the player has accomplished here.

Around the RPG table, though, feedbacks are a different beast, and are almost solely the responsibility of the GM. And the GM has a variety of different means to communicate those feedbacks, to keep the players engaged. After all, players play games to make choices, and feedbacks frame the outcomes of those choices.

Granular Feedback

Granular feedback is immediate, showing the sequential, often instantaneous outcome to an action. A dice roll yields instant feedback — you see the number you rolled and you (usually) know whether you succeeded or not, and by how much. A GM description of events can also be granular competence feedback: a description of a combat maneuver’s result, an acknowledgement of having picked a lock, a spell that completely suborns the rancor of a hostile creature. Granular competence feedback is the easiest to convey as a GM.

2nYjCaG - Imgur

Quintessential RPG feedback.

Sustained Feedback

Sustained feedback may be a collection of successive granular feedbacks, but can be more than that in the employ of a skilled GM. Sustained feedback shows the player(s) that they’re on a roll, in the zone, or otherwise achieving an ongoing series of successes. Simple comments like, “The hall is strewn with the unconscious forms of your enemies” can go a long way toward reinforcing a sense of player achievement — they show the player, “Hey, good job, you’ve had a string of successes here.” Pursuit and other forms of extended challenges are great for sustaining feedback. Once the player has achieved the 10 successes required to hack into a database, for example, call out the accomplishment. The individual dice rolls yielding the successes show the granular accomplishment, but finally accumulating the required number is a payoff. Finally eluding a hunter or finally catching up to one’s prey are other strong examples. A bard gradually winning over a crowd, an artist creating their magnum opus, and a codebreaker finally cracking a cipher are other examples. Sustained competence feedback is generally the hardest for a GM to convey, as its circumstances are less frequent than granular feedbacks. But if the GM sets their mind to highlighting these sorts of indicators of progress, they can bridge the granular and cumulative competence feedbacks, and help transition the players from the “little bits” to the “big picture” overall.


The intrepid adventurers were able to translate the demented sorcerer’s flesh-bound journal.

Cumulative Feedback

Cumulative feedback is that “big picture,” that overall expression of the little outcomes that shape the whole. RPGs are great for cumulative feedbacks. The campaign itself is a form of cumulative feedback, while individual sessions also represent smaller but still “chunky” cumulative milestones. Multiple-session books, chapters, seasons — whatever your terminology for them, they’re longer-form expressions of feedback. When an antagonist escapes the players or is ultimately brought to their just desserts, that’s a cumulative form of feedback, as it demonstrates the ultimate objective that so many of the granular and sustained actions were working toward.


And everything concludes neatly with no loose ends….

Overall, feedbacks help communicate accomplishment, and accomplishment satisfies player needs. Note that accomplishment doesn’t necessarily equal success! Players may feel a sense of accomplishment through having foiled an antagonist’s plans only temporarily (as with many Call of Cthulhu scenarios). They may feel accomplishment through the relatedness of knowing they have earned the ire of a common enemy.

As well, feedbacks can transcend the game as a framework. While in-game rewards are immediate and satisfying, the game’s rewards aren’t bounded to the duration of play itself. Much like a satisfying book or film, playing a game can leave a strong sense of satisfaction after the experience itself has concluded. And that satisfaction is engendered by — and even described by — feedbacks. Indeed, player satisfaction can be the feedback a GM receives for a game session greatly appreciated by the participants.


Writing Characters for WoD One-Shots

I often run one-shots for the World of Darkness. Whether I’m doing demo sessions or running games for the local RPG club, I find the setting of the World of Darkness and its essential experience are very well suited to single-session stories for a variety of reasons.

  • The session can address a specific topic without having to sustain a full chronicle
  • Players can satisfy and gain feedback on short-term goals
  • Players can indulge intra-player treachery and intrigue without jeopardizing their relationships to one another over the long term

This last one is probably the most important. Treachery and intrigue are built into the DNA of the World of Darkness. A unifying theme across all of the WoD titles is the presence of a secret history and wheels that turn within wheels to satisfy the inscrutable goals of often unseen engineers. This is great stuff and it makes for marvelous conflict in stories around the game table — and conflicts are the stuff of which stories are made, of course.

With that in mind, when I set out to write a one-shot for the World of Darkness, I try to satisfy the following objectives.

Create Pregenerated Characters

Pregens are almost a must-have for a one-shot. At the table proper, they save session time that would otherwise be spent in character creation. Most importantly, they can be written to guarantee the presence of the themes and elements you construct your story to demonstrate. A wise Storyteller will create pregenerated characters with dependencies on each other and with complementary traits, which you almost certainly won’t get with an open-table approach to characters. Indeed, pregenerated characters let you manage some of the players’ expectations, which can be a huge deal if you’re not personally curating who’s at the table. (Seriously. I ran a demo game at the Essen Spiel once for a group of players that included a guy who wanted to fight everything with his claymore and a woman who wanted a session of pure gothic romance. And never again did I run demo sessions without pregenerated characters. Not because these concepts or expectations were bad, but because attempting to appease them both just left each of them disappointed.)

Have Players Suggest a Character Type or Concept

Here, you should expressly communicate that your pregenerated characters are just that — pregenerated, so there’s not a lot of ability to make a whole lot of tweaks on the spot without compromising the story’s plans. Players can certainly change details like their name, Nature and Demeanor, and maybe a trait or three, but you likely will have made certain considerations with the characters that are required by story elements (see below). Maybe you’re bold enough to let people adjust their clan or Disciplines, and if you are, bravo.

Myself, I ask players to write down a list of three adjectives that describe the type of character they’d like to play. With that sort of coaching from the players, I can usually get a pretty good match for at least two of those adjectives per player. And the players also feel like their desires have been considered, as opposed to just taking what was left over.

Build Relationships Between Characters


Remember the old coterie charts from the classic Vampire supplements? They depict visually a snapshot of who feels what about whom. You don’t have to go so far as to draw a coterie chart yourself, and you don’t have to connect every player’s character to one another, but you should definitely build opportunities for interaction between the characters. In itself, this serves two purposes:

  • It proactively prompts players to action
  • If you build antagonisms and contrasting goals into the relationships, it lets you shine a light on the themes of treachery and intrigue

Provide Goals for Each Pregenerated Character

If you’re writing the pregenerated characters, you probably have at least a hunch of how the characters you conceive would act. Players, however, haven’t incubated those thoughts yet, so you should provide them with a list of things the character wants to accomplish. The player doesn’t have to use these, but they’re a good way to jump-start the players into activity.

Make these goals obvious. (May you eventually enjoy the discovery of self-starting players and  their capacity to surprise you with the tools you provide them!) Don’t bury the provided goals in paragraphs of background. Bullet point these mofos in a separate section of the pregen materials and call them out with their own header. If the player reads literally nothing else on their character sheet, working toward these is enough to get them participating.

In scripting the events of the one-shot — whether you do this in-depth or as little more than notes or an outline — relate at least one the character’s goals to the primary conflict of the story. All of the characters should have something investing them in the central plot component so as to bring them all together. This is also a great opportunity to foster those greater WoD themes of treachery and intrigue because here’s your chance to set some of those character goals in opposition to one another. Maybe one character wants the diabolist brought before the Prince to answer for their crimes while another player wants to enact retribution upon the diabolist and yet another character wants to take advantage of the Lex Talionis and diablerize the diabolist.

Providing contrasting and even exclusive goals does more than emphasize the themes of the game. It provides the impetus to disagree with other players, act against them (whether overtly or in secret), and takes some of the burden of being the focal point of player interactions off the Storyteller and onto the players themselves. They’re the leading characters of the story, after all, so let them celebrate interacting with one another. Beyond the role-based dependencies facilitated by more tactical situations, these personality-driven interactions make the characters themselves feel more vital, and they make the story more than a series of external obstacles to be overcome.

Provide Secrets for Each Pregenerated Character


Sharing secrets — whether accurately or falsely — is the currency of a World of Darkness story.

Add value to individual players’ characters by taking advantage of information disparity. Everybody should know at least one thing that others don’t. Privileged information makes the player feel powerful. Unique information also makes them valuable to the big picture (whether they share the info or act on it as part of a personal goal.

If you craft them wisely, a player’s secrets can:

  • Provoke conflict or cooperation with another player
  • Provide insight into how to resolve one of the plot conflicts
  • Function as leverage over another character in order to stimulate the social dynamic
  • Tip the balance of power in the story’s climax

Example Materials

Here are some links to planning materials for games I’ve written in the past.

The Apostate’s Wish

Chicago, 1896 — three years after the World’s Columbian Exposition. Three short years ago, the world marveled at the wonders of science, industry, and architecture on display at the expo. The now-abandoned fairgrounds of the grand exhibition harbor a darker side: The remains of the expo have become a stalking ground for a more insidious and decidedly less human horror — albeit one that poses no less a threat to the world of mortals. Into these long shadows steps a team of investigators, their fate as yet unknown….

Character Background Materials

Character Sheets

Storyteller Notes

Undying Ambition

A mysterious missive arrives in the night promising the auction of an incomparable prize: A staked and torpid Methuselah. Those accepting the invitation to the auction each have their own reasons for seeking the torpid ancient, but their true opponents may not be their rival bidders. Are the players masters of their own destinies? Or are they pawns in the War of Ages?

Character Background Materials

It’s Worth It

It sounds like a lot of work, and, honestly, it is, but when you plan your story and assemble the characters with attention to their polish, the players truly appreciate it. Overall, it makes for a stronger story, and it ensures that players have ample ways to impact the story (even if it’s not the core plot over which they have the most influence). And you don’t have to restrict it to the tabletop: You can develop LARP characters or characters for boutique events the same way. Ultimately, it’s about creating opportunities for action, because players want to see the results of the choices they make.

Maps as Flowcharts

In fantasy RPGs, and in some other theme-forward RPGs, maps are often assumed to be one of the high-impact setting artifacts. They’re great for demonstrating production value, they provide valuable in-game information, and they’re good goal-setting tools that inspire their players to seek out far off and challenging destinations. Heck, “map fantasy” is an entire sub-genre of literature.


This map makes me want to play this game.

A conversation in one of my online communities recently got me thinking about what maps suggest, however. While I don’t have an issue with maps, in general, I often find myself working with with much less precise geography when I run games. I responded that GMs could also use flowcharts instead of maps, and I wanted to explore that more substantially here.

Some of things that come up when discussing maps:

  • When your fantasy campaign/ scenario/ session relies on a map, that document makes many decisions for you, rather than letting them emerge from the gameplay. A savvy GM can deviate from this, but it becomes a little more difficult to account for than changing an antagonist or substituting a faction. There’s a cascade effect of consequences that changing “map truths” has, not the least of which is invalidating some of the visual verity of game materials designed for that very purpose. Certainly, fantasy and games are about imagining “what if?” but if the tools for doing that reinforce a different what if, they’re fighting the player’s sense of authenticity.

    Hexcrawl nerd nirvana, from Tomb of Annihilation.

    If the mapped area is known, that diminishes some of the discovery incentive for exploring the area. Put in practical terms, there’s a reason that Tomb of Annihilation has a huge number of unknown hexes on its player map. It’s an encouragement to seek the answer to a question the game asks. If the players’ map was filled in, it’s simply an exercise in choosing the perceived optimal route. But when the players are able to fill it in because they found the answer, that’s intrinsically rewarding! They’ve pushed back the unknown themselves, which is extremely satisfying. In a perfect world, your players may be the ones to make the map and introduce it to the world (or keep it secret). But those decisions and outcomes are the stuff of which games are made, yes?

  • Assuming a semi-medieval information state and economy, maps are extremely valuable, and the information they contain isn’t necessarily common knowledge. This is less important in worlds with magic and million-year written traditions and infinite non-exploitative production means, but overall, if your world assumes some historical affections and not others, that makes it more difficult for the players to understand which of the unspoken truths are in fact different. Not a huge issue, but a seeming incongruity with certain assumptions of authenticity.

Again, my intent is not to eliminate map use, but to provide an immediately useful and perhaps more relevant alternative. Especially as a GM, you may need more or different information more readily at hand than a traditional map provides.


A dungeon arrayed as a flowchart rather than a traditional gridded map. The dotted line indicates a secret passage. The numbers correspond to encounter details on a legend (not depicted). Note the one-way path from the Treacherous Bridge to the Black Idols — reaching the idols this way probably means falling from the bridge!

I’m reminded of an early Robert E. Howard sketch of his fantasy world as he envisioned it*, which didn’t have a map paired with it. rather, it was a description of the various lands and the themes they evoked, but with a very impressionistic description of their locations, largely in relation to the other locations. This seemed to me a clever narrative way of handling things — I know that Area X is off to the badlands of the west and Region Y is mired in the swampy southeast and that’s pretty much all I need because I’m reading about story events rather than planning a road trip to either location.


This dude is pretty sure he’s within a day or two’s travel from Greyhawk.

In my experience, that’s the most important determinant: Is the destination more important than the journey, in terms of how the game is set up? For example, if the game is planned as a series of narrative events planned at key set piece locations, the actual map geography becomes less important. If the game is planned as a hex crawl or a journey into the unknown, a map is more important — and the players may even be creating a map of their own, perhaps even the only such map that exists in the world! OSR gameplay, for example, often emphasizes travel to the destination, while many more narrative games focus on the planned encounter locations instead of the interstices.

Replacing the Map With a Flowchart

When the fine details of a map aren’t critical to the gameplay decisions, I can set to work building the flowchart. Even “flowchart” implies more structure than is necessary, as it suggests dependent, sequential movement. A simple chart, showing relative position, is really all you need. You can build these with heavy tools like Power Point (not optimal) or Visio (better, as it preserves the spatial relationships and connections). I’ve found, though, that lighter mindmapping programs work best. I use Scapple most often and sometimes MindNode (which I also use to collect campaign details, plot events, and player responses). Different programs should also let you use different shapes and connector types that give you visual cues of different information types.


Here’s a map chart of a local-scale campaign environment. The green location is the starting locale, and probably the one best known to the PCs. The blue entries are the areas that PCs can gain rumors about while asking around the village. The uncolored entries are feature areas — dungeons, buildings, interesting places. The red entry is a planned encounter tied to a specific area proximate to other nearby features. The numbers on the dotted lines are travel distances expressed as times, which can be used for random encounter checks or for time-dependent events.

Things to Include in a Map Chart

  • Spatial relationships of geographical entries
    • Include sequential travel relationships. For example, if you have to go under the mountain to get to the castle on the other side, the chart should depict that dependency
    • This also lets you array the alternate routes. In the example above, it may be safer but longer to travel through the forest to get to the castle, but faster and more dangerous to go under the mountain
  • Distance between geographical entries
    • Stated as a value; will usually fit on connector lines
  • Some differentiation between geographical entries of different types
    • E.g. Region vs community vs geographical feature vs adventure site vs encounter
    • Use different colors to denote different entities (cities in one country all have a blue background, all dungeons with artifacts have a yellow-highlighted header, etc.)
  • References to relevant encounters
  • If you want to get sophisticated and interactive, you can link from the map chart to wiki entries, Trello cards, Obsidian Portal campaigns, etc.

* “Notes on Various Peoples of the Hyborean Age,” “The Hyborean Age,” and “Hyborian Names and Countries,” pp. 375, 379, and 417, from The Coming of Conan the Cimmerian

Before the Game Becomes a Game

Once game-making reaches a certain scale, the process of game-making becomes front-loaded with the process of convincing someone to pay for the development of your game.

If you play games but don’t make them, you may find this enlightening. I know that when I was younger, and particularly before I chose to make commercial games as my career, I took games for granted. As in, “I want to play a game, so I’ll go buy a game.” It never occurred to me how much decision-making went into the process. And now that I do this for a living, I feel a sense of kinship when I see someone else’s efforts in the process. Post-mortems and development conferences are fascinating, for example.

So here’s a look at the sort of thing I do all day when I’m not engaged in the nuts and bolts of actually making the game: I’m trying to convince someone who has the means — financial, labor, distribution — to make an idea become more than an idea, and begin its metamorphosis from idea to playable experience. (This isn’t a proposal I worked on, but it’s a good template for or inside view of the process.)

This sort of thing is usually hidden behind NDAs and other proprietary screens, but Ninja Theory has published some of its preproduction documentation that shows just how substantial and detailed pitching and pre-production can be.