The Devil in the Details

When I went to bed last night, I feared that today I'd be writing a post encouraging readers to be brave about the workshop, and willing to put their ideas out into the world.  But several people essayed to create a description, so that post can go hang.

It falls upon me to examine the content that was proposed ~ and to say first that I have very little criticism to offer.  There is a small point to be made about Ozymandias' statement, "As you move through the room," that technically violates the player's agency; more correctly a description should read, "When someone moves," but this is a small point.

this post will be about what we have to consider.  Allow me to produce a list of the highlights, as I see them:

Ozymandias describes a series of impressions that appear upon four of the room's doors, that apparently change as the doors are approached.  The impressions are a large sword, an hourglass, a balance scales and a flask.

Kees describes a large fountain, with streams that run from the fountain across the floor and under each door.  The fountain has five demonic visages ~ thoughtful, wizened, zealous, aggressive and lewd.  The room includes two corroded bronze slabs.  As these are "hanging," as a player I want to know by what, how heavy the slabs are, how corroded, etc., because that's potentially value there.  In email, Kees confirmed with me that the fountain is more or less in the center of the room.

Haggis emphasizes emptiness, to potentially fine benches and barred holes that are bound to be taken for potential murder slots.  But it is deathly silent.

Danielle describes an inch of water, decaying barrels, and a moldy writing desk and a chair.  She presumes we have torches [likely these are attempts to predict the party, but do try to resist the compulsion].

Shelby places a stone block in the center of the room, similar to a font.  He changes up one of the doors from the others, to give it special value.  Again, as a player I'm looking at the bands, wanting to know if I can strip them, particularly if they're brass.  Shelby also assumes we have torches, and predicts that our hearts are thumping.

All of these are just fine.  The descriptions are promising and comprehensive.

I encourage the use of sound, smell, light, surfaces and the like in your descriptions, to create interest and draw the players in.  But you give your game away when you tell me my heart is thumping.  It is strictly panto, it foils the rule of show, don't tell, it's awfully cliched and it is bound to create an emotional break at your game table, as some players says mockingly, "Oooo, my heart, my poor heart," followed by laughter and other jocularity.  If they can feel any tension at the start of the dungeon, let them feel it; don't tell them they feel it.  Relax.  The description is working.  Don't pound the drum for it.

Beware of the dangers of overthinking here.  Oz could watch half an hour of game time vanish as the players uselessly draw out theories regarding each of the impressions.  Kees is less likely to get this with the faces, but that danger is still there.  Since I did say there were no monsters here, Haggis' bared holes in the ceiling, so long as they're large enough for an arrow, could tie up a distrustful party for a long time.

I'd want to know if Danielle's water is moving; what is, or was, in the barrels; the material of the writing desk, and the chair.  Since this is at the front of the dungeon, it's a strange place for it.  Did someone sit here and keep accounts of materials coming in or going out of the dungeon?  That would be my guess.

In each case of the above, the DM has given themselves a very definite problem.  What is this thing, or these things, doing here?  Sometimes, as in the case of Shelby's font or Haggis' benches, it can be very simple.  This was a waiting room.  People blessed themselves (or some religious equivalent) as they entered or left.  The water table rose, drowning the room.

I always want to know.  If a torch burns for only 20 minutes, who is
coming around three times an hour to make sure this crumbling,
smashed hallway is well lit?  Torches do cost money, you know.

Kees and Ozymandias, however, have given themselves more difficult troubles.  The fountain is working.  So is the magic behind the four doors.  We might manage the logical arrangement for either of these things, but I'm going to be rolling this dungeon randomly.  [*hah*].  That's going to make quite a challenge, when the sword door opens and I roll something behind it that makes no sense in that regard.

I did suggest water as an option, but as this is the top level of this dungeon, always remember that once you add water, you're stuck with it for awhile.  The water has to go somewhere.  And it has to come from somewhere.  It's easy enough to use magic to explain these things away ... but I have to tell you, I've never had players find it particularly intriguing when I've handwaved stuff like this.  I've been stuck having to do it now and then, but it never works out.

Even if we describe things as corroded, irregular, moldy, dull, sturdy, musty, hard-packed and rotted, those adjectives can make the difference between the thing's legitimacy in this place.  Before saying something is rotted or irregular, or whatever, know why you're describing it that way, ahead of time.  Trust me.  It matters.

This absolutely should sound positive.  I only want to stress that when the players do find out what this stuff means, and where it comes from, the response isn't a bland, "oh."  We want a long, profound, "Ahhh ... cool."