Intriguing Things

Going from the last post in the ersatz game, as the DM we have three general scenarios to offer: (a) to have them encounter something unintelligent that's been living in the caves, that's unable to comprehend anything beyond it's searching for food; (b) for the party to encounter the first wave of minions approaching from below; and (c) for the party to find something intriguing yet benign, that lends a clue to their situation. None of these are the "right" option; nor are they the only options — they're merely a set of tried and true situations for the party. I've never gone wrong with these; and because they're so varied in type and presentation, our imagination is the only limitation. As such, in three posts, beginning with this one, I'll talk about each, starting with (c).

This is no different than inserting something interesting that happens along the road back and forth from town, or the establishment of clues that draws the players deeper into the adventure.  A vast amount of running D&D is the use of exposition to continuously insert information within the narrative about the setting.  Exposition is best given in drips and drabs ... in as small amount as possible at a time.  The worst kind of exposition is the "infodump," in which the DM or writer gives all the information about something up front, in as thorough a manner as possible.

I assume most people understand what's wrong with this, but if I might provide an example of bad exposition and good, we can get on with the rest of this post.

Let's suppose that for some reason, as the DM we've invented an NPC who happens to know everything about the cavern the players are entering.  We've done this specifically because we knew eventually the players would get to this point, and we've thought to ourselves, "You know what would be great?  If there was someone who could conveniently explain everything to the players at the right time, in full!  Wow, what a terrific idea."

This is bad.  Not only is it boring as hell to shove this NPC's lecture (that is, our lecture) into the player's ears, it also kills the player's sense of mystery and yen to discover.  If the players stumbling across a helmet, they don't puzzle out it's existence, or discuss it, no!  They turn to the NPC, who conveniently provides all the information the players need.  Ugh.  Don't do this.  Just assume that any method that gives exposition "conveniently" sucks the dog.

As the DM, we need to know, but withholding most of this information, for as long as possible, is critical.  As an example, imagine that above the dungeon, within the mountain the dungeon is under, there are a collection of hot springs.  These dribble down through the mountain's interior along channels and chutes, where they provide hydrothermic heat for molds, bioluminescent plants and all sorts of small beasties ... but as it happens, this alternate biome is 99.5% hidden from the bare rock caverns the players can see.  The existing biome perhaps created these caverns a million years ago, but they've been cut off from the original source of water ... except in a few places where the hidden biome bleeds through.

We mustn't say any of this to the players.  On a macro-scale, we want to use this information to divide the dungeon into two parts that are "warm" and "cold."  The lake hag below despises the warmer areas, with her and her mooks preferring the deeper, lifeless areas ... and this acts as a clue to how she can be found.  On a micro-scale, we can use the hidden biome to add spice to the player's experience, without them initially being able to discern the source for what they find.

For example, not long after entering, they encounter a small cloud of fifty large moths, an inch across, turning and swirling around the party, whether or not they're carrying light.  We know these have emerged from some small vent, perhaps an inch wide, too cool to show up with infravision.  Yet the moths themselves carry their own heat, and remain with the party (unless the party can think of a way to obliterate every one).  Then, if the party moves, by chance, towards the hag, the moths turn back and disappear.  But if they move in another direction, they encounter some new strange side effect of the biome.  Say, a trickle of warm water falling from the top of the cavern into a bowl on the floor, where it disappears through cracks.

These things seem incidental, and would be if they were disconnected ideas.  But they're not here.  Deeper down in the warm parts, the players may find themselves blocked by warm pools occupied by miniature, luminescent ochre jelly, just a few hit points each ... but clustered dangerously like clouds of jelly fish.  They may find a small mushroom glade, occupied by a few violet fungi.  They may discover a part of the biome that they can climb down through, only to vacate when they find the bottom is filled with bloodsucking plants.

And later, after more exploration, they may find that getting past those plants is a back door into the lake hag's lair.

Slowly, as we introduce various elements of the biome's influence on the dungeon's "warm side," they may start to put things together.  They may not ... especially if we carefully interweave the warm and cold parts together.

We have to remember throughout, however, that we're describing, not explaining.  Explaining is an easy, bad habit to fall into.  Let the party do the explaining, as they collect evidence.  That's not our job.