Letting Go of the Wheel

Our break with D&D's standard format arises as we become jaded with isolated adventures, which progressively provide less satisfaction year after year. For most participants, there seems nowhere to go except to continue the pattern. Like any other table game, it's assumed that this is all the game is, and that it would be no more rational to perceive a "higher" form of D&D than for Settlers of Catan or Battleship. A more comprehensive "campaign," in which adventures take place as a continual process of a larger narrative arc, would assume some kind of setting in which the players would be free to move about freely, obtaining a certain agency for themselves that would let them explore which adventure they'd like to play... and more to the point, if they'd like to investigate alternate forms of engagement with the game setting. Such forms would include interactions, investigations and the building or defence of things to which the characters were free to commit themselves.

This shifting of the players' relationship with the setting, however, calls for the dungeon master's comprehensive understanding of a game setting that traditional adventure building fails to offer. To allow the players to move about, there must be an established geography. For the players to feel secure and capable of interacting with the setting's people, there must be a clearly defined culture which the players can predict, so they can trust the word of non-player characters. There must be a political structure that permits freedom of movement and offers a believable reward system for players who aspire to power over the setting. Items of course must be available for purchase, but some rationale must also exist for where these things come from, how they are processed and sold, where they are available and how wealth is distributed. There must be some sort of deeper history filled with past grievances, the movements of people and standing treaties that explains where this setting has come from, and where it is going. All of these things are necessary for us to provide a real sense of place and time, which the players must have if they're going to reliably act and make decisions within this milieu.

Without this physical and moral context, players will continue to treat the setting like a game, an abstract object with which they won't allow themselves to engage. They will distrust every shred of evidence, assuming it exists, like in a one-off adventure, to expressly affect their actions. They won't commit to a project, expecting that for the sake of adventure that it'll be taken away from them at the DM's whim. They won't listen or invest in the political or historical framework for this same reason — perceiving that it's a ruse, a sham, intended to misdirect them and threaten. We may be interested in running such a world, but if our players don't understand it or aren't ready for it, then our efforts will be in vain.


Continued on The Higher Path

Basic Reliable Habits

Running a session as an advanced beginner, we steadily amass a collection of procedures in which we begin to rely upon practiced responses; examples of these procedures include managing a combat, relaying a description of the player's surroundings for hour after hour without becoming tired, using exchanges with NPCs to relay exposition, awarding treasure, giving advice to players on game rules and so on. Massimiliano Cappuccio (Dreyfus is Right: Knowledge-That Limits Your Skill, 2023), describes our acquisition of these as "pre-reflective dispositions," in which we're predisposed "to intelligently perceive, interpret, decide and act in familiar 'ways or modes,' when facing familiar situations or tasks." With time, about 200 to 500 hours of in-session dungeon mastering, these procedures become ingrained, allowing us to handing these tasks reflexively, without needing to analyse each step. These emerge as automatic processing (Sweller); in essence, NPC-to-player speaking becomes so commonplace in our thoughts that we're able to engage in it without concern.

These, Cappuccio explains, enable us "to complete a task, produce some transformative effects, solicit certain reactions in the bystanders, or preserve an existing condition" as basic reliable habits, making us ready to cope with unfamiliar scenarios with a developed heightened awareness and preference for certain types of actions, cues or information relevant to the arisen problem. In essence, these form a toolkit that simplifies our decision-making, lifting us towards competency, even if we're unaware that this is what's going on.

As before, rather than explain what competency is, we're better off discussing how we get there. Basic reliable habits are merely a first step; they represent a break from what Cappuccio calls "instrumental" actions, which consist in bringing about a desired outcome regardless of the means employed to do it. To use Cappuccio's example, if I'm filling out governmental or medical forms, I'm supplying answers which have no skilful component, as the answers simply exist.

Continued on The Higher Path

How a 16th Century Explorer's Sailing Ship Works

Here is an unquestionably valuable source for anyone wishing to get into waterborne adventures:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3pYqXrFx6S8&t=1306s

Advanced Beginners

Steadily, as we've described, as a dungeon master we acquire familiarity with the metrics of D&D and shifts towards automatic processing when running the game. Within the adjusted canonical frames that we acquire, we come to a place where we better understand what the players are apt to do when presented with a description, a situation or a combat. We're better prepared regarding the rules we know, and have a better idea of where to seek for rules we don't know. We grow comfortable with the expectation that we'll be sitting in the DM's chair within a few hours, as evidence of our growing confidence. This assumes, of course, that we've been resilient in our efforts to maintain a group of players and to live up to their expectations.

We have arrived at a stage where we are an "advanced beginner." Some chafe at this appellation. There exists an assumption that once an individual becomes able to run a game with confidence, this stipulates that we have attained "master" status, as we are a dungeon or a game master. We've discussed this already, and the pitfalls that arise from it, but now we may elaborate further on this phenomenon. Being consistent in player engagement, and gaining the ability to run more easily, with less hiccups or rule-checking, does give a sense of mastery. We better understand player tendencies now, we can offer more nuanced responses when queried, our ability to craft a narrative is measurably improved and it would seem the players are engaged with the game we're running. All this would seem that we've arrived, and that we're certainly not a "beginner," even an advanced one.

Yet, while these accomplishments signal improvement, they don't necessarily signify mastery. Feeling certainty in our grasp of the game, we may settle into a style that works but lacks depth, especially in situations that deviate from familiar scenarios. In fact, we may use our adaptive understanding to gently manoeuvre the players away from everything and anything that's unfamiliar, simply because we wish to remain in our comfort zone. Understanding the power we possess, we can easily slip into habits of fudging dice or carefully rescinding the dangers that certain monsters possess — for example, having the monster hesitate or wait to use it's primary power, until it no longer can. And as we disincline to seek new challenges, largely because the players don't seem to mind, we drift into a comfortable, self-imposed stagnation that lasts until the arrival of some new disruptive player or a change in the lives of our players, who suddenly seem to have less interest in our game.

Continued on The Higher Path

Novice vs. Advanced Beginner

Posted this on my patreon, but what the heck.  It's an add-on.

I've been writing about the difference between a novice DM and an advanced beginner. I thought it might be interesting to present a short script between a novice DM and a player, to give an idea of the DM's uncertainty and fragmented approach.

DM: [flipping through notes] "Uh, okay, so... you’re in this room. It’s, um, dark. There’s, like, a... stone floor and some... barrels, maybe? And... a door on the other side.”

Player: “Alright, cool. I go check out the barrels.”

DM: [pauses, looking uncertain] “Oh, okay. Uh, the barrels... they look... wooden. Old, I think. Not sure what's inside. Do you... do you want to open one?”

Player: “Yeah, sure. I open the nearest one.”

DM: [fumbles through notes] “Uh, okay... let me check... I think... yeah, alright. You open it, and... I guess it’s empty? Or maybe it’s... dusty? Yeah, let’s say it’s... dusty.”

Player: “Okay. Well... I’ll check the door.”

DM: “The door? Right. Okay, so... it’s, uh, wood. Old, too. Um, I think... maybe you can try to open it?”

Player: “I’ll try the handle.”

DM: [relieved] “Alright, yeah. It opens... I think it opens... into another room.”

This might be overdone, but the goal here is to capture the DM's uncertainty, hesitation and lack of cohesion, to express the disjointed, step-by-step experience of the player. Each element feels isolated and the DM is clearly struggling to keep up with the flow.

Let's try the same scene using an advanced beginner DM:

DM: [confidently setting the scene] “Alright, you step into a dimly lit stone room. The floor is rough and scattered with old, wooden barrels along the walls. Across the room, there’s a heavy wooden door with iron bands—looks like it hasn’t been opened in years.”

Player: “I go over to the barrels to check them out.”

DM: “Sure. As you get closer, you notice a layer of dust on them. Most of them are sealed, but one is slightly cracked open, and you can see some kind of dried-out residue inside. It doesn’t look like anyone’s touched these in ages.”

Player: “Interesting. Alright, I’ll go check out the door.”

DM: [without hesitation] “You make your way to the door. The handle’s rusted, and it feels heavy in your hand, but you manage to turn it with a bit of effort. The door creaks open, and beyond it, you can see another room... shadows flickering along the walls.”

Not only does the DM more fluidly communicate the scene, but the overall moves faster, giving the player a stronger sense of the setting. The description flows, the player sees the space more easily and the scene feels more immersive.

Join my $3 Patreon tier to see why this is so. For DMs who are interested, gain insight on what to look for in yourself should you wish to improve your style.

Automatic Processing

 It falls upon us at this point to quantify the improvement of the novice to the second stage in Dreyfus's stage analysis, that of the "advanced beginner." We should note that the advancement spoken of here fails to denote either expertise of even competence... the adjustment is only from "novice" to "beginner." Therefore, we must assume a set of moderate but recognisable changes taking place between what a novice observe while playing the game and what a beginner's advancement allows. To explain that, we must explain how a novice sees the game. Understand here that the pattern of thinking described here is what defines the novice, NOT the amount of time the novice has spent playing. A particularly insightful DM who succeeds well out of the gate may, through other skill-sets and professional knowledge, intuitively leap past the novice stage and directly into that of the beginner. It's how the individual sees the game that defines a novice. This reinforces the idea that improvement is a matter of perspective and understanding, not just experience.

The novice's perception is rooted in the observation of "surface features". Largely due to the novelty of the novice dungeon master's perspective and the density of expectations that are thrust upon the position, novices rarely have enough time to do more than see elements of the game as distinct, isolated components, taking them at face value, in terms of their most visible and immediate details. Character abilities are mere numbers, as are hit points, while monster stats exist for the purpose of engaging in combat and little else. Surface descriptions are purely representational, therefore carrying a stigma of two-dimensionality. The approach to the game is much like a checklist to be followed without deviation, particularly in the case of a purchased game module, which is followed as written. It's not so much that the novice finds it difficult to see how these elements interact, it's more that the novice sees no particular reason to think that they do. Many elements of the game — like the description of a spell — are fragmented and challenging even to interpret, much less actually apply to the game, since the phrasing and assumptions used in the writing demand a complete grasp of many mechanics that take time to accumulate.

For example, when the novice reads about armour class, it's understood as a number, a stat to beat on a die roll: if the player rolls high enough, they "succeed" in hitting, and if they don't, they "fail." While there might be an understanding of the metric's importance regarding what's happening within the game's setting, the novice is still struggling to equate one to the other while managing the immediate complexities and unfamiliarity of the combat system.

Continued on The Higher Path

Measurable Improvement

This example of the novice highlights an inaccuracy in the designation, "dungeon master." As Danielle Osterman notes in the book, 2d6 Taoists, (Dungeon Apprentices: How Players become Dungeon Masters), the word "master" cannot apply to many who run the game, because the word implies a level of expertise or control that fails to match that of the person. This misnomer carries into the common alterative, "game master," or GM, which does not reconcile the problem as the wrong word is changed in the title.

From this, and from the description of the novice's shortcomings in the previous post, we can see that experience and ability are qualities that develop gradually through knowledge, learning and practice. The novice may nominally possess the authority of the DM, and the title, but this does not in itself ascribe that he or she has earned this position. Many have not. Many perceive that the mere act of adopting the title is sufficient — and as such tend not to accumulate expertise over time, through an inability to admit wrongdoing. Still others assume that the division between "novice" and "not-a-novice" is something that can be expressed in black-and-white terms, believing that having run the game for a few years, they're now an "expert," though there remains an entirely subjective measure.

Still others argue there can only BE subjective measures — that the game is so complex and, more importantly, personal, that distinctions of "good" and "bad" can be explained away by arguing, "I simply run differently," or "My priorities are different." These are convenient appellations, by necessity poorly defined and of course dismissive of any possibility that the speaker might yet have something to learn.

Continued on The Higher Path

Novices

Acting as a dungeon master is not something that we learn to do in a structured environment. As we've said, there are no instructors, no formal education for players who decide to run their own games — and certainly not for those who, lacking a model to go buy, purchase the books hoping that these works will provide enough insight to let an individual take control. Those who leap into DMing must nearly always do so out of passion and desire, for there is no one to hold their hand. As a result, those who succeed define a "trial by fire" model, often adopting an attitude the dungeon mastering OUGHT to be learned this way, and that those who would seek to learn it otherwise would not, in the end, make good DMs.

This point of pride among those who succeed damages the game's value. As an initiation, it's quite useless if ensuring that "good" can be applied to the result — that appellation is largely ascribed by the individuals themselves, NOT because it's accurate, but because there are so few around that can dispute it. The reason why there are so few DMs is this very reason — because there is no instructor to provide knowledge or guidance; because there is no standard by which a novice can readied for any part of the game. The rules, disastrous hodgepodge that they are, fail to provide the structure that "quality" requires. The would-be DM has no step-by-step path to follow, and therefore no way to judge well between the options of behaviour, speech, explanation or management of the players that potentially exist.

The manner in which self-created DMs crown themselves as "good" is accomplished with, at best, the external validation of the players, who must needs be sycophantic... since the players need to appease the DM, lest the DM quit running and thus leave the players without a game to play. This creates an unearned assuredness in DMs who survive their "trial by fire," who desperately cling to such appeasements, since any objective measure, from some observer NOT dependent upon the game, does not exist. The result is a mutual-admiration dynamic, where the players preen DMs for the sake of the game, and DMs preen themselves out of the desperate belief that all their preparation and session efforts have not been done in vain.


Continued on The Higher Path

Camaraderie

 Before every session, there's typically a natural, unstructured conversation where players and dungeon masters chat about the game. These informal discussions include a wide range of subjects, as participants find in this an opportunity to share recent events in their lives, be social and otherwise unload stress through the support group that a game-group provides. These moments are socially important, contributing to the process of setting aside the real world prior to immersing ourselves in an imaginary endeavour. By sharing personal experiences, we bond as a game group, which connects us together so that should some form of anxiety or resistance between participants arise during the game, the camaraderie established at the beginning sustains the group's desire to maintain our social circle.

This is important in fostering the same resilience and flexibility seein in children's friendships. Just as children can fight passionately and remain friends, the pre-game socialising helps players engage deeply, sometimes even fight or disagree, without jeapardising their relationships within the party or the game itself. By creating a supportive space, the interaction is more than a filler before the game starts; it helps in their ability to view in-game disputes as affairs within the game's play, and not as personal attacks upon one another.

However, this relies upon participants who have developed conflict resolution skills as children, through proper play and trust-building experiences. A dungeon master faced with such a person as an adult is liable to encounter an unnatural amount of defensiveness, aggression or avoidance from the participant. Such adults, struggling with unresolved childhood issues, may potentially view any conflict as a personal attack rather than as an opportunity for growth; this can result in game disruptions and campaign-ending incidents where one or more participants permanently withdraw from the campaign, through what appears to be a very minor slight or misunderstanding.

Continued on The Higher Path

Workbench

 Nearly all persons who have read to this point have spent many hours either playing or running... and no doubt, their engagement with the game has encouraged them to seek out things to read and perhaps to study, for their personal edification. Most have received some guidance from other dungeon masters; through formal education, they've experienced the process of learning. Many can see, easily, how education in one field can be directly applied to role-playing games. Yet while absorbing a collection of resources, and seeking out direction from others, there's yet another strategy we haven't employed, a thing we can do on our own, apart from running a campaign.

A fitting metaphor for this could be called a workbench. This is a place where craftsfolk and hobbyists tinker with materials and tools in an unpressured, exploratory way. Unlike preparing for a game, this isn't about building something specific to a purpose, but about familiarising ourselves the tools, experimenting with elements of the game and playing with ideas. It's a place for trial and error, where the actual game rules receive application to things we make for ourselves, that might fail, or might end in adding vitality to our campaign.

There are examples that nearly every long-term DM fiddles with at some point, usually without achieving our goal. Nonetheless, what's important here isn't success, but familiarity, which contributes to our deeper engagement with the game itself. In bumping up against the game's limitations, however we might strive to put a harness on things to make them work for us, we yet create a profound connection between ourselves and the game, which filters into every other game-related action we take.

Continued on The Higher Path

Book Jacket

For those willing to give it, I'm interested in criticism regarding the text layout of the book shown, BEFORE I use it. I cannot and do not wish to change the image, it fits excellently with the content, but I would like to know anything anyone would like to tell me about spacing. Obviously, the title is fixed.

Go ahead and be harsh, I have no feelings to hurt. I won't necessarily take your advice.  Give me a good slapping around.

Instructors

The process of teaching, whether as formal as a classroom or as personable as a parent teaching a child, begins with a desire to instill confidence into the student... not only with the material at hand, but with the very idea of learning. If I teach my daughter the principles of chess, yes of course I wish her to grasp the movements of the pieces and the general idea of the game — but more importantly, I wish her to feel bold and trust in her ability to make moves without fear of losing. When we are taught our letters in school, we benefit greatly from tactile and hands-on learning, tracing the letters in sand or the air, even molding the letters out of playdough... because as we physically engage with the letters, we become more sure of ourselves when speaking the name of each letter and the sound it makes.

If we don't put the acquisition of confidence at the forefront of our teaching effort, then we risk creating students who may understand the material, but will become hesitant before repeating what they've learned. We must also take care not to cause students to second-guess themselves, or avoid taking the risk of speaking up in class — which, in my early 1970s education, was barely a concern to teachers who considered our "learning" the material as more important than our "relationship" with it. Thus we were educated "at" rather than "with"... and my fellow students, as a result, did not put up their hands nor give their opinions, for fear that they'd be humiliated in front of their peers for not "understanding" the material exactly as the teachers thought we should.

We'd like to believe that things have changed, but the very fact that we continue to test upon the cold, non-interactive nature of the taught material, and not the children's interaction with it, belies that assumption. We are concerned with absorption, not application, because no grade that appears on a report card speaks to the latter. A good teacher tries to make up for this shortcoming by writing on the report card, "Jennie responds positively in class and enjoys the material," but when these words are said to parents who have little understanding of what goes on in a classroom, this recognition of Jennie's confidence and willingness to plunge forward is lost. If "enjoys the material" is matched with an "A," all it well and good... but if it's matched with a "C," because Jennie is interested but has a less than perfect memory, the only thing anyone cares about is the grade.

Continued on The Higher Path.