In the time I’ve been playing in people’s games, I’ve noticed two overall styles of setting forth challenges in front of the group. One is that standard “this should be difficult but doable except with really bad luck” that seems to be manual standard for recent editions of D&D. The other is one that one of my recent GMs invoked specifically: creating a situation that was probably beyond the group’s straight mechanical capabilities, turning them loose on a different range of resources, and seeing what kinds of plans emerge.
The first, of course, has its advantages if you need this particular set of characters and don’t have a way to get them back should they get themselves killed. It means it’s easier to plan ahead what happens after, since you know perfectly well that they’re going to make it through, and can probably guess how because all they need is to do the same thing they always do. Some people might say it removes the fear of death that motivates people so firmly, but that’s technically optional anyway. And it’s faster, since people can just follow their usual routines rather than having to figure out exactly what it is they’re doing; the worst delay you’re likely to get is them waffling a tad over getting their descriptions just right.
I, personally, prefer Option B. There’s a situation. It’s difficult at best, verging on impossible at worst. The whole thing seems like one massive simulation on the part of the GM: “If I give them this problem that mechanics alone shouldn’t be able to handle, and this set of resources, and these people to bounce off of, what happens?” (Or, in some groups, one skips straight to “How do they win?” It’s all relative.) You need to plan the beginning, but since you’re probably going to be winging it by the end anyway, you don’t need to detail out the next six or seven scenes in advance. It gets mixed results. Some groups get overwhelmed, and either beg for more hints or wander off to find a plot hook that isn’t so difficult. Others also run off—to write speeches, blackmail vampires, find new uses for holes in space and time, use the fortress’s traps to destroy the guardian, free the poison elemental, fix the terrain on which they’re likeliest to be fighting to their advantage (leaving room in case the foe’s coming from the wrong direction), do more than one of the above at the same time, or otherwise fill in the blanks.
They have their catches, of course. A planned conflict can be thrown far off of the tracks when put in the way of a group of people who think it’s going to be beyond their capabilities, bore people who are looking for an element of true risk, or annoy the ones who want to think that they’re contributing to the heart of the plot itself rather than just influencing the cosmetic decisions.
On the other hand, while having an idea ahead of time how the group might solve their problem is technically optional, sometimes people need at the very least a push in the right direction. If you’re setting up a problem that you yourself aren’t sure you could come up with a solution to, and your group doesn’t have a reputation for being able to come up with a way of handling just about anything, what makes you think they’re going to have any more luck than you would? (Heck, even if they are Just That Good, land them outside of their comfort zones and the plans might trail off at that point.)
In either case, it’s important to be able to get across to the group which is which. You might think you’ve created an always-winnable situation, but the group might look at the problem and think it’s a job for exploitation of symbolism, holy water traps, and general manipulation of anyone who will hold still long enough. Or conversely, you might create a situation to see what the players do with it, only to discover that they’re still waiting for your cue.
So there’s the problem: which to use when. What’s your solution?
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In both situations, know your exits.
Players are finicky about perceived challenge – one player of mine used to have a mental block about undead – if they appeared in an encounter he had difficulty thinking of rudimentary tactics. Give him an enraged beast, mob of cultists or BBEG and he was Karpov’s smarter younger brother. No in-character or mechanical reason either. Just one of those things.
The amount of initiative shown tends to vary by player and situation according to group dynamics (in and out of character).
Ask three questions:
1. Might your characters realistically know how to solve this problem.
2. Are your players going to pick up on the cues (if any) you’ve left?.
3. Are your players encouraged to suggest ideas to each other out of character?
This may help inform your response.
Sasha: So, your Majesty, the Selinorian Grimoire has been returned to its rightful place.
Queen Provisia: There is a dark line along the back-
Sasha: A minor repair, no one will really notice-
Provisia: Minor repair? It goes all the way across!
Sasha: … circumstances… required that we render the volume into two parts temporarily. And I would like to thank Krooda for her efforts in that respect!
Krooda: KROODA RENDER IN HALF GOOD!
Provisia: In half!
Sasha: Absolutely imperative as it turned out. The Master of the Shadows exists in two places at once-
Provisia: Our most holy relic!
Sasha: – and the Selinorian Grimoire is the only thing that could banish it -
Provisia: Shredded!
Sasha: – and since the runes are ever-changing and can only be read and not remembered it was necessary to have, in effect, two copies. Perhaps the most mystical feat ever accomplished by brute force! Also, I think Rinka’s stitchwork is absolutely immaculate and very nearly improves the volume over its original appearance.
Provisia: (royal glower) And how did you eliminate the doom angel?
Sasha: On that note may I introduce Damziel the doom angel, the newest member of our party. He and Rinka fought a brief duel, which ended – I suppose – as well as a duel could be hoped to end. I am happy to announce that they will be married in the spring -
Rinka and Damziel (together): That was supposed to be a secret!
Sasha: – but as it is to be a private ceremony we would appreciate if your Majesty could keep it quiet.
Provisia: And I suppose your mystical companion was of great help in reading said banishment in two places at once.
Sasha: Actually it was Krooda, and myself, who read the… two instances of the abjuration.
Krooda: KROODA READ WELL!
Sasha: And of course I would like to thank Armillarius for keeping a very close watch on the exit for us during these activities -
Armillarius: My hand was stuck.
Sasha: – given that a stasis trap had rendered him rather immobile. And lastly if your Majesty could perhaps recommend a stonecutter, I’m sure that our astrologer would be grimly pleased to have that piece of masonry removed from his hand, or at the very least made smaller.
Provisia: I swear if you weren’t the only adventurers-
Guard: Your Majesty! A green cloud of evil is spreading across our western border!
Sasha: May we be of service?
Provisia: (sigh)
At the risk of finding myself embroiled in a version flame-fest, I honestly think that Option A has a lot to do with what I find annoying about newer gaming editions. Somewhere the rpg as a computer game-like simulation has entered the gaming consciousness and we all feel the need to make every encounter and interaction wtih the system just one more “politically correct challenge rated event.”
For those ready to burn me as a new version hating heretic, my Option of choice is obviously B.
Satyre: Yeah, I know how that works. For the longest time, my mental block was social situations.
With my lot, the question seems to be who’s playing; I had one player who often gave up right as one of the others is coming up with an idea, two more who seem to come up with insane plans as easily as breathing, and one whom I’m still getting a feel for.
UZ: *dies laughing* You’re in rare form today.
Kevin: You don’t have to worry about edition arguments from me. And yeah, I agree with you; once it’s one of those carefully organized level-appropriate fights, I start thinking random encounter battle and just sort of switch off. Thing has to mean something.