As noted last week, this week’s session of the Dungeons & Dragons game I am running for middle-school-age students at the public library had to start with resetting expectations for player behavior at the table. I solicited players’ opinions and understandings, made my position on the matter clear, and reminded those at the table that participation is both entirely voluntary and predicated on helping to make things a good experience for everyone at the table, both in-character and our of character. It went reasonably well; the prospect of being removed from the table had something of a sobering effect on all in attendance, myself included.
Add some dice and voila! Photo by RDNE Stock project on Pexels.com
There was another event worth noting, and more important to me: the session coincided with Ms. 8’s twelfth birthday. I was, as might be expected, pleased to be there for it (and not in the hospital with her, as happened on her first birthday). My wife had made arrangements for a number of nice things to happen for our girl, and it was gratifying to see them occur. Of particular note was the addition to her gaming setup; she received dice and a dice mat for use in my game and, it may be hoped, in others. The delivery of cupcakes (complete with dragons and fire) on a fancy stand was another highlight; that the cupcakes themselves were tasty was an added bonus.
I do look forward to the continuing program. There is a waitlist for it, now, and some discussion about mentoring others to run their own games. I welcome the opportunity, and I hope that I will be equal to it.
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To continue from last week, the group of middle-school-aged kids for whom I’m running a Dungeons & Dragons game at my local library left off between rounds of an ongoing fight, being in the process of rescuing a child about to be sacrificed by cultists for some clearly nefarious end. They seemed initially to have taken the discussion of ponerology to heart, which gratified, and play proceeded from that point to go…sideways. Some of that is to be expected in any TTRPG, of course; things move in ways not expected. Some of it, however, is going to require some redirection and resetting; the group as a whole is aware of it, so when next week’s session begins, I do not think it will be a surprise that things will start as they will have to start.
Yeah, this’ll do. Photo by Fariborz MP on Pexels.com
For the overtly educational portion of the session, I brought in an idea I’ve meant to talk about for a while: the tension between plot- and character-focused narrative. To gloss, in the former, the story is largely about outside events and reactions, while in the latter, the story is largely about internal events and how they shape the outside world. I don’t think any narrative is exclusively one or the other, although each is primarily one or the other; that is, there is always some outside event prompting response, and there is always some internality on display, although there will definitely be an emphasis of one over the other.
Within the setting of a TTRPG, the narrative will actually straddle such line as exists between the two fairly evenly. Because the story being told is a collaborative one, with the audience being the group doing the storytelling, the overall presentation is plot-driven. The collective creating audience will respond to the outside events presented to them. Each collaborator, however, will have access to the internality of the character they portray, so for each audience member, the narrative will be emphatically character driven.
This is, of course, a very surface-level treatment; more has been said about the topic, as I am already aware, Mackay having treated it, as well as Gary Alan Fine, and I know there have been other works about it that I do not have on my shelves from long ago. (One of my regrets from the attempted academic life is that I was not more honest with myself and so did not pursue such ludic concerns; I needed the formal “legit” grounding I got, but I really ought to have leaned more into my “side” interests. That the latter have stuck with me even absent institutional affiliation is telling.) But, while the kids at my table are bright, they’ve got other concerns–and so, admittedly, do I, among which are a great many other scholarly somedays.
My calendar is full. I suppose it’s a good thing; I’ve always got something to look forward to doing.
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The materials presented to my group of gaming middle-schoolers last week were a response to emergent situations I hoped to redirect and deflect before they could become problems. (I am still somewhat taken aback by one player’s stated expectations of being in opposition to me as the DM; I’m put in mind of comments from The Munchkin’s Guide to Power Gaming, which has long had a spot on my bookshelves.) This week, I returned to more or less the kind of thing that I had intended to discuss with them, one of the central questions that I had included in my pitch for the program back in 2024: what is the nature of evil?
No, we’re not monkeying around… Photo by George Becker on Pexels.com
That nature, as might well be thought, has been extensively studied and theorized about. There is, in fact, a whole discipline of inquiry about it: ponerology. (I admit that part of the reason I brought it up under that name to the middle schoolers in the context of being overtly educational is because it’s a fun word to say, especially for my overly online Millennial self recalling pwning n00bs). It can be used as a loose rubric in many kinds of humanistic analysis; while it has most notable factored into theology and political science, it can be applied in a great many other contexts, as well. Dungeons & Dragons addresses such topics fairly explicitly with its alignment system (that has shifted across more than five decades of production and play), so it does invite use as a means of exploring ponerological topics.
The situation in which the players’ characters found themselves at the beginning of the week’s session was something of a blunt presentation of the topic. They began the session where they left off the previous: fighting child-sacrificing cultists. Killing helpless children scans as a Bad Thing for most people (that there are exceptions is unfortunately clear). So is the obvious plot movement that suggests itself: the children being killed are themselves Bad Things. (Indeed, this is something that has been at the core of many Dungeons & Dragons games, that members of particular species are necessarily and inherently evil. While there are species that are representations of philosophical concepts, manifestations of other realities, applying such a rubric to physical beings is…problematic at best. Recent efforts to move the game’s official materials away from such framing have met with resistance from many players and groups. It’s not a happy thing.) I decided not to take that approach, in part because most of those at the table are still new to gaming, and I do think there is some value in presenting tropes straight on for such audiences–again, overt education is a thing in the program. I also have other plans for developing the story further, and it serves my purposes to have a clear framing for my antagonists in enacting those plans.
As I continue on in this program, I find myself reminded of earlier comments I made about how useful TTRPG materials could well be as technical writing course materials. I think I could well do more with such things at this point in my life, even so far removed from the classroom as I have become (and correctly). I perhaps flatter myself that someone might find that kind of thing useful to have me do for them; I’d certainly like to give it a try sometime…among all of the somedays already waiting for me.
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Following on last week’s activites, I returned to my local library to once again preside over a session of Dungeons & Dragons for a group of middle-school-aged children. When the game had left off last week, there was a fight over a fish brewing within the party, which made for an interesting place to break off for the evening; cliffhangers work to prompt ongoing engagement, after all. When actual play resumed, that fight got addressed; afterwards, the narrative resumed pretty much as expected. Gamers are gamers, after all, and kids are kids–and middle schoolers are still very much kids.
Somewhat ominous in context… Photo by cottonbro studio on Pexels.com
Owing to the need to be more explicitly educational, however, I did not resume play immediately on starting the session. Instead, I addressed a narrative and ludological concern: metagaming. That I would need to do so was prompted by one of the players making a comment in the previous session about trying to read my mind…by pulling out a copy of the source text I was (and still am) using for the current narrative arc. It was clear to me from the remark and the action that the player is trying somehow to “win” the game. I’ve been guilty of doing such things, myself, so I can certainly understand the impulse. While there is some sense to some kinds of metagaming (there’s no way not to do it, to some extent; that there is a game going on is always clear within it, and the tension between the real and the game drives some of the humor that invariably creeps into play), I do find myself somewhat concerned to confront it.
As I play, and as I worked to clarify to the players way back at the beginning of the program, TTRPGs should generally be collaborative endeavors. That is, those at the table should work together to tell a story that is about all of them. The kind of metagaming that seemed to me to be brewing moves more towards things being competitive, with one player trying to make the game about their one character rather than about the group. Some of this will happen naturally, of course, dice being what they are, but there seems to me to be a difference between an organic emergence of such a thing and the calculated contrivance towards the same–and the former is, in my mind, better.
I’m glad that the player in question is actually reading. I’m glad, too, that the player in question is trying to think around things. Both of those are good actions to undertake, and I could stand to see more people doing both of them. And it is the case that the player in question, being one of the more experienced at the table (mine was not the first game in which that player participated, as was the case for several others at my library table), will necessarily know more about how the game works as a game and cannot reasonably be expected not to know it. (Indeed, I’m looking at said player as a candidate to run future games, one of the goals towards which I and the program generally are working.) But I am concerned about the player–and, to be fair, others, if for different reasons–making the game about themself rather than about the group…and I admit to concern about being caught out railroading my players, which is not a good thing to do.
What I’m doing, moving forward, is making a few changes to the text I’d originally thought to use; sticky notes are my friend in this. Some of the material was designed to be dice-determined; I rolled for that previously, making notes of results. I have adjusted a few points of narrative, as well, and redone progression through the major puzzle that presents itself in the published text. The player will still have something of a leg up on the others, which is okay, but the ability to simply read ahead and know all of what is coming…that has been removed, now, which should make the playing field just a little bit more level. The others at the table deserve their chances to shine, after all…which is a useful reminder for more people than just them.
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As noted a few weeks back, my local library opted to bring me back on board to run its after-school TTRPG program. One weekly session is confirmed, with its first meeting happening on 22 January 2026; the possibility of a second starting up remains, although interest and enrollment have yet to be determined at this point. For now, sessions are scheduled through the end of April; I can hope that things will extend past that point, but I cannot count on them doing so. Whether they do or not, however, I am grateful for the continued opportunity to live the dream: earning money for running a game. Being able to legitimately claim to be a professional DM is a nice thing, indeed.
Gonna be more of this… Photo by Stephen Hardy on Pexels.com
There are some things to note about the renewed gaming. One is that I am working to do as has been requested of me and integrate more overtly educational materials. The 22 January meeting, in addition to taking care of some required bookkeeping (leveling up a character takes a little bit, especially for still-new players), attended to some discussion of narrative structures. For the sake of convenience and ease, I worked largely from Freytag; experience suggests that his narrative arc structure is likely to be presented to students in middle and high school, and students at that age are the participants in the game I’m running at the library. We did talk a bit about how the pilot program and its short adventure fit into it, and the shift from a fundamentally one-off adventure into a longer campaign received some attention. I think we’ll revisit the topic at intervals across sessions; I think, too, that we’ll talk a bit about character- versus plot-driven stories and the continuum or spectrum between them.
Another thing to note about the renewed gaming is that it is the first time in a long time that I am working from published adventure materials. One of the holiday traditions my family observes is that of Jólabókaflóð, giving each other books and sitting around reading them; my wife bought me a gaming supplement, having heard me talk about the need to come up with materials for the game I am running for the library. The current plot works from a selection out of that book; I have done a bit of massaging on the front end of it to offer a way into that story that makes sense against the previous games, but after the added prelude, the game will more or less follow the printed materials. Such materials are meant for such use, so I do not feel badly for making such use of those with which I have been provided. But it is an unusual thing for me to do; most of the game-running I have done, I have done a lot more work to generate. How it will work out in the longer term, I do not know, but I look forward to finding out.
So much said, the pre-printed materials have led me to an idea (something else to note about the renewed gaming, in the event). Working from what is on the page, I find that there are some fairly obvious hooks for further development. Without going into too much detail, because it is possible that my players might take a look at what I have here (hi, kids!), I can note that there are references to things in the pre-printed materials that are not developed elsewhere that I know about. This means that there are things for me to develop, using not only the springboard of the pre-printed materials to get started, but also feedback from players, to flesh out the milieu in which we, together, will tell the lies our rolled dice suggest.
One other thing, and related: I mean to start to develop my players as game-runners, themselves. I will not always be on hand for them, alas, and I might well want to play as a player, myself. Both require that there be someone else ready to run a game, and getting someone or some people ready to do so takes some time. Best to start early, right?
As matters progress, I will, of course, be making more comments here. I might well also read those that get left by my readers along the way…
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The topic of games ending has come up in this webspace before (here, if not also elsewhere). I always experience some sense of sadness when I have a game conclude (as opposed to simply stopping, which happens, unfortunately, and has its own issues), and this is certainly true for the most recent game in which I’ve played: Nakahama.
The header for the game in question, taken from a screen-shot
An adventure in another Legend of the Five Rings campaign, the game centered on a single province of a sort of resort planet–so, magical samurai in space. It was my first adventure in the campaign, so I entered it late; there’s a fair amount of history behind it, assumptions in play that I didn’t necessarily catch onto at first but managed to come abreast of soon enough. I’m more or less content with how my character turned out, although there’re always things I’d do differently than I did and thing’s I did do that I wouldn’t again.
It was instructive for me. In earlier comments about forum-based RPGs (like those referenced above), I remark on event design. I’ve discussed as much from time to time since, probably not at the level of depth or with the focus I ought to’ve, but I’ll note that Nakahama was perhaps the single best game for that that I’ve played. There was the kind of straightforward primary metagame mechanic that is to be expected–each “session,” make a particular roll for particular results, racking up those results across the whole game for in-milieu rewards and changes–and that was welcome in its familiarity. More engaging was a series of in-game events that each contributed towards the primary metagame while stretching players’ and characters’ abilities and understandings, each of which seemed to contribute to a Tolkienian “inner consistency of reality” and impression that the milieu exists outside of what players and their characters see. Too, the overall design was not locked into one character type or another, as often happens, but had something for most character types (I say “most” because “all” cannot really be addressed). I’ll definitely be taking some lessons from it, moving forward.
And, yes, it’s “moving forward.” I will be running games of my own, after all, and not only Hanlon (but, happily, Hanlon). I have ideas for a Legend of the Five Rings campaign that’ve been bouncing around for a good long while, now, and I should probably put some more effort into polishing them up. This is the kind of thing that sweetens the bitterness of a good game ending, the promise of a new one that takes lessons taught from it and hopes to expand upon them, making things better for everybody involved.
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Not much less than a week ago, I noted wrapping up my local library’s pilot program of running a game of Dungeons & Dragons for middle schoolers. I continue to think it was a good experience for them and for me, and I continue to think that what the game taught us is worth having learned or having been brought back to mind.
I’m particularly pleased, therefore, that the program looks like it will resume next month. That is, I will continue to run Dungeons & Dragons games for middle schoolers at my local library. I rather expect, based on the feedback I got from participants, that those who have already been at my table will return to it, and that will be good; I have things to do with them (including walking them through character advancement / improvement, which I had meant to do at the end of the last session but which events and time constraints prohibited), and there is value in having stories continue.
There is some talk, too, of the program expanding, whether to a second session of middle schoolers or to a session of high school students is not yet clear. Either would work well, although each presents different challenges. With middle schoolers, there are more concerns of maturity than with high schoolers, although the ones with whom I’ve worked thus far did decently well being redirected when they needed it; really, the issue was all of them wanting to talk at once, most of them wanting to be the focus of attention. It’s not bad in itself, but taking turns being the star is still something they’re working on; they’ll get there, I’m sure. High schoolers will, in some ways, be easier; there’s more they can do and can be expected to do. But there’s also more concern about their needs; middle schoolers are still largely children, while high schoolers are more nearly adult and will have more things going on that are potentially problematic for me to address.
I know who and what I am, after all, and I am aware that my addressing particular issues is fraught.
That said, I am looking forward to resuming play in and around Hanlon. I’m looking forward to deepening my understanding and insights, as well as to seeing what else from my past experiences still holds up in current play, when I am so many years older and my players do not have the shared experience and cultural immersion–including the (internalized?) shame at pursuing a hobby that used to earn scorn, derision, and an uncomfortable amount of suspicion from religious leaders and law enforcement officials–I shared with my earlier play-groups. Also, to be sure, I’m looking forward to passing on some of the more “academic” parts of what I know about all this; there is scholarship on the matter, in addition to the ways in which tabletop roleplaying games do have educational value. After all, to play, players have to read, they have to navigate rules sets and so learn index use, they have to do quick arithmetic, and they learn quite well that random chance isn’t always, but that no roll depends on the last one made. Narrative theories can be explored, as can philosophies, and it might be that I include some short reflections on why characters take the actions they do or somesuch thing.
There’s a lot to do, and it will be good to do it.
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Yesterday, as this piece makes its way into the world, I presided over the final session of the initial Dungeons & Dragons for middle schoolers program at my local library. (It’s discussed here, here, here, and here.) In it, the party sought to make its way back to Hanlon, its objective achieved; they were sidetracked by player actions and the will of the dice into an unexpected, ultimately successful encounter. I also, in fact, put into practice my player-commendation bit that I remarked upon last week. Even if things do not resume–much as I hope they will, I cannot rely upon it–I’m glad to have done it; I like to set good expectations with my players, even when they are not so young as the kids with whom I worked these past weeks, and I think it’s important to ground children well.
Not bad looking… Photo by Stephen Hardy on Pexels.com
There are, of course, things I would do differently if I had them to do again. With a bunch of newer players–and most of those at the table were, in fact, brand new to tabletop roleplaying games–I think it might be good to have a more overt authority in the game with them, something of a mentor figure who can, within the context of the game, offer some guidance. I am aware of the perils of the GMPC, to be sure; I’ve seen it go badly and have been guilty of making such a thing happen. But with a markedly novice group, I think it might be a good idea to have, nonetheless.
I think, also, I would try to work in more non-combat encounters and mechanics. I know, with a bunch of kids, that “getting to the good stuff” is a concern. I also know that combat can drag easily, especially if one or more of the opponents actually thinks through the fight (and if one or more of the PCs gets annoyed at the antics of another and vents their spleen). Perhaps a puzzle or two, going back to the old dungeon-delving model, might work.
Some things went well, though. Having the new players address the non-mechanical stuff is almost always to the good, and my players leaned into it even without much in the way of overt background knowledge; I’ll be doing that again, to be sure. Too, going ahead and rolling with them for (most of) their shenanigans resulted in laughter around the table, and since a large part of the reason to play any game is to have fun, things that promote such laughter are to be encouraged. And, finally, I think bringing together people from different experiences was good for everybody involved; if I can, I’ll do that much again.
In all, it was a good experience. I needed the practice in running a game at a table, and I’m glad to have helped some new gamers begin to get grounded in the hobby. After all, the children are the future, and I’d like to keep having one of rolling dice and telling lies…
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Since I’ve been going on for some weeks now about the work I’m doing running Dungeons & Dragons for middle schoolers at my local library (see here, here, here, and here), and because I’m in the middle of another play-by-post forum game, I’ve been motivated to look back at some of the older materials I’ve kept on file these many years. I’ve put a lot of effort into my gaming across a fairly decent spread of time at this point, and while I’ve had thoughts from time to time of what I could have gotten done had I focused on other things instead, it’s also been the case that I’ve built and maintained friendships through roleplaying games that have sustained me. I value them, and I’d not have them had I not done what I did before, so I’m grateful to have what I have.
The man himself Image is mine from years back
One of the things I found while looking was my record of a campaign in which I played while living in Lafayette, Louisiana. It’s one of those “be the party scribe for XP” things I’ve noted in earlier posts, as well as being practice in verse-forms for me. (I had some need to do so at the time. Perhaps that need persists.) The campaign stopped before it ended, more’s the pity, so the poem is incomplete, joining a number of other records in being so. What I have of it, all thirteen thirty-six-line fitts, I give here, only lightly edited from how I had it before. It shows influences and derivations, of course, but also progression, and I think it might well serve as an example of one of the things roleplaying games can do; being art, they can inspire other art.
Hreðe Clammeshearra, hard is that man, Fierce in the fight, that fiend of the chain. But long before his broadly-known days As champion of chains, when he was a child His father was felled, Fæst Hnæfessunu Who fought through the fire against many foes. He died as was destined, his doom was foretold As sages had said; he sought out the deathlands, His ancestors accepted him after his deeds. He left behind life, lost then his wife, The beautiful Cwenlic who bore him the boy Who would become Hreðe; hard was that day! For with Fæst gone, fatherless youth, Hreðe had not the help of a man In learning the man-lore and living’s best way. Fierce burned the fires fueled by his heart And against all people he often struck out, Making of all folk foes and fierce hate-men; Out he was cast, adrift and alone. Such is the fate for those who fight kinsmen. Better instead to be as a brother To brothers and blood than to bruise one’s own kin. Sorrowful solitude followed his steps; Haunted was Hreðe by mocking home-thoughts. Not strewn with flowers is the far-reaching fate Of men kinless made, no more for the young Than for warriors proven. While Hreðe wandered, Seeking safe dwelling and a seat among men, Some from the southlands sought to take women And men who might fight in manacles cold, To treat them as cattle and trade them for treasure For lust and for leisure of the lazy rich. To Hreðe a dark day was delivered harshly When summer had sped and autumn was summoned; The callow youth cast-out came upon slavers And chains then first met him.
To the wandering youth the wardens of wyrd Were less than good. Not light was the lifting Of chains for Hreðe; they chafed at his chest. The breast of a boy, broad as a twig, Hreðe still had when heavy irons First wrapped his wrists and rattled his steps. At first, Hreðe fought against fetters hard, Seeking to slay the slave-binding men. Of knot-ropes and nails he knew the pain then, As soft southern tongues slaver-words taught him. Long was the walk, the labor in lands Where men might own men and make of them beasts. Under stern steel-weights Hreðe grew stronger And wise in the ways of work-forced folk, In the south city he soon knew himself To be a man grown though by manacles mastered. Years of his youth yearned to be free While in pit and peril he performed a craft, Coming to kill in contest and sport For those who fought not but feasted and laughed As slave battled slave and one slew the other. Chains still chafed Hreðe and cheated his freedom, But they also became the best of his tools And gave him his name of Clammeshearra; If Hreðe had them, hard would he fight, Making of men meat with the fetters. Soon it was known in the southern city That Hreðe was highest and hardest of those Who fought for the fun of fat, lazy men. His name became known; none failed to speak it, Yet for all his fame, he still was not free. Not the worst in small war, not the smallest of wounds Did he deliver, of deaths not the fewest From his hand fell, and not the first taste Of free air could find him, fettered as he was. That would soon change.
The wardens of wyrd watched the young exile, Fallen Fæst’s son far in the south, Captured kinslayer, captain of slaves. Winters fifteen when he began wandering The boy had seen. Seven slave-years In pit and in peril paid for his crimes; The gods ask no more, those givers of gifts. While Hreðe warred as lazy men watched The earth masters made a mighty thing happen, Great work of gods; in the ground a cleft Opened beneath all the unmanning walls Where lazy men watched slave-warriors fight. Stones came to stand where staring men were Before they could be in a better place. The walls fell to waste. Men watched no more. The hand of Hreðe held death aloft When the walls fell. He wasted the stroke, Dealt then no death as did he before, Bowed to the blessing of the bounty-lords, Stayed the hard stroke and strayed from the pit. None could now keep him from knowing free air. Chains he took with him, champion fighter. Hreðe tight-held to hard iron bands, Solid fight-servants in his slave-days long. Not long did he linger in long-hated place, But went into the world where he could find deeds Of warrior-glory, the work that he knew. The fiend of the chain found before long Fighting-man work in freedom to do. For weak men he willingly waged a hard battle Between the slave city and a seemlier place. He traveled the trails, truest of fighters, Forgiven his faults, the folly of youth. The last joy of Cwenlic came to the coast, Saw there a city, strode to its doors. He went then inside.
The domain of Dockston did Hreðe enter, Gathered with Guildsmen for glory and honor. Hreðe the Hall of Heroes entered; A summons had sent him to that city’s heart To face a fair test and his fate to measure, To find in the Fever Glades of fen-roads the best. East went the eager one and even companions When next the sun rose, a good road to seek Through fens of Fever Glades, the fiend of the chains, Where flowed the water upon the world’s face. They traveled not silent, but spoke many words, The fiercest of fighters and his dear friends, Pious Dwarf prayer-man and pointed-ear sage, No less the little man on rapid-step legs. Their speech then was split by a scream in the fields As the fiend of the chain and his friends happened by. Lizards had lashed against little people And so they were slain and sent out in fear With fire and chain and one well-flung stone. A help to the Halflings Hreðe became With his worthy friends, a weal for the good. A stain on the soil was spilled Lizard blood When wounded by Hreðe, one left this life, And fire and stone slew yet another. Old Orchard Meadows opened its arms To the wandering warriors and welcomed them in. The citizens spoke of slinking new troubles; Them Hreðe heard and his wise companions, Sought out the source of the new sorrows. Fens then found out the fiend of the chain. In muck and mire, the man and friends trod Until the attack of oversized vermin Halted their haste. It hindered them little; Their fate was not fixed to fall in that time But that of the beast was bound to its end, And for the scale-men at the mill.
Life had left lizards at the mill. Hreðe and his folk hiked on the path; Slow was the swamp-way as they slogged along. To the place of the peatcutter the party soon came And faced a new fight on the fen’s edge. In a fan made of flame a foul plant-thing died, But a beast of bile battled them then, Spitting foul speech, sputum of death; It, too, was slain, served no stout fight. Rich was the reward and real was the joy Orchard Meadows felt at the fiend of the chains And for his friends from what they had done And had yet to do; hard work was ahead. The swamp-way was sought by soldiers again, Foul-smelling fenlands. In faith they worked To make Orchard Meadows for men a good place. As the group went to gather together A spell suddenly on the select fell; His friends had to hold Hreðe from leaping Into cool currents– compulsion befell him. A spell after slew the sprite who had made it And they then went on into the wood. A spider sprang out and sought to attack. Daggers and chains and a dart well-placed Suddenly slew it. The spider fell quickly. After spider was slain, the seekers came To the lizard lands, where lived the scale-folk. An elder of egg-born escorted them To know Nanami, the name of their leader. Words then were passed and stories woven. Foul deeds came forth and found redress. The evils of office were all undone In Orchard Meadows. Applebottom had Worked foul in the fens and fathered deceit. And end was put to it, and to him as well. There are worse things in the world.
They departed for Dockston in dourness none, Reached their rewards, new robes among them. The stealthy small one, swift-handed Milo, The talented Taren, tall and wise, Priest great in praise-work, the preacher called Mott, And heart-strong Hreðe, hero of chains And fiend in the fight, found a new name. Explorer Acolyte all later called them When they had returned from whence they set out. Great was the glory given them then. Their journey to Jesric was joyous indeed; All knew their names with no small pride. After the accolade the Acolytes new Were bound for Blackston for battle again. Zarlag had studied, searched for new lore, Then left it alone. To look for it then The fiend of the fight and his fellow-searchers Were sent for success. All seemed well at first. The seeming soon ended; others sought out The hero of chains and hand-swift stealth-man, Praiseworthy priest, and practitioner arcane. The beasts of the barrens bore down on the group, Surrounded the seekers, sought a new meal. A griffon descended, grabbed at the horse That Hreðe had brought to haul all the things That serve success well— save for great valor, For that the four had in full-hearted measure. The worker of woe on wings dropped down, Tore at the ties, the tethers of life; Great was the grief the griffon found At the attack, which Acolytes gave. It fled in fear; its fury was spent. The horse had been hurt; healing came to it By workings of wyrd against woe untimely. The party packed up, pressed on steadfastly. There was much yet to be done.
Gone then was the griffon and gathered were they Together at trail-head. They took up watches And waited as wardens while others slept. Ants made attack in early-dark morning; Mott and small Milo, they met the beasts bravely. Taren then took up a titan’s struggle And Hreðe, the hard man, was hero that time; The Fiend of the Fetters flung chains about him, And with a loud whirling went ants to their deaths, To graves after grappling with the ground-near small man. Hreðe Clammeshearra helped Milo live, Ended the argument with iron and thew. When after, at noon-tide more ants appeared, Besetting a brave one who bestrode a stone, The Chain-lord charged in, the child of Fæst, Rescued then Ralgor from rage of the creatures. The Great Forge was grateful, and grand was his welcome Of Hreðe and Mott, and Milo his kinsman, With Taren the tall. He took them with him To seek out his sleep-place, their stories to hear. When they arrived there, thieves awaited them, Halflings half ant-folk with hardened red skin; The mark of their maker and of Mithril Fort They bore on their breasts before they attacked. The fight was a fierce one, but fate was not with them Who had the Halfling hoped to despoil. They claimed that their queen would come and redeem them, Bring sorrow to stout hearts and seek all their dooms. The boasting was bombast; they were beaten well. The wardens of wyrd wanted no more To permit the pair to peer at the sun. Hreðe then halted the lives of the Halflings, Sent them to seek what solace they could, Then turned towards his own and went to the table. The Great Forge’s graces went to groundhog stew; It was a fine meal.
Morning must come to men in all lands, And it came upon Hreðe as is expected. Rightly did Ralgor set their feet running To the old tower to which they were sent. Tall, in two stories, the tower stood there, Old home of the asker who ancient lore sought, Bleak then and barren where once banners hung, And sealed was the stonework of Zalgar’s old home, Riding near ridges. Right so Taren saw Emerging far off ants from the ground And making for the east, unaware of heroes. They moved to assail them, the Acolytes new. Milo did much to mask their advance; The small man was skilled in stealthy arts. Into the earth all four of them passed, The great ones, the bold ones; they feared no peril, But pressed ahead proudly as princes of cities. Ants would assail them, and ants would then die To fire and dagger and doughty-swung mace, But the Chains’ Champion as chaff from the wheat Severed the six-legs from seeking their prey In whirling death-windmills. They went from life quickly. Through tunnels and trials, they trudged ahead, Ridding the ridge-lands of rambling vermin Both new and to come; not for long after Was wariness there where they had fought. Soon then the ant-queen came into their view, And as with her children, the mother to chains Fell in the fight; the fetters collected life From one who had owed it. It was soon done, Hreðe a hero and his folk the victors. A test for the true-hearted, a tunnel remained Which in heroes’ haste had not yet been taken. They wound their way to it, the war-mighty ones, Made progress up it. Powers awaited. More fights were coming.
In divergent directions the ant-delving wandered. The tunnel not trod the heroes then took, Searching for secrets and seeking the tower, For they knew that formian foes as yet held it. The Champion of Chains a charnel-house found Full of the dead and food no good to them. Tunnel turned away, taking them forward. A giant half-ant guarded the gate to their goal. Milo thought him mighty and made to attack; Though worthy and wily, wood swung by giants Is no easy thing to endure in arms. To Milo Mott soon made with his healing And Taren took aim at twin-headed peril, Solemn war-sorceress sought its undoing. The fierce son of Fæst entered the fight, Brought down the beast and battered it greatly; When it would seek to rise, it wound up on the floor, Tripped, taken down, and of treasures stripped. The door bore a device the ettin died before; The ant-mark appeared there, and so they went on, Opened and attacked against the foul there. More of the man-ants made as to slay them, But they were unworthy as warriors for life; They failed in the fight. So may all our foes! The brave ones sought beds after that battle, And when they woke it was to more war. As happens so often, the hardy were given In war by the wardens of wyrd the victory; Such was their skill that few stood before them And those not for long. Of such things come legends And glory and gold, gifts of all kinds. Much yet remained, though much had been done By the explorers in tunnel and trial. No foes frightened them, fast in their valor, And eager in heart, they moved ahead. Heroes should always act thus.
When rest and relief the righteous ones found, The praiseworthy priest had prayers intoned, The solemn sorceress centered her power, The small sneaking one settled his blades, And Fiend of the Fetters fight-ready was, They looked for the leavings of looters now dead. A hard fight and Halflings held as slaves they found, Breath-of-pain beetles and beating-wing flier Attacked and assailed them. All of those died; Broken and battered, the beetles fell quickly To priest and pocket-scout; a powerful leap Sent Hreðe in hatred at high-flying ant; He bore it to bottom of tunnel and beat it. The Halfings were happy that they had been saved; Walnuts and wine went off in their joy, And four went on forward with fighting to do. Ascending and searching, they scouted on forward, More formians found and fought them to death, Then reaped the rewards for rightness in valor: Gemstones and jewels and the journal sought. Taren then took it and told of its words, The black blood-writ volume; the book they sought told Of death-god’s devices and deeds to attain them. Words then of worry were spoken among them, Of fair and of foul and feats yet to do, The tome they had taken, their task had fulfilled, Yet formian foes remained to be fought Who sought to make slaves and so deserved death. Mott who was holy and Hreðe agreed; Such evil should not survive in the world. The priest of great praise and pit-fighter knew That in this as one, they would work well. One door remained. One door was closed, And on would they go, the excellent four To finish the fight and leave no foes living. Such is the way of the worthy.
The closed door was opened, and in went the heroes. There they saw sights strange and uncouth. In a wizard’s workroom, a weird scene appeared Of shelves and substances, and strapped to a table, A dark deformed ant-thing in depraved guise. Near the board-burden, on the floor beside, Stood a strong challenge that spoke to the four: “Leave now my love, and laden with treasure You may go freely. Give her no pain; She has had enough of harm in this place.” So spoke the ant-man as stood the four, But still from the burden blood-potions came And slaves made of small ones; such is not meet Save for death alone. And death came then to them. Fierce was the fight, but it finished quickly, And the warriors worthy won then the day. Yet one more fight remained to them then; They searched out the high-room, striving by stealth, Then with hard hits, to halt the advance Of unfit dominion and unclean control. The mother of misery and her last minion Were sent to the sunless, sorrowful land; One was redeemed, though without comfort, From that fierce fight, fought against magic And a queen who assumed unsolid forms. The last of the tower was taken as treasure And those who survived the slavers’ attempts Were gathered together and led to their lands. The travel was smooth, and swiftly they went From tower to tunnel to treading under heaven. For Mithril Fort, they followed the path Until, stained by smoke, the sky ahead showed Where wrack and ruin had razed the strong place; Orcs had attacked, and abomination Of size supreme and scarce to be believed. A new threat arose to be faced.
The Fall of Fort Mithril found some relief From Mott the most worthy and Milo the deft, From Taren the titan of terrible lore, From Hreðe, the hard man, the hero of chains. Young, yearning knights, the yore-heroes’ heirs, Gave word of Gheydalin, a gathering-place Soon now to suffer the sorrows of war. Mott then to mercy, and manful deeds Hreðe, Were moved and moved on to meet the new need. Swiftly they strode across silent lands, Seeking to succor the sylvan-land folk; Before the brave heroes a barking then sounded Of orcs and their orders— an awful sound. A patrolling orc-party, apart from the horde, Warg-riders and wagon-men, waited to die. The heroes then helped them; Hreðe cut their wait short Along with the others in all of their skill. Then, too, there came to them a thing not foreseen, Beast-man and beast to battle the orcs; Tekk, who transformed to tear at the throats Of enemy orcs, and his own companion, Greeted them gladly, gave them his pledge Of friendship and faith; they followed his words And gained then Gheydalin in the green woods. Walls tall and wooden wound around the village As Mott the merciful and mighty Hreðe Called up the council and cautioned attack: “A beast of soul-blackness bears down upon you; An army of orcs is after your land. Gather your good-folk, your goods leave behind, Flee into the forest before the flames come Of war and of woe. The warning please heed.” At Mott’s mild words and the mean eyes of Hreðe The people, not panicked, proceeded along And fled their fair village before the flames came. Gheydalin still perished.
With Gheydalin gone and given to ruin, The heroes for Haarston hastily traveled. The night-watch showed nothing. The next gave them rest; Watersong wound through woods to their ears And bars stood before them, man-barded guards. Their lord, Ludovico, was loath to hear counsel, A drunkard debauched, no diligent man To rule a right people against ruin coming. Milo went merry to make him to hear; The lord, Ludovico, listened then not. Hreðe then held him with hand-grip on throat As Taren the talented his teeth held closed. Ludovico listened, and led were the folk, The Haarston home-dwellers, hardly away Before came the beast to break all the town. To Linham the lost-folk led then would be; Hendrix thanked heroes and heard their words, But Milo and Mott and mighty Hreðe, Taren the talented and Tekk the wood-wise, Gathered together would go thence to Jowston; The city yet stood in sorrow’s intent. Two days they traveled until at the city They arrived in honor and opened the court. The warden would stop them, wished to deny The power and promise presented to him; Still heroes sought to say their new tidings And wake with new warnings the warrior people. Their message was made and magistrate said, “Gather together in glory the folk; Secure the city against sorrow oncoming. Tend to the tasks where your talents lie And all thanks and honor for all of your deeds.” The heroes then headed, they heard the good words, To do then the deeds to deliver Jowston. Night approached newly and nothing remained Except to face the beast.
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In a piece last week, I make the comment that “At my tables, XP also result from making things better for the other people at the table, something I’ll talk about in more detail later on (but probably not today).” This, being a different day (although today on whatever day you read it), seems a good one for talking about one of the “making things better for other people at the table” I have tended to reward with additional XP; I have often had players vote for the player other than themselves whom they felt did the best job of roleplaying at the table that session, and I’ve awarded that player premium XP for the commendation of their fellows (usually something like one-fifth to one-third of the “regular” reward for the session).
I’ve seen messier tables. Photo by Will Wright on Pexels.com
In practice, it was a small thing, just a collection from those at the table of slips of paper with someone else’s name on them and counting up who got how many votes. In effect, however, it proved a powerful motivator. As I remark in the earlier piece and as is clear to most who have sat to table, the promise of a reward spurs quite a bit of effort and action; most any time XP are up for grabs, players pay attention and go out of their way to get the reward. As is also clear from experience, in many if not most cases, people are motivated by the acclaim of their peers; having evidence that those in a person’s acquaintance value the contributions made does a lot to spur more such contributions. Since in this case the “contributions” being rewarded were particular at-table behaviors, those at the table largely regulated themselves to that end, pushing further into character development and narrative engagement, even if occasionally at the expense of mechanical effectiveness. That is, they would go further into role-play as opposed to the roll-play that I have seen take over tables and towards which many who come to the older tabletop roleplaying game from the more ubiquitous and younger massively multiplayer online roleplaying game or from similarly structured single- or limited-multiplayer games tend.
I’ve not implemented it with my Hanlon players yet. I think I’ve remarked before that the program that has given rise to Hanlon is something of a pilot; there’s one more session to play that I know of, and I do not know if matters will continue afterward. I hope they do, and if they do, I think I will put the practice back into practice at my table. It’s a good one, and with such young players as I currently have, I think it will do much to help them learn to do more than come up on the rules (which is not a bad thing to do, in itself, but the game is more than the rules, really). I think it will help them get better at finding and filling their roles, and it will make them better players at the next tables they join.
I try to be helpful. Sometimes, it even works.
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Elliott RWI 