D&D — Dialogues 3: The Law of Averages, Pt. 2

Two (in-game) days later. Our party had been rescued by a stranger (the paladin’s new PC), and taken to the secret base of the resistance. The leader, a ripped dwarf lady named Boulderback, says that she could use our help toppling the ruthless leadership of the dwarves currently in command. We owe the resistance our lives, for rescuing us in the first place, but its also personal. We lost a friend in that fight. They would have their help.

The party is instructed to go attack a guard tower at the same time as the rest of the resistance. A coordinated attack meant to be swift and decisive. Our rescuer, a female artificer, joins us for the battle.

Now, it’s worth noting at this point that out of character, I’m telling the monk in our party that Kallos is going to destroy these guys this time around. I (jokingly) argue that since Inflict Wounds rolled so low the first time it hit, the second time I hit with it it would have to deal at least 30 damage. It’s called the Law of Averages. Our monk remains skeptical. Plus, I tell him, it’s my birthday, so the universe has to cut me some slack. Kallos (and I) want revenge for being humiliated in that last fight. And this time, Kallos has a plan.

The party is in an open, garden-like area with statues placed throughout. These provide half-cover, and if we’re careful we can use them to sneak up on the guards.

Kallos casts Invoke Duplicity, making a perfect copy of himself behind a nearby statue. Then he sneaks towards it and fumbles a stealth roll (-1 Dex is a real killer).

As soon as the guards come out to investigate, however, our artificer engages. She deals an incredible amount of damage in the first round, nearly killing a guard right off the bat. The rest of the party moves in to engage while Kallos sneaks around the statues, still not quite involved in the combat.

While the guards are distracted with our warlock and artificer, Kallos sneaks up to the nearest one and casts Inflict Wounds. This time, with Invoke Duplicity right next to me, I have advantage on my attack roll, meaning I roll twice and take the higher number.

I didn’t need the advantage, though. I rolled a 20 on the first roll. I believe this is also Kallos’ first crit.

Now, in this particular session, the way our DM rules crits is “Double dice roll, then max damage”. So, if your attack would deal 1d6 damage, it would turn into 2d6, and immediately take the max without needing to roll, meaning it would automatically deal 12 damage. Inflict Wounds, of course, deals 3d10, so when it crits by these rules, I deal 60 damage.

Now, I didn’t have enough movement speed to get to the boss-man. This guy was just a lackey. He gets disintegrated. Literally.

At this point, the DM has me roll initiative, as I’ve entered the combat. I don’t roll very high, but I still move before the boss. So when it creeps up to my turn again, I walk over to him, and realize it is the same guard captain that killed my friend.

“Thought it tickled last time, did you?” Kallos says, casting Inflict Wounds at 2nd level again. I still have advantage, but again, I don’t need it. I roll another 20 on the first throw. 4d10*2, maxed, equates to 80 damage. (Again, for perspective, Kallos has 27 health. That amount of damage would take him down nearly 3 times over.)

So, having crit with Inflict Wounds twice in a row, he’s dealt 140 damage in one turn. Our monk is at this point nodding sagely. “I didn’t realize how powerful the Law of Averages was.”

Now, this guy doesn’t die. Instead, he does what anyone else would do when faced with certain death at the hands of dumb luck. He turns into a demon.

That’s pretty much the end of the exciting part of the tale. He turns all of his buddies into husks as he mind controls them using lampreys (which was, may I say, exceedingly gross). He keeps fighting Kallos, unwavering, and with his two attacks a turn (and terrible armor due to my wanting to be more sneaky this combat), he doesn’t do so well. And, I kid you not, the die that rolled two crits (not technically back-to-back, since I had advantage) proceeds to roll 4 2’s in a row.

So, needless to say, Kallos doesn’t last long against him. He falls unconscious, and I legitimately thought he was going to die that session. The rest of the party manages to pull through, however, and the would-be valiant end of Kallos Mortani instead became “That time Kallos wasn’t useless in combat”.

D&D — Dialogues 3: The Law of Averages, Pt. 1

(Story isn’t ready yet. Will post it tomorrow!)

 

This is one of those stories that prove insanely strange and awesome things can happen just by how you roll the dice. Hilarious characters and circumstances are great and all, but there’s something to be said for the occasional instances where statistics just… no longer applies. In short, this is the story of the time my level 3 cleric dealt over 100 damage in one turn. (And by coincidence, this session took place on my birthday, so I consider it a literal gift from the gods.)

Before we get to that particular session however, some background. Kallos (my cleric) and friends had just cleared out a tunnel to a nearby dwarven village. Upon arriving there, however, the half dozen guards at the gates immediately attacked us, after a brief and pathetic attempt at a peace talk.

The guard captain attacks first, and he has two attacks, meaning he is (at least) two levels higher than us. Considering that, and the fact that they also outnumber us, this sends some serious red flags. So what do we do? The same thing any respectable D&D party does. We charge right in.

Kallos tries fighting toe-to-toe with the captain, since he can easily heal himself if need be. With 18 AC and Mirror Image up, he can also soak up quite a bit of damage, hopefully giving the monk and warlock some time to pick a few off. Our paladin, who was right beside Kallos in combat, takes some savage blows dealt by the captain, who doesn’t seem interested in the many clerics running around right in front of his face.

The battle rages on, and our paladin is forced to disengage. It comes to my turn, and I have exactly one spell slot left. I can cast Cure Wounds on my ally, or…

Hoping to end things then and there, Kallos rushes towards the captain and grabs him, channeling powerful necrotic energy as he casts Inflict Wounds at 2nd level.

I don’t have high hopes for his ability to hit. Kallos has literally never hit with this spell, try as he might. It’s high damage potential (3d10 baseline) is pretty high, but you have to land the attack, and you have to be close enough to touch the guy.

Kallos, miraculously, rolls a 17. So he hits! And since the spell is 2nd level, he gets to add another d10 to the damage. So he has a potential of dealing 40 damage here. And for perspective, at this level Kallos has a maximum health of 27.

In order, the dice I roll show these numbers: 1. 2. 3. 4. A total of 10 damage. Less than half the average amount of damage 4d10 would normally roll. I could have swung my hammer at the guy and dealt more damage, for crying out loud!

Hopes and dreams crushed, the captain snickers. “As reward for fighting so well,” he says, “I’ll only kill one of you if you surrender now.”

We have nothing left. I’ve got no spells, and most of us are on the brink of death as it is. We’ve killed exactly zero guards. Having no other options, (and honestly getting the hint from the DM that this is the way he wants it to go), we accept. Our paladin’s throat is slit then and there, and we’re taken to the dungeon.

 

D&D — West Marches “Guild Hall” Campaign

I have a grandiose idea for a Dungeons & Dragons setting. Something that, if executed well, could hold an amazing standard for how the game is run among my group of friends. It changes the dynamic of the game a great deal, because it screws with the fundamental “game night with a group of friends”.  The idea behind the West Marches campaign is that you have a small community of people that set up periodic events.

Now, I won’t simply elaborate on what a “West Marches campaign” is supposed to be, though I’ll leave a link to the video I found on YouTube where I learned about it. Instead, I’ll just talk about my ideal implementation for the “Guild Hall” campaign, which has strong synergy with the concept of West Marches.

Imagine this. You and thirty or more people you like to hang around all want to play D&D. So instead of splitting off into five different groups that meet at various times, you make a group. (A Facebook group, a Discord channel, whatever. Ideally, though, I would want an entire website dedicated to it, complete with maps, forum channels, etc.) That’s step one.

Collectively, you all make a guild. The worldbuilders in the group can also get together and start to put together a cohesive map. Then, everybody makes characters. Every person in this 30+ group is a member of the guild. For this post, let’s call the guild ‘Froststar’. They all start at Level 1, with basically nothing. They have an abandoned warehouse that serves as the guild hall, sleeping on bedrolls and probably making friends with various rodents.

The goal of this campaign is to build the guild’s renown. You want Froststar to be the most popular guild in the entire city. Maybe even kingdom or continent. They have to pool their earnings, upgrade the guild hall, compete in Guild tournaments (not unlike Fairy Tail, if you’ve read/seen it). The guild starts at the bottom, but over time will acquire followers, build up their headquarters, and make a name for themselves.

“But wait,” you ask. “How is a group of 30+ people play D&D all at once?” Well, you don’t. That’s what the website is for. Here’s how it works. One member in the group calls for a session, and anyone that wants to jump in is welcome to. The games don’t happen weekly, but instead are handled on a case-by-case basis. This campaign could easily have three dungeon masters, as well. The only thing you’d need to do is compare notes after a session. (I imagine the DMs wouldn’t have characters in the guild, but I don’t see why it isn’t doable. All they have to do is be able to separate player/DM knowledge from character knowledge and you’ll be fine.)

By virtue of how this would work, pretty much all of these sessions would be one-shots. Everything starts and ends in the city, where the guild hall is, because you can’t have these five characters go to a neighboring city and have them also be a part of the next session. Because of this, a calendar where the DM(s) keep track of who is where and when would be essential. (Plus, a guild tournament where they compete against each other would be a yearly thing, so it is something Froststar should be planning around, and it can be the “topic” of those sessions.)

The number one danger with this set up is that people will inevitably gravitate towards specific people. Probably people they know better than others in the group. You don’t want the same people inviting each other to sessions over and over again, because that is the opposite of the hive mind mentality you want the Guild Hall campaign to be. You want to invite people that have abilities or characteristics suited to your goal. If you’re going to an ancient crypt, invite the hunter whose favorite enemy is Undead and the cleric who can Turn Undead. But if the group of 30+ people start splitting off into teams, that defeats the entire purpose of the campaign. So, how do you solve that? Simple: you can’t invite the same people twice in a row.

So, that’s the gist of the West Marches inspired “Guild Hall” campaign. The best part about it is that people can leave or join the guild without disrupting the flow of the in game world. Theoretically, you could set up a website with all the original members, and have it’s community be completely different ten years later, but thriving all the same. That fantasy really speaks to me, because that’s what Dungeons & Dragons is all about.

D&D — Who Tells the Story?

There’s something that a lot of beginning players don’t understand about D&D, and it can cause lots of problems based on the experience of the group, especially if your dungeon master is new to the role. In fact, this was perhaps my biggest problem when I first tried my hand as a DM, and since I wouldn’t consider myself to have been fun to play with until I had learned this lesson.

In a typical Dungeons & Dragons campaign, who tells the story? For the purposes of this, it is completely irrelevant what the story is. It doesn’t matter if the dungeon master is using a campaign they bought, or downloaded online, or if they are making something up themselves. Who tells the story? I’ll give you a hint. It isn’t the DM.

This is the problem many aspiring dungeon masters have. They write out their characters, they make a map, they set up a conflict. They might as well be the author to the story, and they certainly would be if they put all of their preparation into words on a page. But there’s a variable they often misidentify: the players. New DMs consider players the audience to the epic tale of elves and wizards. Of trolls and orcs. Of dungeons, and… well, dragons.

In most D&D campaigns, there is no audience. An audience implies observation with no interaction, which certainly isn’t what the players are. The player characters aren’t, or at least they shouldn’t be, obvservers of events and occurrences they can’t influence. Influencing an open and full world is pretty much the reason to be playing D&D in the first place.

Many novice dungeon masters consider the players to be crew members of the ship, while they themselves are the captain. The DM/captain steers the ship (well, more accurately the helmsman, but you get the idea), and the players/deckhands follow orders as the DM guides them to interesting lands.

That’s not what D&D should be. Instead, the players are the entire ship. Self governed, in fact. They may declare somebody captain of the ship, or they may otherwise take turns steering it. Point is, the DM doesn’t tell the boat where to go, the players do. So, what is the dungeon master in this metaphor? Simple: they’re the entire ocean. They’re the monsters that halt their progress. They’re the ports they stop at when they reach shore. They are the storms they brave when the skies aren’t clear. The DM isn’t the narrator. They are the driving force for the characters, who are narrating their own story.

If they’re anything like me, a new DM might feel a little attacked at this idea. Dungeon masters spend time out of the game preparing ahead of time, isn’t it more their story than the rest? My answer to that is, sure, it is your story. (That’s why, when I talk about the two campaigns I’m involved in, I refer to one of them as my campaign.) But it’s also their story. The dungeon master and the players are not against one another. It’s not (necessarily) an adversarial relationship.

The DM isn’t the captain of the ship ordering the players around. The DM is the ocean a ship of players must interact with and handle in order to survive.

D&D — Dialogues 2: Remnant’s Necklace

This story happened in the most recent session of my PC campaign (the one I’m not DM of). The party consists of: A human cleric (me), a human warlock (my brother), and a wood elf drunken master monk (another friend of mine). We have a fourth, but she couldn’t make it to this particular session. Now, there are a lot of spells and names used in this story. For the less obvious ones I’ll add parenthesis immediately afterwords to explain.

A little backstory, my character is a liar. His Divine Domain is Trickery, and by virtue of his religion, he never tells the truth when he doesn’t have to. He invented a fake religion and likes to convert NPCs to it in his spare time. My brother’s warlock simply loves chaos. He likes playing tricks on people, casting Prestidigitation (A spell that can do lots of things. You can mess with senses, temporarily make objects, etc.) and Minor Illusion just to get into their heads.
As a side note, it’s worth noting that so far, my cleric has rolled terribly throughout this campaign. In the most recent fight against about a dozen goblins, he missed every single time, and when he cast Sacred Flame (a fire-like radiance burns something, and it always hits) never rolled higher than a 2 on the damage roll. His biggest contribution that fight was casting Bless beforehand to give everyone an extra boost to their attack rolls. Suffice to say, luck hasn’t gone his side.

This story begins in a town called “Daybreak”. In the center of this town there is an immense tower that goes further than the eye can see. Maybe Kami lives up there, who knows. The party got word that a mysterious being called “Remnant” lived there, and has been there a long time. He doesn’t come down often and doesn’t like talking about himself. The gates to the tower are closed, and there is no easy access point.

Kallos, at this point, wants to know what all the fuss is about this “Remnant” guy. But he knows just shouting at him won’t get his attention.

So he takes a piece of parchment, and uses Sacred Flame to burn the words “ORCUS COMES” onto it (Orcus is, in a lot of D&D worlds, basically the evil god of murder and death and all that fun stuff). Then, he tosses it past the gate, where it gets swept up by a mysterious wind. It’s at this point that Kallos realizes he has perhaps made a terrible decision, but it’s too late now.

A few sessions later (after dealing with the aforementioned goblins), they return to town. Kallos wakes up before the rest of the party and sets off for the tower. He casts Locate Object to see if he can find the parchment that was swept up the day before. If no lead is between it and him, he can sense it’s presence within 1000ft.

It’s right behind him.

He swivels around to see a robed figure that is largely nondescript. He has an air about him that makes him difficult to look at directly, though.

This wasn’t the encounter Kallos was hoping to have. Especially not alone. Remnant pulls out the note and says “What is this?”

Kallos: Oh, you know. A warning. Orcus is coming, so we gotta stay vigilant and all that stuff. You can never be too careful… *nervous laughter*

Remnant: Who are you?

Kallos: Just a missionary from a far off land. (He asks me about my religion, and I tell him a bit about the fake one. I seem to have passed that Deception check.) I came from the West. Got into a bit of trouble over there and now they don’t like me. I plan on going back, but not until I’m stronger and more prepared and you don’t care about any of that.

Remnant: There’s trouble in the West.

Kallos: I know. I just told you that.

Remnant: The people there don’t serve who they think they serve.

Kallos: OH! Are they actually serving Orcus?!

Remnant: … Yes.

Kallos: I knew it! I told you! I mean, you told me, but I totally also told you.

Remnant: You talk too much. *He hands Kallos the parchment that says “ORCUS COMES”.*

Kallos: Thanks. I’ll alert the masses.

Remnant: Yeah, don’t do that.

Kallos: Yeah, you’re probably right. So like, since we’re on the same side, can you like, help? Maybe tell me what I should do? ‘Cause if I go back there now I’ll just die. Maybe you can give me something that proves I’m working for you? Well, not for you, obviously, but maybe something with like your symbol on it?

Remnant pulls a necklace out of his robes with the symbol of a sun on it and hands it to Kallos, and gives some information about what he suggests of their long-term goals.

Kallos: Alright, cool, thanks. See you later, friend! *He goes for a fistbump, then a handshake, then a high five, but Remnant doesn’t move. Kallos awkwardly leaves*.

Kallos returns to the party to tell them what happened. There are lots of specifics that aren’t relevant to the story, so I’ll leave them out. On Remnant’s suggestion, they go to a tunnel that collapsed. They need to clear it, but have no way of moving all the rocks out.

My brother, whose warlock is named “Theren”, suggests using the necklace, since we know it is magical in some way. Kallos responds by holding it up, but when nothing happens, he throws it at the rocks. It lands on the ground unceremoniously.

Theren goes over and picks it up. “I’ll hold on to this.”

Kallos: What? No way, Remnant gave that to me.

Theren: And you just threw it carelessly!

Kallos: I was going to pick it up!

Theren: No, I don’t trust you with it. What are you even good for anyway?

Kallos, at this point, casts Charm Person (This makes it so the target is more amiable to your commands). Theren succeeds his Wisdom save, meaning he knows Kallos tried to trick him. He responds with Suggestion (basically, the next sentence you say sounds very reasonable), and Kallos makes his Wisdom save. Kallos tries to instead cast Command (A one word verb that the target would have to obey) , but realizes he didn’t prepare that spell.

Theren: Fine, fine. You can have it. *He casts Prestidigitation and gives Kallos a replica necklace. He doesn’t notice it’s fake.*

Kallos: Was that so hard?

They bicker a bit longer, but decide to go back to town to enlist aid in clearing the tunnel. They get back to the tavern, and Kallos is talking to the bartender about getting the local townsfolk to help. Prestidigitation has since worn off, and Theren suspects Kallos will try to pull the necklace out of his bag, which would make him realize he’s been tricked when he doesn’t find it. He casts Prestidigitation to make a new necklace, and tries to make a Sleight of Hand check to sneak it into Kallos’ bag. He rolls a 2.

Kallos, upon catching Theren holding the necklace: Dude, what the heck? You gave it back only to try to steal it again?

Theren: Sorry, you’re right. My bad. Here. *He hands it to Kallos, who puts it in his bag*.

Kallos: We talked about this. Just let me hold on to it, and we’ll be fine.

Theren: Yeah, yeah, got it.

 

And that’s where we leave off. Kallos still has no idea Theren has the real necklace, and the entire table was having so much fun with the whole scenario. This really highlights my favorite part of Dungeons & Dragons: the dramatic irony that plays out when a player knows more than their character does, and they act appropriately with the information their guy knows (or, more likely, what they don’t know).

D&D — Dialogues 1: Turning the Tides

I’m going to start a little mini-series in the D&D section of this blog called “Dialogues”, where I tell stories of the adventures I’ve been a part of, either as a DM or a player. Some will be funny, some, like this one, won’t, but overall they will be centered around the idea of “interesting things that happened”.

 

This particular story happened in the most recent session of my campaign, of which there are only three party members (and one DMPC, who is mostly a sidekick). The party consists of a ranger, a sorcerer, and sort of a homebrew fighter-based tank. (The DMPC is a Strength-based ranger.)

They find themselves on the slopes of a mountain, walking a path often referred to as “The Trials”. They’ve heard from the village below that each person faces different tribulations, so it’s impossible to know what to expect. These trials can be faced together, but in order to reach the summit, each person in the group must have faced their own Trial.

So as they walk past an old gate into a wide clearing of snow, they find the air growing warmer and the ground getting coarser. The blizzard around them turns into a sandstorm, and they realize they are now in a desert. The ranger, who used to be a court bard for a desert people, immediately grows suspicious. They see a large structure in the distance, and he smirks.

Ranger: Can I roll to see if I recognize this place?
DM: Make a history check. *The ranger rolls a 19*. Yup, this looks an awful lot like the palace and the desert you spent a lot of time in, hundreds of years ago, in much the same state it was in when you departed.
Ranger: I knew it.

They approach cautiously. Ascending the steps of the palace, they see row upon row of guards. Over two dozen. They all stand firm, but as the party passes them as they walk down the main aisle, each row nods to the ranger and bows.

They walk into the throne room, the doors of which are wide open. At the throne the ranger sees his old king, who greets the party as if the ranger has returned from a long journey. There’s no hostility whatsoever, but while the king is talking, he notices the staff the sorcerer is carrying.

They found this staff a few sessions prior hidden inside an underground temple, behind a locked room that nobody was allowed to enter. They’ve yet to decipher what the staff is or what it can do, but this is the first time anyone has seemed to take particular notice of it.

As soon as the king sees it, he pauses. He points to the sorcerer. “That staff,” he notes.

“What do you know of it?” the sorcerer asks.

“It’s mine,” he replies. And at that, he stands and passes a hand over his face. His visage falls away like scraps of paper being shed. In it’s place, a masked and robbed figure stands before them. He whispers something to a guard, who starts walking towards the door, past the party.

The fighter tackles him, and the fight begins. The guards turn on them, and they are already surrounded.

The masked figure targets the sorcerer, teleporting closer to him and casting spells.

The party falls back, taking out a few guards as they back up towards the door.

But soon, more guards start flooding in from the way they had come. The figure flies past them, blocking their escape, and casts Lightning Bolt down a line, hitting three of them. The sorcerer and the DMPC fall unconscious, and the ranger is hurting bad.

The ranger casts Ensnaring Strike on the figure, who fails his save, and, not having any Strength, spends his next three turns trying (and failing) to break free.

The fighter uses his next turn feeding healing potions to both of their downed party members, and he uses an Action Surge to do so. All the while, more guards keep flooding in.

Despite the restrained figure, they are very clearly losing this fight. All around the palace, however, there were doors that implied a means of escape.

The sorcerer casts Fog Cloud in the doorway, and a huge part of the room becomes enshrouded in fog.

Soon, the ranger, the sorcerer, and the DMPC are out of the fog cloud, waiting for the fighter to join them so they can make their escape. But he’s inside the cloud fighting five or more guards at once. With obscured vision giving them disadvantage on their attacks, and their target having 18 AC, he’s a veritable wall, and their feeble attacks just glance off his armor.

Soon, the Ensnaring Strike effect ends, and the masked man flies through the fog cloud in search of his staff.

As soon as he leaves the fog cover, the DMPC lands a Critical and deals insane amount of damage. He’s seeing stars, and the rest of the party let loose as well.

With no support from the guards, and him being outnumbered 3-1 with few spell slots left, he casts Greater Invisibility and vanishes.

As soon as the masked figure disappears, no additional guards join the fray. They dispatch the rest and, while now severely lacking in potions, they managed to win, and thus passed the first part of the Trial.

It’s worth noting that I had set up this combat as a “flee or die” scenario. With endless guards and a powerful magic user well beyond their level, there was no way they should have been able to win. But with a well-timed Ensnaring Strike and a well-placed Fog Cloud with armor-man inside, they took a hold of their assets and pulled victory out of the jaws of death.

D&D — Different Kinds of Players

So, just as there are many different settings for campaigns to be set in, there are also extremely diverse styles that players (and dungeon masters) adopt, often based on their own personalities. This is the number one reason why having a conversation about what the campaign will be about and what everybody wants to get out of it before you start playing is very important. If the dungeon master expects their players to be very serious and in character the entire time without stating those expectations, the campaign isn’t going to go very well.

So, I think something that is more easily perceptible to people is that everybody plays the game differently. Keep in mind that while I am about to present to you a list of all the different types of players, there actually is no real “list”. I separate people into three categories, and the way I do it is very broad. It’s my own list based on personal experience of player personality and interest, which is often a very complex thing. I could diversify it into a list of six or seven types of players, but I’m going to err on the side of simplicity here and make it easy to understand.

The most common sort of player in my experience is the “Casual Fun” player. They are there just to have fun, and a lot of the time they come from a video game background. Many of these players don’t have much experience roleplaying and are therefore uncomfortable with the idea. They just want to get the quest and complete it. (This isn’t to say that everything has to be combat. These players can certainly be interested in fantasy politics and the world itself. They just aren’t interested in becoming a character and probably don’t care about having an engaging backstory.)

Another common archetype is often referred to as the “Murder-hobo”, but I equate this sort of player in the same vein as a “mid-maxer”. Often, these sorts of people actually are averse to in-game politics. They just want to kill monsters so they can level up, find loot, and kill stronger monsters. They play intelligently, usually using the best tactics they can to handle the situation. This also makes them notoriously bad meta-gamers, meaning they will often operate with information their character would not have, or telling other players to make their characters do things based on what they cannot know. For example, they might remind players of abilities or items they have when their character isn’t there to tell them. This isn’t usually a big deal, but it is a pet peeve of mine as a DM. Characters and players are two different things! The players are allowed to know (almost) everything, but they should also be trusted to do things that align with the information their character would realistically have.

My archetype, and somebody that makes the DM’s job easy, is the “actor”. This person plays Dungeon & Dragons as a means of becoming somebody other than themselves. They may use a different voice when they are roleplaying, and they love making a backstory for their character. They interact with the NPCs, often engaging in conversations for drama’s sake. No combat, very few dice rolls. They love talking and negotiating with the characters in the world. Most notably, these players make a conscious effort to do the things based on their character’s personality and the information they have. Now, I realize the way that I’m saying this sort of sounds like “This is the kind of player you should be, because it’s the best”, but that’s not what I’m saying.

Every sort of player has their pros and cons. I prefer players that are Actors because as both a DM and a player, I love character interactions the most, but that’s far from the only enjoyment D&D can provide. Like everyone else, Actors can be annoying to play with. They make terrible plays (Grog from Critical Role once haggled backwards because his character is an idiot. The player knew what he was doing, and it was a memorable moment because of it!) They can make other people uncomfortable by roleplaying when the rest of the party doesn’t want to. Their characters can just be jerks. It might make for an engaging story, where the Actor in the party is evil and works against everyone else’s goals, but it’s also pretty likely that the other players won’t enjoy it because they may feel like he’s an actual enemy rather than an obstacle. Actors can also be unpredictable and do things the DM doesn’t expect, veering the campaign off in a sudden detour.

Every player is different. But no type of player is inherently better than another. If everyone at a DM’s table is a Murder Hobo type of player, then making a combat-focused campaign is easy. Usually, though, you’ll get a mix of interests. What’s important to remember is that different types of players don’t necessarily conflict with one another. It’s the dungeon master’s job to fulfill everyone’s desires in the campaign, but everybody needs to know what they’re in for in order to accomplish this. If you only have on Actor in the group, great. Make them the voice of the party because they like being in character. Give the Murder Hobo a crazy cool weapon because they will love you. Casual Fun players might have certain interests, but one thing that new DM’s often get confused about is that they can be very comfortable sitting in the background as something of a spectator, never engaging in roleplay or being super active in fights. That doesn’t necessarily mean they aren’t enjoying it. Talk to your players (or your DM) about the way they like to play, and accommodations can be made to fit any combination of player archetypes!