The Game Master's tools (part 2)

Dear readers, in this article — the second of two — we show more of the tools available to a Game Master, novice or veteran. After analysing a series of ‘physical’ tools in the first part, in this second part we look at some narrative techniques that help run the game at its best.

“Show, don’t tell”

Show, don’t narrate. This storytelling technique matters greatly in roleplaying games too. Avoid delivering a chronicle of events; put the players in front of what they see. “A frail man with white hair and a face furrowed by deep wrinkles” may seem equivalent to “an 80-year-old man”. In the first case, though, you are showing the players what they see; in the second you are handing them a certified fact. In the first case it might even be a disguise, a younger man aged before his time, or a millennia-old lich.

Often, for reasons of time and difficulty, we fall back on chronicle — and that is not always bad. When possible, though, it is worth ‘showing’ things to the players, which also fosters immersion. Tactically too, announcing ‘a black dragon stands before you’ is far more reductive than describing the monster, leaving the players in doubt about what exactly it is and how to face it.

The fence

This narrative technique comes from video games, but applies to tabletop RPGs as well. How many times have you found yourself in front of a door that could only be opened with the right key, even though you carried a rocket launcher — or had to take long (and dangerous) detours because a fallen tree trunk blocked the path?

However attractive full freedom of choice may seem, the risk is flattening the plot, with players always picking the obvious or convenient solution. The problem grows worse when the characters’ abilities can bypass most obstacles without even engaging with them.

Here the master can use obstacles so plainly surmountable that players understand (without being told outright) that they had better look for another way. The obvious surmountability of the obstacle is the focal point — otherwise players might take it as an actual challenge. The technique still rests on suspension of disbelief and on the trust between players and master. Don’t overuse it, or the adventure’s progress will turn frustrating.

Suspension of disbelief

More than a technique proper, this is a premise many roleplaying games require. Certain things happen a certain way, without explanation. Of all the inns, the fleeing princess walks into the very one where the adventurers sit? The phone of the mansion where the murder took place is down because of the storm? A character’s uncle bequeaths him a letter and a mysterious artefact?

Many bizarre or barely credible events can occur during a session — sometimes for plot reasons, sometimes as a consequence of dice rolls. To avoid long debates, or forcing the master to improvise justifications, sometimes you simply have to accept that things went the way they went. We advise against ending up in this situation too often, lest you slide into a forced railroad full of Mary Sues and Deus ex Machina.

Rain of dice

This technique is one good reason to roll dice behind the screen. The characters are in a dungeon, about to fall into an ambush; the master rolls behind the screen to check whether the enemies are well hidden. The players, though, heard the rattle of dice — and even though their characters noticed nothing, they suddenly close ranks and draw weapons. Even without any conscious intent to metagame, the sound of dice behind the screen draws the players’ attention.

Why did the master roll? How many dice was that?

A useful technique is rolling dice at random moments, and always rolling one or more dice beyond what is needed. This keeps the players permanently alert and avoids the situations described above.

Crossdressing

A little-known and little-used technique, but sometimes very useful. Players often create distinctive characters they end up identifying with deeply. Just as often, the table fails to pick up all the nuances the player has in mind, and the character gets parodied or flattened.

You imagined a paladin with a conflicted relationship with father figures, who strains to follow the law because of a promise made to a loved one? The group ends up treating you like a dull, rigid office clerk. Your investigator turned to drink after the tragic death of his wife and the loss of his badge? The group treats you as a simple-minded drunkard at every turn. The ‘crossdressing’ technique consists of temporarily swapping characters. It might result from a curse, from alien technology, from a collective dream or from a trap laid by the arch-enemy. What you gain is letting players feel what the others usually feel, while creating moments of intimacy between characters who would normally never share them.

The spotlight

Adding a few very specific or extravagant details to a description lets you shine a light on a person or an object, drawing the players’ attention to it.

• ‘You push through the market crowd: folk of every ancestry, and a fat merchant dressed in blue.’

• ‘You open the door and find yourselves in a spotless kitchen, with an enormous wooden chest in the corner.’

• ‘You enter the smoke-filled pub: every table is packed with drunks, and a red-haired man sits alone at the counter.’

These are all simple, sometimes involuntary, examples of the technique. It pairs with misdirection, which is its opposite.

Misdirection

Adding superfluous details, or making long-winded descriptions, to divert certain players’ attention. The downside of overusing it is that the game slows down.

What do you see?

In some circumstances — or if you enjoy improvising — you can ask your players what their characters see. What is the inn they just entered like? What did the character notice nearby while gathering firewood? Abusing this technique can create plot problems, but used at the right moments it recaptures the players’ attention, involves them in the creative process, and can hand the master useful prompts for random elements.

Flashback/flashforward

This technique has many uses.

It can create a pause for some players, or help one of them inhabit their character more fully. Before the fight with a recurring villain, having the character roleplay a painful moment from their past helps the player get into the right mood. The protagonists of these flashes can be the characters themselves or NPCs, in an almost cinematic sequence (but careful not to run long). It can also let the master introduce narrative elements at the right moment to build a plot twist or a cliffhanger. Cutting to scenes unfolding far away — in space or in time — creates atmosphere and increases the players’ interest in the plot. Describing a known enemy meeting a dark hooded lord always adds an aura of mystery and a different key to what has happened to them. If you wish, these moments can be justified in-game as dreams or divine visions, or as recordings in a science-fiction context.

The three cups

This technique relies on decoys to stretch or shorten the plot as needed. The PCs are chasing a thief who robbed the count’s mansion? What if the thieves were three and split up, but only one carries the loot? Here the juggler technique (below) works well. The situation need not split the players. A monstrous giant owlbear is attacking the villages of the area, but nobody knows its exact lair; three distinct places are named. The players can move as one group, knowing they will explore all three locations, without knowing which is the right one.

The juggler

A very common situation: the party splits. Whether by choice or as a consequence of a trap or accident, the master ends up managing several subgroups. Instead of playing a full scene per group and then moving to the next, leaving players idle for long stretches, a solid alternative is a much quicker rotation, playing only small slices of scene at a time. One group is about to enter a room where they heard noises — and the master cuts back to the other group, on a boat being dragged toward a waterfall.

As in a film, two or more scenes advance in parallel, jumping between them to keep the pace tight — perhaps exploiting a moment of indecision to leave one subgroup debating and switch to the other. This technique demands skill and improvisation. The danger is creating confusion and giving out wrong information, tangling the plot. Like a juggler, start with two balls and a simple alternating motion, then increase the number of balls (even running every character separately) and vary the rhythm of the switches to make the evening less predictable.

Foreshadowing and prophecies

The difference from flashback/flashforward is that here the moment narrated by the master must eventually come true — plainly (foreshadowing) or with a twist (prophecy). Describe the characters’ entrance through the enormous stone gate of an abandoned fortress, where a mighty cyclops awaits them. Then let time pass before it actually happens. The players will be impatient to reach that moment without knowing when exactly it will occur. Prophecies are harder: they must be designed to bear several interpretations, and you might let the prophecy ‘come true’ several times as mere coincidence, saving the real fulfilment for a plot twist. For example, ‘when the crown is broken, the true enemy will appear’ does not refer to the king’s death, but to the shattering of a character’s shield bearing a crown as its emblem. It takes some skill, but the results are excellent!

Secrets and whispers

Metagaming often obstructs the session’s atmosphere, but sometimes it can be a useful tool.

During a session, pass notes to all the players: on most of them write secondary, irrelevant details, but tell one player their PC has been replaced by a doppelganger — then keep playing as if nothing happened. Or, conversely, tell everyone they are living in a dream and should act more and more wicked — except one player, the dreamer, who gets something irrelevant. This can create interesting situations at the table; just be careful to avoid PvP if the social contract has ruled it out.

The master’s voice

Need to give your players information about the setting or some character? Rather than telling the players directly, it can be better to introduce NPCs who give that information to the characters. You avoid off-game talk that cools the atmosphere — indeed you improve it, describing (or acting out) the NPC’s gestures and tone as they explain, turning a cold report into a passionate tale. The old woman will make signs against evil and lower her voice when speaking of the count; the policeman will bristle with frustration recounting the latest crime scene; the priest will declaim the praises of his god and his creed.

Exploiting the background

Sometimes the session hits an empty stretch, plot-wise. Rather than introducing more NPCs or elements — risking distraction and a broken rhythm — you can draw on elements of a character’s background to create fun or meaningful scenes. A paladin is vegetarian? The count hosting the party is a hunting enthusiast and insists he taste the fruits of his latest hunt. The bounty hunter had a hard childhood in an orphanage? A sailor keeps insulting and mistreating the young cabin boy. The soldier openly supports the war? A maimed veteran of the last conflict begs him for alms.

These elements can create scenes that let the ‘protagonist’ player revisit what characterises their PC and let the other characters know them better, prompting exchanges — or clashes — between characters on all sorts of themes. The druid will have something to say about hunting, the smuggler about child labour, the writer about war.

A further benefit: players feel that the effort they pour into their characters does not go unnoticed, encouraging them to develop those characters further.

Carrot and stick

Do you want to lead the group, or a particular character, to do something specific? Forcing them, or depriving them of alternatives, breeds frustration; a better way is to tempt them with a reward or show them a threat.

That cellar may hold dangers — but it may also hold the very object they have been seeking. Entering that hovel in the middle of the woods may not look like a good idea, but sleeping in the cold could have worse consequences. The warrior is about to pick a tavern brawl with some young lout? He might notice the brooch of a well-known noble family.

Try to make these ‘nudges’ as natural as possible, and always leave the players free not to follow, provided they understand the potential consequences of their choices.

Tension dice

Do your players waste time in tense situations? Do they explore a dungeon one metre at a time, resting in every room? Do they linger in endless conversations with NPCs in unsafe places? Add a die to the table every so many minutes. When the players finally spring a trap or start a fight, roll all the accumulated dice to see how bad the consequences of their actions are. This technique must be agreed in the social contract, clearly explaining the possible consequences — but once they have accepted it, don’t hesitate to make their lives difficult!

Downtime

To involve the players more and deepen their attachment to their characters, you can use the time between sessions. Two characters needed to have a long discussion about something? Rather than spending session time on it, perhaps boring the other players, the conversation can happen in chat or on a call, in character (better if the master is present, or can learn what was said).

Players can also write stories, journals or letters from their characters to share with the rest of the party — perhaps recounting what the character did while separated from the others. This stimulates both the writer and the readers. The master too can find excellent prompts and plot threads there, weaving the character more tightly into the game world.

Can you think of other tools we haven’t covered? Any doubts, questions or criticism about what we wrote? Would you like any of these topics explored further? Whatever it is, don’t be afraid to write to us in the comments, on Facebook or on Instagram!