In the last few months, the frustration and stress of COVID-19 lock-down infected every part of life. Not even my bi-weekly 'Dungeons and Dragons' session escaped. We are a group of five, crammed around my kitchen table. That's not CDC approved distancing.
To complicate matters, three of my four players live with person who has a compromised immune system. So it was with a heavy heart I called hiatus in March.
Now, we didn't just pack up our dice and sulk home. We TRIED to keep the game running. I mean, we live in the age of Discord and roll20, right? Well, most people don't live in rural Oklahoma with spotty cell services and even worse internet.
We ran a test session. It was awful; the lagging voice-chat and microphone feedback gave me a log-splitter headache. “Okay, next time, players use the text chat,” I growled, “I'll narrate and run flavor dialogue.”
Draconian move? Yes. However, the party was in danger of “Rocks fall, everyone dies” via frustrated Game Master.
Running text was a good plan. However, I overlooked one important fact. Normal people (ones who aren't INTJ authors) are self-taught typists. Words-per-minute? Touch-typing? Try Hunt-and- Peck.
Also, without face-to-face interaction, it was too easy for one person to crowd out the others. Poor dialogue, interruptions, and using the wrong chat log. Now the players were frustrated.
Those frustrated players turned a Scooby-Doo flavored mystery into “let's just torture the NPC for information.” Stunned, I wrapped up the session and declared “We'll need the battle-map for the finale. I can't run this online.”
Inside I was panicking. I hadn't designed this quest with a combat feature. (A rookie mistake, but, unlike Luke Hart, I've been a GM since January 2020.) It was supposed to be investigation driven quest. NOT a casting call for Murder Hobos.
The Plot that was Derailed and Blown Up
This was the setup. A brewery suffers unexplained crop circles on the night of the New Moon. Nothing is damaged, but the workers go to sleep and wake up to a property wide mandala of wheat, hops, and even the apple trees. There's undoubtedly magic at work. Setting watch doesn't help. The owners want answers.
Unfortunately, my players flubbed their charisma dice roles when dealing with the workers. They also only investigated one of the three farm buildings and missed several clues. I all but threw a key NPC witness at them. Two satyr 'frat-boys' with bottles of the brewery's missing cider. One ran off. They other, named Pete, they caught. However, things just spin further off script.
Pete was intimated into admitting that he knew the people behind the circles. Another failed roll and he clammed up, too loyal to sell out his friends. Apparently, that was the last straw for my impatient players.
As the cleric's player laboriously tried to type out his next line of questioning, the two chaotic-characters set their own messages. In character, they announced how they would kill Pete, very graphically. The moderate players freaked out, cut Pete lose, and shouted for him to run for it.
On one hand, I was glad not to narrate a torture session. On the other, the table was turning toxic in and out-of-game.
I ended the session and tried to figure out how to run the next session. With two sentences, the character were in danger of a Total Party Kill. On a simple investigation quest! Pete was running scared, to his friends - the friends who could rearrange several acres of plant life.
I pointed this out to Kid Brother. His face fell, “So we've gone from Scooby-Doo to the first thirty minutes of FernGully? I'm gonna kill those two idiots.”
“Yeah,” I nodded sadly.
Fixing the Problem and Getting Payback
You see, I'm not a master DM. I make mistakes. (There's a reason I have a no perma-death until PC level three.) I'd picked the 'landscapers' based on the cool factor, not the challenge rating. My little band of murder hobos was rated level one. Their opponents, a total combat rating of eight.
Ant, meet boot.
...however, part of me wanted to let this play out. Honestly, I didn't feel like retooling this quest. I'd told the players, “No Murder Hobos. No Evil Characters.” Burying someone alive or drowning them is evil. It would be just desserts that cruelty gets negative attention. (Ironically, those 'landscapers' are based on one of the most recognizable tricksters in English lore. They are KNOWN for nasty paybacks.)
So I compromised. I simplified their combat roles and took away some of the tricksters' higher powered spells. The encounter went from 'impossible' to 'hope for good dice.' I also added bait for my players.
“If you survive, you get a level” I said. “If nobody dies, everyone levels and gets a bonus. If you piss these guys off, it's on your head.”
Weeks later, we gathered in my kitchen. I was ready – stats blocks, art clips, even a playlist. Spurred on, my murderous players once again surprised me. They actually investigated! They figured out that the land was being saturated by natural magic. They found traces of memory-modification on the night guards. They transplanted some bushes to pots to see if the magic would still work.
...then they dug lethal pit traps around the property. (I stopped feeling guilty.)
Murder Hobos Versus.....!
Picture it. A moonless night. Two fighters, a cleric, a druid, and the badger familiar hiding near the center of the circle. Listen. Check your blind spots. Roll your dice.
From the tall grass steps a satyr, not Pete, his friend who got away. Watch the token on the board move turn by turn towards the trap. Roll the dice. The half-orc hears a buzz like a humming bird swooping past. Hold position. One more turn and the satyr will be on the trap.
“The goatman walks into the center of the trap... and nothing happens.”
WHAT?! Everyone turns to the druid's player. “What's wrong with your trap?”
“Nothing,” I interrupt. “She used a straw blanket, covered with leaves and grass to mask it. Anything heavy than a badger would fall right through.”
“So why didn't he fall?”
I smile, “Why indeed. Roll a listen check.” Dice clatter.
The grasses behind you rustle as the figure of that same satyr steps into the open. In the dim light you see something small ridding on his left shoulder.
“Hey, assholes,” he bleats, “This one is for Pete!”
Smugly, I tap play on my music app. Lindsey Stirling's violin sings "Roundtable Rival' and I finish, “Everyone, roll will-power saves.”
The Fae were on the move.
The satyr over the pit melted away into wisps of magic. The real satyr smirked, his ears blocked with cotton and wax, as the grig, a tiny cricket fairy, on his shoulder played a song of irresistible dance. Finally, a pixie archer dropped her glamour. She carried magic arrows of sleep, and was the distraction for two more pixies to circle in close.
Lady Luck had abandoned the party. Three fairies with bee-sting arrows and a fiddler brought them to their knees.
Meanwhile the players laughed and groaned. One actually danced along with the music as his character missed turn after turn. Kid Brother grumbled, realizing just how on-the-nose his 'FernGully' comment was.
Combat ended with one lucky character and the badger familiar snoozing in the grass, the rest in thrall to the music. The pixies then took to the air over the useless trap for one final bit of magic. They began to dance, and the land came alive.
Come morning, three exhausted characters collapsed in the middle of now lush farmland. I explained that a fae promise carries down the generations. If they had investigated the brewery building, they might have found a tiny hospital bed. If they had talked with the farmer's annoying child, they might have learned the land's history. (If the fairies hadn't watched them dig that pit and sent the real satyr instead of an illusion, blisters and wounded pride would be the least of the party's troubles. Fae blood feuds carry down the generations.)
Ending Thoughts
In hindsight, there were things I should have done differently. Kid Brother has a wealth of advice, solicited and unsolicited. Nevertheless, the night was a roaring success.
The players and I are still learning how to play together. I have three RPG rookies and one hyper-intelligent geek. That's a very different learning curve.
When I write a quest line, the goal isn't to do something YouTube worthy. The goal is for everyone to have fun.
Our outside lives are full of frustrations, setbacks, and even tragedies. I can't fix lock-down. I can't fix their housemate's immune system. I can barely keep everyone civil when they play.
However, that night ended in laughter and excitement; our previous frustration left behind. This is why I play DnD.
They say laughter is the best medicine. Regardless of your health, I hope my readers receive a full dose from this tale.
