Author: Jonathan Baldwin

This is not the first article to be written on this subject, nor will it be the last.

In my experience, there are two kinds of DM’s.

One is concerned with “balance,” the other with “fun.”

For the record, this is not me complaining that I was never allowed to try my crazy idea for a half-orc fighter/barbarian with a spiked chain, and massively exploit the attack of opportunity rules. (Author’s note: I never actually saw the appeal in anything that full of cheese, though I gather it was popular with a certain brand of player. I was, however, sorely tempted to try a half-orc wizard, just to go against the grain.)

This is, however, the result of being long exhausted with being told ‘no’ by several DMs for no better reason than, “it isn’t in the book,” or, “Company X didn’t update that one, so it’s not allowed at my table.”

Let me illustrate my point with a story.

I’ve been invited to play in a game of Pathfinder or two. The system isn’t my favorite, but I have some small nostalgia for 3.5 edition as it was what started me off in D&D, so I went for a couple of one-shots and tried to like it. I wrestled with the character creation process for far too long, developing two concepts that I felt I could live with.

The problem was, by this point, I’d been exposed to a lengthy conversation in which one of the other players tried to explain to me why he prefers Pathfinder to 4th Edition in a failed attempt to “convert” me, and vice-versa. The more he said what he liked about the one over the other, the less likable it seemed. Building the character wasn’t fun. The concept was full of cheese. I wasn’t looking forward to the game anymore.

Finally, I threw up my hands. In an effort to salvage my chance to have fun for the evening, I went to the DM for the session and explained my position very politely; that there was really only one class that I wanted to play, and it was from a 3.5 book. I was perfectly happy to convert it using Paizo’s official 3.5 to Pathfinder conversion guide, and the work required would be minimal (it basically came down to raising the hit-die by one to match precedent with the core classes).

Were I the DM for the game, I hope I would have answered with what I believe is the correct response to something like this. “I’ll let you try it, and if it creates a problem for anyone at the table we’ll talk about it afterward and see what we can change to make it work.”

Instead, I was given a sneer, a half laugh, and told that there was “a reason” that Paizo hadn’t updated that particular class. A flat no.

The fact that they didn’t OWN it occurred to me immediately; that was why there were conversion rules, after all. It didn’t matter.

It was at this point that I gave up, and decided that I’d rather not play at his table. Maybe that was the wrong answer; I don’t know. But I wasn’t having fun anymore. I came to play a game; to have fun. Nothing about this experience was enjoyable. I was momentarily tempted to give up D&D entirely, to say nothing of Pathfinder. What is a game if it isn’t fun?

I’ll answer for you, gentle readers; it’s work. And unpaid work, on top of that.

For the record, I’ve recovered my love of the game now, though it will take a lot of placating and outright bribery to convince me to sit down at a Pathfinder table again – and never with that DM!

Now, let me tell a second story, just to make it clear what I’m not trying to say.

I was DMing a game of 3.5 edition D&D a few years ago, and one of the players showed up and informed me that his character was a 3rd Level Blood Elf Fighter who Dual Wielded Katanas.

At this point in my life, I had no idea what a “Blood Elf” was, but considering how much material for the game I’d fairly devoured, I was reasonably sure it wasn’t D&D. I also knew enough to know that dual wielding katanas was a really, REALLY bad idea in terms of game mechanics. I tried, gently, to dissuade him.

He insisted; I relented (against my better judgement). He got himself into a fight – a very angry one – with our 1st level dwarven wizard, who, after winning initiative, ended things with one spell. Knocked him out, tied him up, and sat on his head.

The game fell apart after that, and I suspect that it might have lasted longer if I’d been smart enough to put my foot down and say no in the first place.

As a DM, there is a time for yes, and a time for no. Knowing which is which can be all important. Everyone has guidelines. These are mine.

1. If a player asks to play a character of a class that I’m not familiar with – and it’s because he thought the concept sounded cool, not a mechanical reason – and there’s no philosophical reason why it can’t be made to work in a diverse and accepting group of adventurers …

I’ll say, “let’s try it out. If it turns out to be too powerful and it’s spoiling the fun for the rest of the group, we’ll talk about it afterward and see if we can fix it. But whatever I say during that discussion is the final word.”

This also applies if a player asks to convert something from a mechanically similar game system.

2. If a player asks me if he can play a half-orc spiked chain wielder or a greatsword guy with sneak attack or a Barbarian/Rogue or any number of other cheesy ideas and cites purely mechanical reasons for wanting to do so, I will say, “no. Come up with something that has a backstory and a little more character, and stop reading the Character Optimization threads online.”

3. If a player likes the fluff of one class and the mechanics of another and can’t choose, I’ll offer to let her combine them, adjusting key abilities as necessary. And I’ll probably go so far as to tell her how cool that is for thinking outside the book.

4. If I EVER hear the phrase, “dual katana’s” again, I will say, “NO. At least have the decency to get a wakizashi, and learn about samurai before you mention the word “katana” in my presence again.”

One final word: you needn’t give your players everything they ask for. But try to know when they’re already struggling to have fun, and work with them. Please. They’ll thank you for it.

Please welcome Jonathan Baldwin to the Stuffer Shack Crew…

Sometimes you really need your villains to stand out in the minds of your players. Since role-playing is, at its heart, a verbal exercise, this means spending a little extra time on your dialog.  You can describe the wicked fiend all you want, but unless you have pictures, your players are only going to remember what s/he says.

To get you started with some inspiration, here are a few of the best lines of dialog ever delivered by an antagonist.

“Welcome to my home; enter freely and of your own will.” –Dracula

The hospitable villain is a truly frightening force; if things are played right, the heroes won’t realize that they’re dealing with the Big Bad until they’ve already enjoyed his hospitality for some time.

“This is why only fools are heroes — because you never know when some lunatic will come along with a sadistic choice. Let die the woman you love… or suffer the little children. Make your choice, Spider-Man, and see how a hero is rewarded.” – The Green Goblin, Spider-Man

It’s the oldest move in the playbook, and it’s still as effective now as it was then. Two outcomes, both bad for the PC’s, and supposedly there’s only time to pick one. Of course, there’s always the possibility that the heroes will be properly heroic and come up with an out. Sometimes that’s good – especially when the villain is a monster, rather than an intellectual giant. Sometimes, however . . .

“How very predictable. I anticipated you would try to create a third, more favorable option.” –D.A.V.E., The Batman

It’s hard not to respect a good Xanatos Gambit; any villain smart enough to structure a plan in such a way that every possible outcome including failure works toward his goals is worthy of respect and recognition… or at least undying hatred on the part of the PC’s. Sometimes that’s good enough.

In a long campaign, this might work like pretty much everything Darth Sideous/Palpatine does in the Star Wars prequel trilogy.

Conveniently, as the GM, you don’t have to know all the possibilities ahead of time – you only have to be able to improvise if the players do the unexpected, and continue moving the plot forward. If you do it right, you look like a genius – or at least your villain does.

It should be noted, if you can ask, “But what if they do this?” and it would mess everything up, this is a Batman Gambit, which for villains is a plan which relies on the heroic tendency to behave in the most heroic manner, or otherwise assumes and manipulates a certain response based on known facts about the “victims.” Sometimes leaving a flaw in the plan on purpose isn’t a bad move. If the heroes find it, they feel great because they “outsmarted” the GM; if they don’t, you have something for your villain to monologue about during his getaway. Assuming he gets one.

“I can’t think of a morning I haven’t woken up with the thought of strangling you. That sanctimonious image of yours fooled everyone except me. Because I know evil.” –Lex Luthor, Public Enemies

This betrays a hatred that has completely distorted the villain’s perception of morality. To create this effect, operate from the assumption that the majority of antagonists aren’t card carrying villains and will develop some kind of rationalization that explains why they’re right and everyone else is the villain for trying to stop them. Create a villain who believes that he’s the hero of the story, trying to “save the world;” if your PCs are heroic sociopaths this can be easy, but for truly sanctimonious heroes the rationalization might take a little more work. Invariably, this kind of villain is the most interesting.

“No. I am your father.” –Darth Vader, The Empire Strikes Back

…or mother, sister, daughter, cousin, evil goatee sporting clone or alternate universe variation . . . even if the villain is lying (and let’s face it, they probably are), this is a great moment.

“You lose, Tony Stark.” –Whiplash, Iron Man 2

The villain has planned ahead so effectively that his own death is factored into an ideal condition for victory. Maybe the villain’s death is broadcast to the general populace and makes the heroes look like murderers. Maybe death unleashes the villain’s spirit to wreak havoc. Maybe death transforms him into a vampire. Alternatively, the villain’s death might just trigger the bomb and leave the hero with only seconds to evacuate the area.

“I did it thirty-five minutes ago,” –Ozymandias, Watchmen

…or any credible variation on the theme of “You’re far too late for it to make any difference.” This specific example is my all-time favorite – to this day, I can’t read this part of Watchmen without my jaw hitting the floor, even when I know that it’s coming.

There are far too many great lines to count, and these are only a few of my personal favorites. Have a favorite that I missed? Leave it in the comments!