TEXT: 12 Simple Rules for DMing
  the magic behind mayhem, murder, and monsters
  by Richard Read
  
  For Dave, Peter, and Robert 
  Also for John and Peter 
  Copyright 2018 Richard Read 
  Dungeons & Dragons and D&D are properties of Wizards of the Coast. Their use here is not 
  meant to suggest that Wizards of the Coast or any of its subsidiaries has approved of or 
  contributed to this work.  
  
   
   
  A LITTLE BACKSTORY 
   
  Like most 13 year olds, I thought I knew 
  everything.  
   
  Unlike most 13 year olds, I soon realized I was 
  wrong. 
   
  A few weeks after becoming a teenager, I 
  played Dungeons & Dragons for the first 
  time. In a musty basement classroom on a 
  hot, September afternoon, one of my 
  seventh-grade teachers led us through a 
  short adventure, and my tiny Mississippi 
  mind was blown.  
   
  Until that day, my favorite games had fallen 
  into two camps: board games like Monopoly, where you went round and round a path picking 
  up money, and arcade games like PacMan, where you went round and round a path gobbling 
  up dots. 
   
  But with D&D, there was no path. Apart from some strange-looking dice and a few sheets of 
  graph paper, there wasn’t anything to see ​at all: the game took place almost entirely in our 
  heads. “You awake at dawn beside a dwindling campfire in a dense, gloomy forest. A soft breeze 
  blows through the trees, and unfamiliar bird calls echo above. Before you, a cavern entrance 
  yawns.” Would we go in? Would we mark it on our map and return when we were stronger, 
  more sure of ourselves? Or would we walk away in search of something else--perhaps a lesser 
  challenge, or maybe a greater one? Anything was possible.  
   
  Anything at all.  
   
  Whoa.  
   
  As soon as my mind stopped reeling, my first thought was, “I cannot WAIT to share this with my 
  friends.” It didn’t matter that I’d only played once and didn’t know an eight-sided die from a 
  twelve-sider. I took all the money I’d saved, raced to the hobby store, and bought the D&D boxed 
  set.  
   
  
  The following weekend, I was seated behind the DM’s screen, guiding my younger brother and a 
  couple of schoolmates through a campaign called The Village of Hommlet​. I tried to make it as 
  exciting as my teacher had, but something felt off--way off. To be honest, it didn’t even seem 
  like the same game. My friends failed to see what the fuss was about.  
   
  That’s largely because I was a complete noob and didn’t know what the DM was supposed to do. 
  (In my defense, though, it’s also because The Village of Hommlet ​was actually a fairly tough 
  assignment for a first-time DM, given all the social interaction and improv and it requires.)   
   
  And yet, I persisted.  
   
  Within a couple of months, I’d learned all the rules, learned to create characters, learned how 
  combat worked--and I foolishly thought that was all that mattered. After all, knowing the rules 
  was all it took to play chess or Battleship or Galaga. By that logic:  
   
  1.
  Because I knew the rules of D&D, I knew how to play it.  
  2.
  Because I could play D&D, I was a great DM.   
   
  As I said: typical 13 year old. 
   
  I soon saw the error of my ways. Later that semester, I was invited to play a character in a 
  campaign run by a friend of a friend. He was a couple of years older than me, and already, he 
  was a fantastic DM. He painted pictures with words, he breathed life into one of the same 
  premade campaigns I’d run so poorly. It was like we were playing two different games, and his 
  was a lot more fun. 
   
  That’s when I realized that I knew nothing about D&D. 
   
  Since that night three decades ago, I’ve tried to improve my DMing skills. I’m still not the 
  world’s best, but every time I take players through a campaign, I discover something new 
  about the game, about my friends, and about myself. To me, that’s just as exciting as narrating 
  a massive battle or a stealthy jewel heist. 
   
  In all my years of rolling dice, though, the most important thing I’ve learned is this: the DM and 
  the players are telling a story together. That’s what D&D is all about. Your players may slay the 
  ruthless dragon, they may rescue the mayor from hordes of bandits, they may end their 
  campaign much richer than before. But there’s no “winning” in D&D without good storytelling.  
   
  What’s considered “good storytelling” varies from group to group, of course. But without some 
  kind of narrative, some kind of story arc, D&D is just an unrelated series of murders, 
  money-grabs, and mayhem--like skimming a bunch of chapter titles in a textbook instead of 
  taking time to read the material and understand how topics relate to one-another. 
   
  
  This idea of collaboration between the DM and players may not be how you’ve approached the 
  game in the past. It certainly wasn’t how I thought of D&D during those early years. Back then, 
  I assumed that because the DM knew the campaign, she was in charge. On the other hand, I met 
  players who were convinced that they ​were responsible for bringing adventures to life. But the 
  truth of the matter is that D&D--or any number of similar games--depends on cooperation. The 
  DM may have a better map than the players, the players may be making the decisions, but 
  ultimately, they’re all exploring this new world together. 
   
  That said, the DM is given a few special responsibilities that the players don’t share. The most 
  important of those is that she’s in charge of keeping the story moving. If a player has to skip a 
  week because of an illness or another commitment, the game can continue, but without the DM, 
  things grind to a halt. 
   
  And so, if you’re a DM looking to keep your game humming along, here are a few tips that you 
  might find helpful. (Or maybe not: I won’t be offended.) Use them well and wisely, and you’ll 
  make memorable adventures for yourself and your players.  
   
   
   
  
  BEFORE YOU PLAY 
  A little preparation goes a long way for both the DM and the players. 
   
  #1. Characters need backstories 
   
  Dungeons & Dragons is a role-playing game. Players adopt the personas 
  of half-orc fighters, elven wizards, and tiefling rangers as they explore 
  other worlds. To me, a good game of D&D is like the first rehearsal for a 
  play or a film, when actors gather around a table and read through the 
  script. The only difference is, in D&D, there’s no script: everything is 
  improv. 
   
  Every gamer and every gaming group have different ways of 
  role-playing. Some players speak only as their character would speak, in 
  accents and whispers and shouts. Others speak as themselves, using 
  their everyday voices to explain what their characters do in given 
  situations. Either approach is fine (though it’s great if everyone in the 
  group can agree to the same style of play).  
   
  But one thing all players need, no matter how they embody their 
  characters at the gaming table, is a backstory. They need to know who their characters are and 
  how they became that way. Were they raised in slums and forced to climb slowly, tediously, 
  through the ranks of their order? Were they born into a noble house and pampered from day 
  one? If your players know these things, they’ll have a better sense of how their characters will 
  react in given situations. If they don’t, here are a few questions to start them off: 
   
  ●
  Where did your character grow up? 
  ●
  What did your character’s parents do for a living? 
  ●
  What sort of house was your character raised in? 
  ●
  Did your character go to school? If so, for how long? 
  ●
  What made your character choose this way of life? 
  ●
  Why does your character get out of bed in the morning? 
  ●
  When do you expect your character to retire from adventuring? 
   
  Knowing your players, you’ll probably have other questions to help tease out their characters’ 
  narratives.  
   
  Those backstories aren’t just important for players; they’re useful for you, too. After all, you 
  help guide the story that’s being told around the gaming table. Sure, you could just pull a 
  pre-made campaign off the shelf and play it exactly as it’s written. But wouldn’t it be more fun 
  if you threw in a few elements to personalize it for your group? 
   
  
  For example, if one of your players’ characters has made it her life’s work to find her long-lost 
  brother, wouldn’t it be interesting if that brother showed up in the story? What if he’s become a 
  hermit? A powerful tyrant? The leader of a rival adventuring party? Or what if he’s being held 
  captive by the villain? 
   
  Similarly, if one of your players’ characters was cursed by an evil god long ago, what would 
  happen if he discovered a prayer book to that god in a treasure chest? Or if a missionary on the 
  street of a busy city invited him to a temple dedicated to that god? Or if the character received 
  some sign that the god was, in fact, still watching him? 
   
  In short, if players know their backstories, they’ll have more fun playing the game. And if you 
  know their backstories, you can tailor the world they’re exploring to make experiences richer. 
   
  #2. It’s the little things that count 
   
  The DM is a writer. Even when you’re running 
  a campaign that was dreamed up by someone 
  else, you’re still telling a story with your 
  words.  
   
  Think about the writers who’ve moved you 
  with their novels, poems, and short stories. 
  What do you remember most about those 
  works? What do you recall months or years 
  or even decades after you put the works 
  aside?  
   
  The answer is probably a vivid detail, not the bulletpoints of the plot. When I think of Lord of 
  the Rings​, for example, I think of the friendship between Frodo and Sam and the tension that 
  arose between them when Gollum arrived on the scene. Similarly, in The Voyage of the Dawn 
  Treader​, I remember Lucy reading a book in a terrifyingly quiet house, and the ship sailing 
  across an increasingly shallow sea. From the Harry Potter​ series, I remember things like 
  butterbeer and the maddening primness of Dolores Umbridge.  
   
  Those are details that Tolkien, Lewis, and Rowling used to add texture to their stories. Most 
  aren’t essential to the narrative--I mean, Umbridge could’ve been a slob and it wouldn’t have 
  affected the plot--but they give us a better sense of the world and the personalities we’re 
  reading about. They enrich the story, and as a result, they make us care a little more.  
   
  DMs do the same thing. Sure, you could just tell the characters that they find a silver locket in a 
  jewelry box. But what if that locket had a small painting inside, perhaps a painting of the 
  
  owner’s beloved? What if it had an inscription--maybe words of love and devotion, or maybe an 
  ancient, infernal curse? 
   
  What if a ruined city is filled with the corpses of only men, or only women, or only cats? What 
  characters stumble into a town that shuts down at dusk because of a superstition about the 
  evils of moonlight? What if the players find an ordinary cloak in a dusty dungeon, but inside 
  one of the pockets is a love letter or a note from worried parents or a treasure map? 
   
  Obviously, you don’t want to provide an endless series of distractions. Many players--myself 
  included--tend to overthink things. We assume that if the DM reveals something, it’s important, 
  and we’re prone to investigate every detail, no matter how small. A century ago, the famous 
  Russian playwright Anton Chekhov warned against that kind of thing when he said, "One must 
  never place a loaded rifle on the stage if it isn't going to go off. It's wrong to make promises you 
  don't mean to keep." In other words, don’t leave ominous clues lying around unless they’re 
  going to pay off in the future. Encouraging players to run down rabbit holes can be just as 
  frustrating as giving no details at all.  
   
  That said, there’s still plenty of room for you to embellish stories. Describing what players 
  smell as they meander down a country lane, the quality of light in an abandoned temple, the 
  color of a potential ally’s clothes, how a child smiles at them as they pass in the street: these 
  kinds of details can enhance the players’ sense of their environment and immerse them in the 
  story without being distracting. Long after your campaign has ended, the players may not 
  remember the name of the big, bad villain or even how they overcame him, her, or it. Instead, 
  you’ll hear them say something like, “Hey, remember when we stumbled into that torture 
  chamber with all those lace curtains and beanbag chairs and a wine bar?” 
   
  #3. Let the NPCs speak 
   
  The physical setting of your campaign isn’t the only tool you 
  have to immerse players in the story. Non-player characters 
  can be a huge help, too. They can drop hints, seem mysterious 
  or untruthful, or they might simply have some personality 
  traits that make them memorable--a nervous tic or a 
  catchphrase, for example.  
   
  Many DMs treat NPCs like redshirts--nondescript characters 
  who serve a single purpose, then drop out of the story forever. 
  (The term comes from the original Star Trek ​series, which 
  would populate the Enterprise with extra characters in red 
  shirts, only to kill them off before an episode was over.) While 
  there’s no guarantee that your players will engage with NPCs in meaningful ways or seek them 
  out again in the future, making NPCs unique will help make your story more memorable.  
  
   
  For example, it’s pretty common for characters to visit taverns for refreshment now and them, 
  or to spend a few nights at an inn. But players often ignore bartenders and innkeeps; they 
  conduct their transactions with these NPCs--order drinks, rent rooms, etc.--then get on with 
  what they perceive to be their business.  
   
  In real life, however, waiters and innkeeps are often great sources of information. What if the 
  bartender in your story strikes up a conversation with your characters? What if she’s lived her 
  whole life in this small village and wants to hear tales from beyond its familiar borders? What 
  if she’s being kept here against her will and needs their help to escape? What if she’s a spy for 
  the enemy and wants information about the characters’ plans? 
   
  Of course, not every NPC needs to become an integral part of the story. Just as in real life, some 
  are merely bystanders. That doesn’t mean they’re devoid of personality, though. Maybe the 
  local innkeeper loves a bawdy tune and will give the adventurers a free night’s lodging if your 
  bard performs a few songs. (If the person playing the bard feels comfortable performing a song 
  for the group--say, the theme song from Gilligan’s Island​--so much the better.) Maybe the clerk 
  at the general store adores haggling and has a secret weakness for dwarven armor. Or maybe 
  the beggar offers the party directions in exchange for healing wounds he suffered at the hands 
  of aristocratic hooligans, who roughed him up a week ago. 
   
  At a loss over how to make NPCs and environments unique? Do what professional writers do 
  and pay attention to your surroundings away from the gaming table. That woman in line 
  ahead of you at the store with an odd assortment of groceries, the checkout clerk who waits on 
  her and is clearly having a rough day, the man at the bus stop shouting into his cell phone: use 
  people like this as the basis for memorable NPCs.  
   
  #4. Start with the bad guy (or gal) 
   
  There are a host of prefab adventures on the market, each 
  with its own distinct storyline, but sometimes, you want 
  something completely different. You want to tell a new 
  story--one that hasn’t been told before, or an old one told in 
  a new way.  
   
  Building a homebrew campaign is loads of fun, but it can 
  also be a bit overwhelming. Sure, mapping out a dungeon is 
  fairly straightforward, and you can probably dream up the 
  characters’ main quest without too much 
  difficulty--recover a magic item, defeat a necromancer, etc. 
  But once you’ve created the bones of the campaign, how do 
  you flesh it out? How do you produce a setting that offers a 
  
  cohesive story your players will understand, buy into, engage with? 
   
  For me, the answer is simple: start with the villain.  
   
  Before you bring out the graph paper, before you decide on the party’s main quest, think about 
  who or what the players are going to fight. Is it a dragon? A doppelganger? A cursed king? A 
  bandit queen? A beholder? The creepy twins from The Shining​, all grown up and ready to 
  party? The choice is yours (though if it were me, I’d seriously consider the creepy twins). 
   
  Once you know who the villain is, think about how they became who or what they are today. 
  People may be born to awful parents, but they don’t become supervillains unless they’re 
  obsessed with a particular goal. Do they seek revenge? Status? An artifact? An alliance? Are 
  they compelled by a higher power to wreak havoc? Can they be redeemed? Do they truly 
  believe that what they’re doing is right? Do they understand the harm they’re causing? Or will 
  they snap out of it once a charm is broken?  
   
  If your villain is a monster instead of a humanoid, take the same approach. Chromatic dragons 
  are all evil, but they’re not interchangeable. Some are clearly more powerful than others. How 
  did your big, bad, black dragon become a supervillain? What’s driving her to destroy 
  everything good? Ask those same questions of mind flayers, orc war chiefs, vampires, 
  werewolves--maybe even freakishly intelligent gelatinous cubes. (It’s D&D, y’all. Anything’s 
  possible.) 
   
  Once you know your villain, the rest of the story will begin falling into place. Some things to 
  consider: 
   
  ●
  What is the villain’s ultimate goal? 
  ●
  What must they do to achieve that goal? 
  ●
  Who or what is standing in their way? 
  ●
  How will they eliminate that obstacle? 
  ●
  Where do they live now? 
  ●
  What defenses do they have?  
  ●
  Who serves them? 
   
  And so on. 
   
  Answer questions like that, and you’ll soon have a campaign laid out, a stronghold 
  constructed, and crafty challenges designed.  
   
  Starting with the villain will help the players, too. That’s because they need someone--a 
  personality--to fight against.  
   
  
  Psychologically speaking, we human beings gravitate toward stories with characters we can 
  understand, identify with. It doesn’t matter if the characters themselves are human or not. 
  (How many Disney movies have you seen with non-human heroes and foes?) It doesn’t even 
  matter whether we like ​those characters or not. The stronger the feelings those characters 
  evoke--both good feelings and bad--the more profoundly we’re engaged in the story. 
   
  In The Hobbit​, for example, the first part of the novel is largely concerned with the evil dragon 
  Smaug, a well-drawn, fascinating character. We don’t like him, per se, but we understand him, 
  his vanity, his intelligence. Later, our attention shifts to Thorin Oakenshield--someone we like 
  in the first half of the book but come to revile in the second. And throughout it all, we’re rooting 
  for Bilbo to overcome every challenge.  
   
  Like all good storytellers, Tolkien knew that to keep readers turning the page, he needed his 
  characters--both villains and heroes--to leap off the page. They had to be relatable (which isn’t 
  the same thing as likable). Readers needed to understand them. If you’d replaced Smaug with, 
  say, a brick wall, the story wouldn’t have been nearly as good, because how can you love or 
  hate a brick wall? How could you feel anything for it? And how could you root for Bilbo to 
  succeed against it? 
   
  It’s the same in D&D. The villain is your centerpiece, it holds the story together. It may not be 
  human, and in fact, it may not be entirely evil (the best villains are a mix of good and bad), but 
  it’s got to have personality. Create that, and you’ll lay the foundation for a truly epic 
  adventure.   
   
   
   
  
  WHEN IT’S TIME TO ROLL THE DICE 
  Remember: everyone’s there to have fun, including you. 
   
  #5. Always say “yes” 
   
  Most gaming groups have at least one player who likes to 
  push the boundaries. You know the person I’m talking 
  about: the one who decides that he wants to steal a horse 
  from a stable in broad daylight. The one who chooses to 
  attack a merchant--or even another character in the 
  group--because she didn’t like his tone of voice. 
   
  Dealing with these folks can be frustrating. You’ve spent a 
  lot of time creating a campaign from scratch or 
  familiarizing yourself with one you’ve bought or borrowed. 
  There’s so much cool stuff that your players can do, so 
  much for them to explore and discover! Why would this 
  yutz screw up an amazing story for himself and his fellow 
  players? 
   
  I don’t have an answer for that question. All I know is that 
  when the game threatens to spiral out of control, you have 
  two options: you can resist, or you can go with it.  
   
  (Fun fact: you have the same choices when your car hits an icy patch and goes into a tailspin. 
  Equally fun fact: experts recommend the same reaction for both DMs and drivers.) 
   
  Resisting is the wrong response, and I’ll give you three reasons why.  
   
  For starters, players aren’t stupid. They can read your tone of voice and your actions. They can 
  tell when you’re frustrated. When throw up your hands and roll your eyes, they see animosity. 
  That creates a divide between you and them--a divide that interferes with collaborative 
  storytelling, which is your shared responsibility. You and the players are in this together, and 
  if you try to hit the brakes while they’re moving forward...well, it’s not likely to improve the 
  story, that’s for sure. 
   
  Second, if you’re resisting, you may become a little vindictive. “Okay,” you say, an evil glint in 
  your eye, “as you pull out your sword to attack the shopkeep, she presses a small button, and a 
  trapdoor in the floor gives way, plunging you into a deep, spiked pit. You take 15 points of 
  bludgeoning damage, 10 points of piercing damage, and I need you to roll a Constitution saving 
  throw to see if the poison on the spikes affects you.” Though it might feel good at at the time, 
  
  that kind of response makes you seem petty, and if not managed properly, it can escalate into a 
  direct confrontation between you and the players.  
   
  Finally, when you resist, you’re telling the players, “Stay on the path I’ve created for you.” That 
  may sound like a reasonable request, but D&D should never, ever have a set path. Playing D&D 
  is acting out an alternate life in an alternate universe. There as here, players can choose to go 
  in any direction they like. Good players will see the outlines of the path you’ve forged, and 
  they’ll stick to it, more or less. But no one likes to feel as if they’re running through a hamster 
  maze--even when they’re in a dungeon labyrinth that feels like a literal hamster maze.  
   
  So, when players go in unexpected and/or unwise directions, follow them. Lean into it. Always 
  say “yes”. “All right, you want to rob the priest who just cured your lycanthropy? Tell me how 
  you want to do that.” And let the story go its merry way.  
   
  Even if the game veers in odd directions, your path is still there. All you have to do is guide the 
  players back to it. They attack a merchant and get sent to jail? Maybe a fellow inmate helps 
  them escape through a secret tunnel that leads directly into the underground lair they’ve spent 
  the past three sessions searching for. Maybe they can bribe a guard--or, since they’re so 
  inclined to roughhouse, knock out a guard, take his uniform, steal some keys, release all of the 
  prisoners in the place, and escape in the ensuing chaos.  
   
  Bottom line: if you’re clever, you can find a way to lead players back to the main narrative 
  without having to drive them there with a whip.  
   
  #6. Let dice drive the story 
   
  I don’t usually like metaphors, but this 
  one’s pretty apt: a good game of D&D is 
  like a summer road trip. The DM has 
  built the car, paved the roads, planted 
  flowers on the median, and constructed 
  towns along the route, but the players 
  sit in the driver’s seat. They tell the DM 
  what their characters do and where 
  they go, and the DM describes what they see from the car window.  
   
  But sometimes, players want to get off the highway, take a winding, bumpy backroad. They 
  choose to do stupid things--things that can seem doomed to fail. A rogue wants to visit the local 
  general store and shop for climbing gear? Sure thing, no problem. A fighter wants to 
  pickpocket the powerful mayor of a large town and steal a magic crystal that she carries for 
  protection? That’s a dicey proposition--literally. 
   
  
  In these sorts of situations, rely on ability and skill checks to tell the story. Does a character 
  recall where the local Thieves’ Guild is located? Have her make an Intelligence check to see if 
  she remembers--or, if she’s from that town, maybe a History check would be more appropriate. 
  In the example of the pickpocketing fighter above, I’d probably ask for a Sleight of Hand 
  check--and if the mayor is heavily guarded, I’d insist that he make it with disadvantage.  
   
  If they player rolls well, it’s a remarkable success, and the story moves forward. If the roll 
  fails...well, things can get interesting.  
   
  In the case of the thieving fighter, if the roll were high but not high enough, maybe the guards 
  would just shove him away. If the roll weren’t so close, maybe they’d rough him up a bit and 
  throw him out of town on his ear. And if the roll were especially bad--say, a natural 
  one--maybe the fighter would get locked in prison...or worse.  
   
  In short, relying on die rolls creates an element of randomness, and randomness keeps the 
  game fun. (Many casino gamblers will tell you the same thing.)  
   
  The dice also ensure an element of fairness. For example, if players have gone way off-course 
  and you’re starting to feel frustrated (as we discussed in section five above), allowing dice to 
  determine the narrative ensures that you remain impartial. If the players try something 
  extraordinary and succeed, it’s a hugely memorable moment. If they fail, they know that it’s 
  because luck wasn’t on their side and they performed poorly. Most importantly, in the latter 
  case they’ll know that it’s not a matter of you being vindictive.   
   
  As with all of the players’ rolls, make sure you can see the dice when they land. Don’t single out 
  anyone if you can help it--no one likes to be accused of cheating. I suggest setting a policy 
  upfront that ensures die rolls can be seen by all players and the DM. (Using a simple, 
  inexpensive tool like a dice tower can make the practice fun, too.) This keeps everyone on the 
  up and up. 
   
  As for whether the players can see your ​die rolls, that’s your call, but I think you should keep 
  them secret. I’m not suggesting that you ignore your own rolls and always take the story where 
  you like. Quite the opposite: the DM needs to experience randomness too, just to keep the game 
  entertaining. But in some cases, die rolls can give away crucial information.  
   
  For example, if one of your players casts Charm Person​ or Geas ​on an NPC, maybe the charm 
  works...or maybe the NPC simply wants to play along as if the charm has worked, until the NPC 
  has an opportunity to attack. If the players can see your die rolls, you risk ruining the surprise. 
   
   
   
  
  #7. Keep the stakes high  
   
  Most DMs want characters to succeed--to slay 
  the slavers, to retrieve the ring of power, to 
  liberate the lost prince. That’s not just because 
  we like stories with closure and happy endings; 
  it’s also because the players gathered around 
  the table are our friends. Whether we’re DMing 
  or having them over for dinner, we want to 
  entertain them, to show them a good time. It’s 
  hard to do that when players’ characters are 
  being slaughtered left and right.  
   
  But it’s a mistake to make D&D so easy that 
  there are no consequences for the characters. If you load up every treasure chest with healing 
  potions and powerful scrolls, if your NPC cleric has a seemingly endless ability to cure wounds 
  and remove curses, if you treat chaotic evil, tenth-level wizards like brainless worms, players 
  are going to lose interest--or at the very least, they’re going to start acting irresponsibly.  
   
  I’m not saying that every combat episode needs to be a three-session-long boss battle (though 
  there’s certainly a time and place for that). But take a good, long look at the stats for the 
  monsters your players are fighting. Do they have a below-average Intelligence of 5, an average 
  Intelligence of 10, or an extraordinary Intelligence of 19? Are they prepared for a fight, and if 
  so, are they not on heightened alert for interlopers? If one of your player’s characters were in a 
  similar situation, how would he react? Would he surrender if all of his friends lay dead? Trigger 
  a deadly trap? Deceive his attackers while attempting to make a break for it? 
   
  Simply put, some monsters are stupid, but not nearly all. Some are devastatingly clever. Play 
  them as such. Play them as though you were on the other side of the DM’s screen and they were 
  your character.  
   
  This approach applies in non-combat situations, too. If you treat the party’s foes realistically, 
  you ought to do the same for the world at large. Actions have consequences. Consider the 
  scenario we discussed in section six--the one with the pickpocketing fighter. If he fails his 
  attempt, he might go to jail, he might be fined, he might be banished from the town forever. But 
  he might also lose a hand, an eye, or an ear. He might be branded, scarred, or tattooed as a 
  thief. He might experience a change in alignment or lose favor with his god.  
   
  And in some cases, he might die. 
   
  Thankfully, death is one element of D&D that doesn’t have to be as realistic as it is in our 
  universe. According to the current rules, a player needs to fail three death saving throws 
  
  before she dies for good. In the interim, another member of the party can feed her a healing 
  potion, cast a healing spell, or attempt to stabilize her with a Medicine check. And even if a 
  character does ​die, there are still ways to bring her back.  
   
  Say that the worst has happened and one of your character is killed in battle. Maybe he failed 
  three death saving throws, was attacked multiple times while at zero hit points (which 
  triggered automatic death saving throw failures), or suffered a massive amount of damage in 
  a single attack. (The various ways characters can die are explained on page 197 of the Player’s 
  Handbook.​) 
   
  That’s a tragedy, and hopefully the other players will react as such, but before they start 
  planning funeral rites, have your magic-users make Arcana and/or Religion checks. Chances 
  are, one of them has heard of spells like Raise Dead ​and Resurrection​. Bringing the character 
  back to life can become a side-quest, with the other characters transporting their friend’s body 
  to a powerful cleric and asking her to restore him. (During these sessions, the “dead” player can 
  either watch from the sidelines or play a new character, possibly one that’s been an NPC.) Of 
  course, the cleric performing the ritual may demand some form of payment, or the spell may 
  not work as intended...but that’s another story. 
   
  What I’m trying to say is this: if you treat the world of D&D realistically, it will become more 
  real for the players. At the very least, that should nudge some of your wilder players to 
  consider the effects of their actions. And in a best-case scenario, it’ll encourage everyone to 
  think through challenges more thoroughly, to become more creative in overcoming obstacles, 
  and to play their characters as they’re written--dumb or smart, good or evil, impulsive or 
  cautious.   
   
  #8. Force characters to make hard 
  choices 
   
  Because anything is possible in D&D, players 
  have the opportunity to make plenty of 
  choices. Some of those choices won’t be 
  difficult. Kill the orcs who’ve ambushed you 
  in the woods? Of course! Loot the body of the 
  warlock you’ve just defeated? Duh, 
  obviously. 
   
  But part of the fun--and part of what makes 
  a campaign memorable for players--is 
  putting characters in complicated moral or 
  strategic situations. Should they take the 
  gold or save a child? Use the party’s last 
  
  healing potion on their best fighter or on the NPC who knows his way through the dungeon? 
  Trust the hobgoblin who’s gone AWOL from her unit or slit her throat as she begs for mercy?  
   
  Those “Sophie’s choice” moments are the things that players will recall for weeks, months, 
  maybe even years. They may also be the kind of moments that spark fierce debate in the group, 
  as chaotic personalities vehemently disagree with lawful ones. As long those arguments take 
  place in character, they’ll enrich the story--which is, of course, your number-one goal. 
   
  #9. Let players do the talking 
   
  As a DM, part of your job is to keep a record of what 
  the players have done on their adventure. Every DM 
  has a different method for doing this. I tend to jot 
  down short notes during gaming sessions; then 
  when I get home, I translate those notes into full 
  sentences before I forget what they mean. 
  (Otherwise, I find myself running through my 
  scribbles an hour before a meetup thinking “‘Bought 
  items’? For what? From whom? Who the hell bought 
  them?”) 
   
  I think it’s a good idea to have players take notes 
  too, or at least have them appoint someone as the 
  party’s scribe. That way, they’ll have a written account of the story--one that’ll probably 
  include details that you’ve left out of your own notes.  
   
  Before the game begins, I usually provide a quick recap of recent events, setting the stage for 
  the current session. Every so often, though, I’ll ask one of the players to bring us up to speed 
  instead. It helps firm up the story in their minds--far more than if I’m just reading something to 
  them. It gives them a sense of where they are in this long, drawn-out miniseries we call a 
  campaign. And as an added bonus, the details they include will give me some insight into the 
  elements of the adventure they’ve found most memorable. 
   
  I do this during gameplay too. When the players encounter someone in their travels, I make 
  sure that the NPC asks them who they are and what they’re doing. This allows the players to 
  share their version of the campaign, and it also allows them to tell their own characters’ 
  stories. That not only clarifies the narrative, the story arc of the adventure, it also gives the 
  players’ a stronger sense of their own characters. Like actors who’ve become intimately 
  familiar with the roles they’re performing, this deepens player’s understanding of the world 
  they’re exploring and ​their characters’ place within it. To me, that’s a win-win.  
   
   
   
  
  #10. Change the scenery 
   
  Every player tackles challenges in 
  D&D in her own way. Some charge 
  into dungeons with a war cry, 
  waving their swords wildly 
  overhead. Some are more cautious 
  and curious, thinking their way 
  through obstacles. Others love 
  chatting up locals, laying out 
  battle strategies, exploring new 
  terrain, and so on. 
   
  As a DM, you have to provide the 
  right mix of social interaction, 
  exploration, and combat to keep 
  every player engaged.  
   
  When the game is moving along 
  precisely as you’d planned, you might not notice that you’ve gotten the balance right. But it’s 
  very ​easy to tell when the balance is wrong: players get bored, they start checking their cell 
  phones, they begin acting carelessly, like they just want to get to the “fun stuff”. Pay attention, 
  and it’ll be apparent when their attention shifts away from the game.  
   
  The best adventures I’ve DMed have been about 50% exploration, 30% combat, and 20% social. 
  To me, that makes sense: a big part of what draws us to D&D is the allure of exploring a 
  strange, new world. (When I play video games like Skyrim​, I can spend hours just roaming 
  around, taking in the sights, before I even bother with quests.) Social interactions, though? We 
  experience those every day, so we probably don’t want as many of them at the gaming table. 
   
  Keep in mind that you need to provide this mix of environments no matter whether you’re 
  running a campaign that you’ve created yourself or one that someone else has written. Yes, 
  even in a prefab adventure, there are opportunities to drop in something new. For example, if 
  your players are in an urban setting and grow tired of chit-chatting with NPCs, toss in a 
  menacing group of thugs to provide a little combat--or let them discover a half-hidden ladder 
  so they can explore the town from the rooftops.  
   
  On the other hand, If they’ve just finished a long dungeon slog, slaying wave after wave of orcs, 
  hobgoblins, and whatever else you’ve hurled at them, let characters interact with a new NPC. 
  Maybe it’s a fellow adventurer who’s the only surviving member of his party. Or perhaps it’s a 
  bandit who’s reconsidered her life of crime and has deserted from a larger group.  
   
  
  Maintaining an appropriate level of tension between exploration, combat, and social scenarios 
  takes practice, but in time, practice makes...well, not 
  perfect, but you get better at it. 
   
  #11. Keep it moving 
   
  At some point in every campaign, things slow to a crawl. 
  Maybe the party is doing some last-minute shopping in 
  preparation for a massive dungeon delve. Maybe they’re 
  on a week-long journey through the desert, with 
  nothing but random encounters between them and the 
  next oasis. Or maybe they’re sitting at a tavern, 
  drinking and debating their next move.  
   
  Whatever the case, gameplay in these situations can become disorganized and, let’s face it, 
  dull. DMing a shopping excursion and rolling up random encounters can be tedious, and 
  players’ short attention spans will be on full display. Your job is to keep things moving along as 
  quickly as possible.  
   
  Are the characters travelling for an extended period of time? If you don’t have any encounters 
  planned, maybe create one random run-in--ideally one that helps move the story along--but no 
  more than that. Are they looking for a particular kind of shop? Why look, there’s one on the 
  next corner. There’s no need to make them ask every street urchin in town just to find a smith, 
  leatherworker, or temple. Are they haggling with merchants? Simply ask the players what 
  they’d like to purchase and be done with it.  
   
  I take this same speedy approach to some of the more realistic elements of storytelling--food, 
  for example. Unless scarcity of food and water is an element in the story, I almost never ask 
  players about when or what they eat. I don’t make them keep track of rations. I know it’s a part 
  of the game, but as a DM, I have the option to overlook certain rules and guidelines, and that’s 
  one that doesn’t matter to me. Like the players themselves, I want to get to the good stuff. 
   
  #12. Don’t take anything too seriously (except 
  this tip) 
   
  D&D is a game. A few lucky folks make a living from it, but 
  the majority of us play D&D for fun. The camaraderie, the 
  storytelling, the triumphs, the tragedies, the potato chip 
  crumbs stuck in every crevice of your Monster Manual​--it’s 
  all meant to be enjoyable, so enjoy it. Surely the rest of 
  your life is stressful enough without treating your hobbies 
  like life-or-death crises. 
  
   
  Sadly, I know some DMs who haven’t yet learned this lesson. I’ve seen them threaten players 
  with bodily harm for cracking jokes at the gaming table. I’ve seen them fume at people who’ve 
  given their characters ridiculous names like “Bob II: This Time It’s Personal”. And you know 
  what? I’ve never once thought, “Yeah, that player should straighten up.”  In every case, I’ve said 
  to myself, “Man, that DM’s a jerk. Who’d wanna play under him?” 
   
  So what if a player wants to give her character a dumb name? As long as she’s not distracting 
  from the game, roll with it. (If you really, truly hate the name, find a way to give her a title, or 
  perhaps a pseudonym that her character must use to remain disguised.) So what if a player 
  wants to flirt with NPC priests or attack city guards? Let him. In a game like D&D, it’s natural 
  for folks to push boundaries. Once they realize that yes, anything’s possible--and once they see 
  how the less-rambunctious players behave--they’ll likely settle down.  
   
  And if they don’t, take them aside and have a chat about their behavior. Or simply don’t invite 
  them back. The one thing you shouldn’t do is rant and rave at the gaming table. That just puts 
  everyone on edge and makes a fun pastime into an awkward obligation. 
   
  It should go without saying that as a DM, you’re allowed to have fun, too. Give NPCs funny 
  names, use funny accents, have them tell bawdy jokes. You want an egomaniacal mercenary to 
  speak in an Arnold Schwarzenegger-y voice? Go for it. It’ll make that character exponentially 
  more memorable. You want to put a mysterious, extradimensional blue box in the middle of an 
  abandoned castle? Great. Some of the players may realize it’s a TARDIS, but will they know how 
  to operate it? Where will it take them? Is there a man with a fez wandering about the ruins 
  somewhere?  
   
  (At the suggestion of someone on Reddit, I once placed a Mr. Meeseeks box from Rick and Morty 
  in a treasure chest. The players thought it was funny, and they used the Mr. Meeseeks to great 
  effect--until of course many of the little blue guys went crazy and undid all characters’ 
  carefully laid plans.) 
   
  I’m not saying that every gaming session should be like a comedy festival. In fact, if you follow 
  some of the tips I’ve outlined above, you’ll often have challenging, poignant, and sad moments 
  during your campaigns. But to me, what makes a great game is balancing those heavier, 
  emotional moments with lighthearted play. Leaning too far in one direction or the other can be 
  monotonous, so do yourself and your players a favor by throwing in a few gags to counter the 
  gore.  
   
   
   
  
  THAT’S ALL FOLKS 
   
  If you’ve been DMing for a while, chance are good that you’ve got your own list of rules for 
  running great, engaging adventures. If that system is working for you and your players, by all 
  means, keep using it. I mean, if it ain’t broke…. 
   
  On the other hand, if you feel like something’s been missing from your campaigns, perhaps 
  some of the suggestions I’ve offered here will improve things just a bit. At the very least, I hope 
  they provide some food for thought. 
   
  If you have additional questions or comments, feel free to email me at sturtle@gmail.com. You 
  can find my personal blog at sturtle.com, and some of my other published works are available 
  at DMsGuild.com and Amazon.com. 
   
   
   
  
  For nearly half a century, Dungeons & Dragons has enthralled fantasy fans around the globe. 
  It continues to attract new players even in this era of high-tech pastimes, despite the fact that 
  D&D relies on nothing more than a couple of rule books and some funny-looking dice. 
  What makes D&D and other tabletop role-playing games so special, so alluring, is the fact 
  that anyone can enjoy them. You don’t need any particular skills; you only need to bring your 
  imagination. And because of that, each time you sit down at the gaming table--whether that 
  table is in a bar, a basement, or a hotel ballroom--the experience is a little different. 
  There’s only one real constant in D&D: the fun is in the playing, not the winning. In fact, 
  unlike most board games, card games, and video games, no one ever “wins” D&D. You 
  simply live to fight another day.
  Richard Read has spent more than three decades playing D&D, and much of that time 
  has been spent behind the dungeon master’s screen. In this short book, he shares some of 
  the lessons he’s learned overseeing campaigns large and small. If you’re a longtime dungeon 
  master, many of his observations will probably ring true. And if you’re new to DMing, some 
  of his advice may help turn your next adventure into one that players remember for years to 
  come. 
  * * * * *
  Richard Read has written about games, cars, travel, theatre, and pop culture for Gawker, Fodors, 
  High Gear Media, and many points in-between. He’s penned several D&D adventures; edits 
  Gaywheels.com, a website devoted to LGBT car fans; and co-authored The French Quarter 
  Drinking Companion, a field guide to some of New Orleans’ best watering holes. He lives in New 
  Orleans with his partners, numerous hounds, and a moderately well-stocked bar.
  
SOURCE: textdata/thevault/System neutral/System Neutral Adventure Design, Dungeoncraft/GM Advice & Writing/12 Simple Rules for DMing; The Magic Behind Mayhem, Murder, and Monsters.pdf