This post was inspired by a similar post on Gnome Stew (whichI would link to, but the site seems to be down at the moment) by Don Mappin. In it he asked if children were appropriate as player characters in a game. His primary concern was about power inequities between the characters — if you’re playing a 12 year old, you’re not really on the same level with the adults. Most likely, you’ll have to listen to what they tell you…or do you?

The comments seem to suggest most of the readers found the idea acceptable, save for one opining, “…a child PC would be like a one-legged cheetah man and I wouldn’t allow it…”

Well, that’s your loss, ennit? Most recently, my wife played an 11 year old Chinese street urchin named “Shanghai Sally” or “Monkey” (no racism there…nope!) during our Hollow Earth Expedition campaign. She was the employee of an PC, Roland “Boss Banana” Kessik (half Chinese,  half-Scot — his racist sobriquet came from the Chinese gangsters he worked for.) Small, physically weaker than most of the opposition, but fast and athletic, she was a challenge to play. Yes, she listened to Kessik’s orders. Yes, she tended to listen to the other adult PCs. But like child characters from movies, television, or books, she did her own thing. In a fight, she needed to use the environment to either escape, or gain the upper hand. (She once used a big brass rolling bellboys rack to knock a bad guy through a plate glass window.) Like Short Round, she had her uses — she was a street kid and knew how to get around unobserved, slip into places she shouldn’t be, and knew kids who knew…pretty much everybody. (No one much pays attention to street kids…)

So how can you use a child character? (Or a one-legged cheetah man…? I can think of a few.) Let’s look at a few kid characters from movie and TV franchises, and literature. First off — who is a “kid”.

In the Middle Ages, you could be a page as young as six. Would you get dragged on your master’s adventures in a D&D game? Probably. Figure the strengths of a youth — small size, innovative thinking, a tendency to blend into the background until needed. Maybe make the kid a 1st level thief (or whatever the hell their calling it in the edition you play.)

Who is a “kid” in, say, the Victorian period? You could be tried as an adult in the UK for any crime committed as a child, and many street kids were intimately involved in the criminal underworld — see Oliver Twist. In a historical or steampunk game, the kid has a lot of uses — the street urchin thief or enforcer. (Child soldiers, for instance, are notoriously violent.) Are the other characters military folks — the kid could be a drummer, or flag bearer, or a quartermaster’s aide delivering ammunition during the battle. In Napoleonic times, kids shipped out as midshipmen — officersin training. This is how Horatio Hornblower gets his start. Billy Budd was a sailor in his early teens. Huckleberry Finn and Tom Sawyer…

What about the smart kid? Thomas Edison was inventing by the age of 20. He had saved a child from being hit by a train in his mid-teens. Think of the precocious genius characters — they’re annoying often (Wesley Crusher — whose awfulness was a function of crap writing than the actor), but they can be useful. Maybe he’s the kid that just “gets” machines. I recently had a character like this for a Hollow Earth one-shot I ran; the engineer of the small tramp steamer was a late teens Italian kid who could make anything mechanical work. They just made sense to him.

Who’s a child in the 1920s or ’30s? By this point, the idea of a specific period called “childhood” that should be cherished or considered important to a person’s development has come into vogue. You could be tried as a juvenile and avoid prison for all but the most serious crimes. But when did childhood end? Legally, it was 18 to be an adult, but rural kids were working in their early teens. Get outside of the developed nations and childhood was still just a word. Some examples of child characters would be Short Round from Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom, or even the young Indiana Jones from the television series. .

In modern day, what is childhood. You could argue it stops about 45, nowadays, but legally it’s 18 (unless you want to own a gun or drink in the US, then it’s 21…even though you’re more dangerous with your vote.) In modern fiction you have kids battling government jerks in ET, or finding lost treasure in The Goonies, or stopping nuclear armageddon in War Games. (The ’80s were a truly great period for the kid hero in movies.) How about something more realistic? How many kids are involved in gangs, the drug or sex trade, or violence? How can this be used?

Science fiction, as with historical game, are an excellent setting in that you can give kids leeway to act like adults, even if their abilities are up to snuff. Let’s take Luke Skywalker — he’s a late teen (or supposed to be.) He’s whiny, idealistic, and often just clueless. But he’s brave and he’s a hell of a pilot…and eventually he becomes a Jedi. Even the execrably written Annakin Skywalker shows some of the tropes from above — good with machines, good as a pilot. Weesley Crusher — genius: He can fix things, act as comic relief. Paul Atreides is a young noble and a combat expert. Child heroes populate a lot of the fiction (check out Cory Doctorow’s works.) And we haven’t even touched on alien children…

Children as PCs might not be appropriate for every campaign, but they certainly don’t need to be reflexively ignored as a character archetype. The player, however, needs to realize that there are going to be certain limitations and weaknesses to the youthful character — this is what makes the child character interesting and challenging; keeping yourself in that mindset is difficult, but can be quite rewarding.

Author’s Note: Sorry if this post was a bit disjointed. I’ve been trying to turn it out for two hours, while entertaining my daughter (or rescuing her from getting her foot caught in a piece of furniture.)

There are a few things I think are important to keep in mind for the new gamemaster running a game for the first time (or anyone, really…)

1) Preparation: I know a lot of GMs are down on preparation, but I think it’s important to have a decent working understanding of the rules, and to have an idea for a basic plot or adventure for the group.

Knowing the rules at least well enough to know the basic mechanics, say, attribute+skill+die roll vs. a target number is essential. Yu don’t have to know the specific modifications aiming, or called shots lend or take away. you can fudge those the first time if you can’t find the rule right away.

Having a basic plot for the initial story makes it more interesting to the players and is more likely to lead to enjoyment. Players like it when their characters achieve something. They might not follow your mental script, but have a few essential scenes — waypoints to the final event — will help push the plot without feeling like you are railroading them. (More on that in a moment.)

2) Confidence: Okay, you’re new to the rules yourself, the adventure feels a bit kludged, and you’ve got, essentially, stage fright. Don’t show it. Loosen up and enjoy yourself; this isn’t a job. As military officers are taught — look like you know what you are doing…especially when you don’t.

As long as things are happening or characters are interacting well, they’ll often miss glaring plot holes they might notice in a movie or book…because they are (kinda) living it.

3) Be flexible. The players aren’t always going to do what you want. If you need them to pick up on Clue A at a scene, but they don’t bite, roll with whatever they are doing and put the clue in the new location or scene. Maybe they kill the bad guy early or they go through your cool action scene with mooks (and this will happen with annoying frequency)…now they find out bad guy is actually the lead henchman for the new bad guy. Okay, they got through the action scene that was supposed to be tough like they were walking down the street to catch a bus; let them bask in their reward and at the next scene hit them harder, or perhaps make the reward less impressive. “We took on the entire gang of Shen Ho to find…a shipment of bananas? Where’s the [insert prize] that was supposed to be here?” Nearly dead mook, “Shen came and got it an hour ago…they’re loading it on a truck for…ack!”

4) Have fun. If you aren’t having fun GMing, hand off the responsibility to someone else (if someone else will do it.) It’s a game.

Last night was one of those nights where everything is just a bit off. The day started off badly, continued to be problematic with a finicky, sick kid. We were shifting the gaming venue to the lovely house of one of our group for the night, (And I mean, lovely!) so I have to coordinate to pick up one of the gamers, so that meant juggling the schedule with the wife so she was home early enough to get me out the door for the rendezvous. This was all accomplished with enough time to stop at the liquor store and pick up an on-sale six-pack of Blackthorn cider for the group. So far, so good.

My gamer nearly misses the rendezvous because he thought I wasn’t in my car; fortunately, I see him before he gives up. On the trip to the game — a trip I’ve done half a dozen times, so far — I simply miss the turn off and drive 4 miles out of my way. And miss the turn coming back. No big deal; amusing, if anything. Eventually, we all manage to get to the game. Food has been provided by the host — good stuff! We eat, we chat, and it’s time to play.

Except while I remembered to bring drinks, and my computer, and my books…I forgot the file folder with the characters in it. Crap! Do we have a printer? No! Simple — email the files to another gamer that has his laptop and tablet…except they’re out of power! We go Old School and I have to jot down the characters. this takes half an hour. We’re now getting toward 8pm.

Finally, we get going and have a blast — it was Hollow Earth Expedition last night. The teaser for the new character takes a bit longer than I wanted, mostly because i was having a blast. My descriptions, however, were a bit off; I’ve had a cold all day and I’m a bit fuzzy by 9pm. Press on!

We make it through the session and everyone has fun, despite the stumbling blocks. Takeaway? Roll with it and have fun.

CODA: After all this, I drop my gamer at home, and nearly get sideswiped by some college douche in a souped up Honda rice burner (a Civic, I think, but it was hard to tell a few seconds later.) He tries to jump the line of traffic getting onto I-40, biffs it at the last minute and gets ploughed into by the pickup in front of me. The Civic is tossed into scrap, the pickup loses control and hits the wall.

After checking on them both — the kid is hospital bound and good riddance, you idiot; the truck driver is just dazed from having his airbag break his face — I have to sit for half an hour until they clear the path onto the highway. This on ramp is too dangerous to just back up.

Eventually, I check my texts, find out I have to run a medicine errand for the wife, and get home just before midnight.

We’ve all had some version this guy/gal in our groups. They get their moment in the spotlight during the session and just don’t seem to be able to let it go. Maybe they’re someone that every day is a “me day.” Maybe they don’t get to play often and just get overly-enthusiastic. Maybe they GM much of the time and are used to being the center of the group. (cough me cough) Maybe they’re the wannabe actor/tress for whom attention is the thing, more than the play. Maybe they just talk…a lot. (You can tell what spurred this post, can’t you?)

So how do you shut down the spotlight hog without hurting their feelings, being to obvious about it, or being a jerk? If you tend to be a hands-off GM, it’s going to be harder to move the action along than if you are a bit more active. For me, as a narative-type who likes to be involved more with the play than a simple “What do you do?” sort of GM, it’s a matter of engaging the player first, then shifting the focus of of them in a way that feels natural.

Example: The GIQ is doing a bit of expounding on the legal complexities of the adventure or mission the characters are on. It should be a simple bit of exposition, but the player (as well as the character) is a lawyer. And a bit long winded. Okay, knock off the “a bit”. He’s been on a roll for about five minutes, already, and has missed the queues from one of the other players — the equivalent of “Read you. Press on.” In the interest of advancing the plot and letting other characters get a bit of “scene time”, it’s time to step in as a GM.

At this point, I engage the player sort of like a director talking to an actor. Get into his mind space, or his emotional state with a few pointed questions. I’ve got his attention now. I shift the attention to the character he was talking about — how do you feel about this? What’s your perception of the information? Now the attention is on the other player and I can get the other players back in.

Now, I’ve found that 9 times out of 10, you’ve just fixed the problem. But sometimes GIQ is not going to want to relinquish the spotlight so easily. If you have successfully moved the attention — even for a moment — a simple upraised finger  (a “wait” finger) should do to keep that player sidelined long enough for the other players to get their say in for the scene, then return the spotlight to the player, or move on.

This is the gentle way to use social judo to take control of your game when necessary without coming off as a jerk.

Any other techniques out there?

I like running historically-based games — 1930s pulp, Victorian speculative fiction (I’m not calling it steampunk!) — and one of the challenges is setting the scene realistically enough for the players to feel they are in another time and place. One way to do this outside of describing the immediate setting — the small number of cars, the trollies, the advertising of  1930s New York City, for example. Another way that I’ve found is useful is to include newspaper headlines.

Both of the periods mentioned above had healthy news industries, with kids hawking papers on the street corner. Extra! Extra! Read all about it! Germans pull out of the League of Nations! For periods where there are papers, or radio, or television, you can have news in the background to give your game world a more full flavor…you could even use it for foreshadowing on later adventures in your campaign. Maybe you mention the breakdown of diplomatic relations between Japan and China in the early part of 1937 a few sessions before you send the characters to Shanghai on the eve of the Japanese offensive on the city.

One of the elements in our latest Battlestar Galactica campaign that would translate easily into almost any modern/future setting is the use of non-profit foundations as a villain organization. It’s a nice change from the tired “evil corporation” trope of cyberpunk, and fits well into the police state fascism of cyberpunk settings, or the world of Firefly, or spy-fi campaigns. These non-profits are generally thought well of because they appear to be honest brokers — they aren’t making money off of their policy positions (not true, of course), they claim political nonpartisanship (not true — in fiction or reality), and often have a wide reach. These groups don’t just target politicians, they get their hooks into education by providing money, and they insinuate themselves into business practices through advocacy.

Here’s a couple of groups that, with a bit of tweaking could be used in any setting:

PROMETHEUS GROUP (Battlestar Galactica version)

This is an umbrella holding trust that controls the money and operation of various non-profit foundations. They have their hooks into policy think tanks (The Prometheus Foundation), educational scholarship funds and advocacy (the Lucan Foundation), and Center for Colonial Progress (a political lobby firm that pushes social programs and funding for the same.) The group and the Lucan Foundation were formed by entrepreneur and former Virgoninan politician Count Azarius Lucan. The count is now a reclusive figure, pulling the strings after a near-fatal accident while orbital skydiving. He suffered extensive surgeries following his accident that could have allowed the Cylons to either replace him, or alter him in some way to be their master agent on Virgon.

It should be obvious how this can be tweaked for usage in any futuristic game that involves cybernetics, cloning, or even psionic manipulation. Lucan (I’d change his first name for modern settings) is a quasi-tragic figure — the former scion of whatever policies the GM’s universe deems “good” turned bad guy because of outside influence. (Better is he was always a bad guy, but he hides it well; sort of what they were going for with Dominic Greene in Quantum of Solace, but tip their hat too early.)

For a modern setting, you could just use real foundations as your bad guys; they are legion, but the Prometheus Group could be some kind of international group manipulating politics, terrorists, businesses, to create a world (dis)order that benefits them monetarily or politically. It’s world domination without the nuclear blackmail. What makes this sort of black hat organization so insidious isn’t just that they are seen as good guys, but that their monetary influence would extend throughout the political system that controls your police precinct, spy organization, military unit, or whatever — your own people don’t want to see you succeed because of the hit they will take to their funding stream, or it could implicate them in dirty deals, or simply act as an embarrassment during election time. You will be fighting both the villains and your own command structure.

There was a post by Martin Ralya over on Gnome Stew that caught my attention and spawned this post: How do you pitch your hot new game to your players? Maybe you bought a new game and the rules set is way-cool, or the setting is fascinating, or it was fun when you were at a playtest…either way, you want to run the game and need to get the rest of the group on board. Here are a few dos and don’ts that should help:

1) DO know your player’s interests and craft not just the pitch, but the campaign, toward their strengths and interests. Example: my latest Battlestar Galactica game starts before the Cylon attack to try and create a strong, vibrant world the characters will miss when it’s taken away…but also because I know one player loves high-level politics and espionage settings, and the other conspiracy mystery games. So now our BSG game is more Cold War spyhunting spy-fi than military-based post-apocalyptic survival. It’s still the same universe, it’s still got the same elements, but the flavor has been tweaked to their tastes.

2) DO make sure the game is something you’re interested in running long-term, even if it’s a one-shot or mini-campaign. This is because you never know if the game will hit big and you’ll be playing it six years later (like my Star Trek campaign from the early oughties), or if the short plot will get stretched for a month or two due to absences, etc. You have to love it as much as they do, or it’;; die on the vine.

3) DO wait to pitch the new hotness until you’ve had a chance to let your thinking on it percolate. Maybe you come out of the gate strong, but you had no major story arc, or nothing beyond the first plot. Or worse, the first session. This has been the case with me and Jovian Chronicles –a wonderful setting that I just cannot seem to figure out what I would do in that particular sandbox. Another hard one is Serenity/Firefly — great flavor, and I can come up with a few scenarios, but no big plot to tie it all together. Sure I could just do an episodic game, or let the players sandbox around, but I’ve found the latter usually bogs down into bar fights and patter in many games.

4) DON’T overdo your world prep. There’s nothing more offputting than to have to read through the 80 pages of history, social surveys, and other elements for a setting. You’re not Tolkein, and I don’t want to read the bloody Silmarillion  just to play a game. My world prep for Battlestar Galactica could be summed up in about a page. This is partly due to the nature of licensed properties; the world is mostly created for you. But just like the Colonies were this hazily defined thing for BSG because ultimately the story took place on a spaceship looking for Earth, you want just enough depth to have consistency, but not so much you cannot make stuff up on the fly. Which brings me to an other important bit once you’ve got the game going —

5) DO let the players help create the world. MAybe someone tosses off a quip about the assassination of King Whatizname 30 years ago — you didn’t have an assassinated King Whatsiname, but now there’s some set dressing and a possible plot line to work with. Worldbuilding, just like the playing of the story, should be collaborative, no matter how narrative your style (as mine is.)

6) DO play on the game being a one-shot or mini-campaign. Think movie, rather than series or series of books. Get into the characters and plot fast, and get out just as quick. That way, if it’s not got legs, you can have fun with what you have and move on.

7) Lastly, DO ask your players what they prefer to play. If it’s something that interests you at all, be enthusiastic and give the audience what they want.

I was looking for a new notebook to do some character and adventure spitballing — I still tend to do my initial ideas on paper, because I can draw relation diagrams, etc. easier with pen and paper than using a computer. This one had been purchased while i was still working as an intelligence analyst, and had some of the historical incidents that I was working on as examples of how we could model rubrics to look for success/failure points in a plan. I could also see the notes for personal stuff — how I was paying down debt, getting the household budget in order. There was a folder with all my final paperwork and lay off letter of recommendation from my boss (tepid, at best.)

Then there were the gaming notes — the various iterations of characters that would not be used for games that would not come off. These would surface again and again, steadily maturing into the characters now being used in the various campaigns. It was an fascinating look into how my mind was working at the time. Each page was cluttered with ideas for various game campaigns, sometimes on the same page. Characters written and rewritten, sometimes for different games than originally intended. Notes on games that were running at the time. House rules cobbled together on the fly (one set of which should hit the blog soon…)

And all through these notes, the long lists of job searches, check-marked for those applied to, Xs for those i was not qualified for for whatever reason, underlined if they called for an interview (almost none of these.) More household finance stuff — what I could get for selling things, numbers to call for the TA position paperwork that went “missing”, notes for my comprehensive exams. How much my wife at the time could expect from life insurance pay outs and notes on locations to stage a spectacular motorcycle crash.

There was increasing desperation in the notes, but the game creation was occasionally inspired! This was the period of the superb Gorilla Ace! setting. The excellent Battlestar Galactica campaign I didn’t want to end, but which would after my divorce. Ideas for mashing Jovian Chronicles with Transhuman Space, resurrecting my old Space: 1889 campaign with the Ubiquity rules (Hollow Earth Expedition) — similar to the Leagues of Adventure game recently out. A new Star Trek campaign set in the old show period, but a new universe (before the release of the Abrams film.)

It was obvious, looking back, that I was desperate to find a job, save my family finances, and my mind was so addled by the pressures of these things, comprehensive exams, freelance writing jobs, and general unhappiness, that my mind could not alight anywhere with certainty. But this was where the core ideas for the current Hannibal Drake Hollow Earth Expedition,  Galactica, and the now on-the-backburner Supernatural campaigns got their start.

Then came the break in 2010. After a trip home to Scotland, I decided to fix my life. The notes become more orderly. Characters and plot ideas are mostly grouped together. There’s none of the frenetic quality of the early section of the notebook. Characters still get written and rewritten; they drifted from one player they were initially designed for to other players, sometimes new. Sometimes these changes made the characters better, as they turn out to be a better fit for the player; sometimes not. (Often the players let me design for them to create more cohesive characters for the campaigns [with their input, of course.]) Campaign notes get more pointed, more coherent, and I could see where the bones of the current, very good, BSG game were coming together. There were notes for new player contacts, a few that didn’t pan out, one that was excellent but is sadly looking to be headed for the past, and another that we are determined to find a way to keep, even though he’s GTT.

Cracking open the notebook gave me a look into my own thought processes — however glancingly — over the period of  2008-2011. It gave me some insight into my thought processes regarding campaign design: the intent of the games from a storytelling standpoint, the metaphors I wanted to use, the character types I wanted to see the players engage, and other ideas used and otherwise. Crack open those old notes every once and a while…you might rediscover something useful.

When a gaming group gets a new player you have a few challenges to confront: do you just throw them in the deep end and bring them into the play in media res? Do you can an ongoing adventure to start a new one with the person involved? Do you craft an entirely new game, perhaps, to introduce them to the group, then bring them in on other ongoing campaigns?

We had a new player join us for out Battlestar Galactica game — the game they were most interested in playing — so I decided to go with a combination of the first two choices: There was already an ongoing adventure, but we were a a spot where I could do a “teaser” just for that character, to introduce the player to the world and the character to the other players. There’s a lot going on in the game, as anyone who has read the after-action reports can see. The character was brought in as a Colonial Fleet SID (sort of their NCIS) investigator that is aiding in the hunt for Cylon infiltration, but also to keep an eye on the commander (a player character) as the admiralty is suspicious of the constant coincidental links between him and the Cylons.

It was a pretty clean intro, but sometimes you just aren’t quite set up for an intro like that. Say you are in the standard dungeon crawl — how did the character get to be there? Did you “promote” an NPC (give the player an existing NPC?) Or are they mysteriously in the depths of a dungeon without having encountered all the monsters, etc. your party did? If so, how did they get there? IF they are traveling to a location, it’s a bit easier. There’s the traditional tavern meet and greet, but I prefer some kind of short side adventure — the players encounter some kind of evil or shenanigans the new player is involved with. They get convinced to go on this side mission with the new character. Easy peasy.

If you are very near the end of an ongoing mission — say right at the denouement — you could always shelve that last play session for a week or so, play something different to get the players comfortable with each other (I did this with the BSG adventure, as we were to the final fight in a Marvel mission), then come back to it if the new player is absent or there is another play time available without them. Another way to handle it to jump the characters to just after their last mission and assume success or failure. “Whew — that was a tough fight, but we slew the dragon and got the treasure…” or “I was sure we had that bootlegging gangster dead to rights, but somehow he got away…fortunately, we’ll get a lead through [new character]…”

When we’ve had a large number of players change hands I find I favor the create a new campaign strategy.

What’s your strategy for handling new folks?

Last week was supposed to see the final episode of the Hollow Earth Expedition serial I’ve been running. the characters had found the lost Illuminati treasure — a large (for the 1770s) library that had been sealed in a brick vault under 36 Craven Street in the middle of a pentagram of tunnels and catacombs. The interior was lined with lead glass and lead cells, hermetically sealed by Franklin, to protect them against the floods from the Thames and the ravages of time. He was about 50% successful — half the material is intact — but the lower tier is destroyed and under a layer of slime covered water.

That’s when the bad guys show up, in this case members of the British Union of Fascists. Their leader is a Richard Edwards, the head of the Phoenix Club — a 1930s descendent of the infamous Hellfire Club and the place where the Scottish lord whose journal started the journey was murdered. The requisite fight ensued which wound up with Edwards being captured and his men run off. They find out that he is in the employ of Ariel Smythe, the femme fatale of the piece, who is currently on a liner steamer her way back to Europe. Their mission was follow the characters and when they found the treasure, nick it.

I had planned on the characters either vanquishing the baddies entirely, destroying or sealing the treasure back up, but that didn’t happen. What did happen was a humorous and long sequence of screw-ups and threat/counterthreats that got increasingly more Laurel & Hardy in character. In the end, a bunch of the mooks ran off and they had their master trussed up in the underground and one of the mooks — a giant, strong, and mildly retarded fellow had switched sides after they had rescued him from the muck at the bottom of the treasure vault.

The characters decide to use the Mongo to find more workers and grab the bits of the library they can right then. they arrange to get a truck and that’s when things go from bad to worse. The BUFs show back up in force — 30 or so, led by Sir Oswald Mosley, the head of the group. There is a tense standoff broken when Mosley negotiates with Drake: they take the 1/6th or so they’ve recovered and leave the rest to his men and no one gets killed. It’s all terribly civilized and a sharp break from the fisticuffs and gunfire of the rest of the serial. Why is Mosley so cavalier? It’s not his deal, it’s Ariel’s…he doesn’t care a whit for the treasure, only that his friends in Berlin do and it will earn him credit with der fuhrer and maybe get the BUFs more German support. Ariel will be upset she was cut out of the deal, but he couldn’t care less.

And the players loved it.

After the deal, they escape to the US embassy and stow the treasure with the authorities for transport back to America via diplomatic bag. They are intercepted the next morning by Lord George Mace, the new Earl of Inversnaid and son of the killed lord. He is a high-ranking member of the Freemasons here in Britain and is out for revenge on the men that killed his father…as well as to secure the treasure from getting to Germany.

So instead of wrapping the adventure, we have another chapter in the offing that I hadn’t planned for, new NPCs I hadn’t really fleshed out, and new action sequences to dream up. These are the hazards of GMing — not everything goes to plan, even when you know your players well, and you have to be ready to roll with it. In this case I was fortunate that the curveball the players threw me was near the end of the night. I have time to plan the next session, but when this happens in the middle of the session, the GM is forced to learn how to tap dance…and fast.

The one upside here: this is now a straight “capture the flag” style mission (think the end of Raiders of the Lost Ark), where the players have to stop the transport of the McGuffin and get it to their safe zone before the bad guys can do the same. It will be essentially a series of action sequences, rather than the action/exposition/action of the other episodes.