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Maybe it's just my old age and lousy memory, but I've noticed familiars and porters tend to disappear from my games.

The problem is that working the "extended party" into a game is straight up hard. It’s tough enough to hold your own PC in your mind’s eye, allowing them to react to situations naturally and in-character. Start tacking on all the squires and animal companions and escort quests you’ve picked up along the way and your attention fractures.

Worse than that is the limited limelight. Everyone wants their moment at center stage, but those moments get smaller and smaller when “the party” becomes “the party + the help.” And while a big group can make for a rich living world, it also risks taking attention away from the real stars of the show. Someone is going to get slighted, and that’s a great big feels-bad.

That's why I tend to favor a “one NPC per party” model. It allows a GM to provide a little in-character commentary, but doesn’t detract too much attention from the campaign’s headliners.

What about the rest of you guys though? What’s the largest party you’ve ever traveled with, NPCs included? Did you find that the extra bodies got in the way of the PCs, or did you enjoy the rich cast of characters?

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It's been a little while since I ran my last "The Hangover" session. The basic premise is that the party wakes up hungover and cannot remember what they did last night. The session is all about piecing together the events of the previous evening. Usually they have to find a missing item or partymate (who conveniently had scheduling issues that week).

I describe the setup in further detail over here. My question is this though: What are the most implausible shenanigans for a party of Pathfinders on a drinking binge? I could use a bit of help with the brainstorm.

I've always heard that it's a fool who tempts the GM.

"This dungeon is a cakewalk! Those monsters are trash! I am invincible!"

That's the equivalent to asking for a tarrasque to get dropped on you.

But at some level, isn't it part of good GMing to let the players feel like badasses? Should a GM interpret this style of boasting as a call for increased difficulty, or allow players to feel like BAMFs for a bit?

I guess my question boils down to, "Is it better to quash overconfidence or stoke player egos?"

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This is basically a question about monster tactics. But it's one that I seldom see discussed beyond "the monsters want to win."

This can be a tough tightrope to walk when you’re a GM. That’s because the difference between a fair fight and unfun tactics can be little more than a matter of taste. Take the boss fight my PF1e megadungeon group just lived through. The five of them were APL 16, and they were facing off against a CR 20 kraken lich monstrosity. Here are a few of the close calls I had to make as a GM.

-- All PCs are in reach. Do you target the squishy caster with all ten of your tentacles, or do you spread the damage out across the party?

-- Do you turn on power attack (increasing the likelihood of PC death), or do you leave it off (increasing the likelihood of dramatic but non-damaging grapples)?

-- The party’s bard has access to bard’s escape, and can teleport grappled party members out of trouble. Do you stuff your grapple victims beneath the inky waves, cutting off line of sight and blanking the spell?

-- You’ve decided to reflavor your lich kraken’s beak attack as an inflict wounds by simply changing the damage type to negative energy. When your player asks for a save to half, do you allow it?

-- The wizard casts control water, attempting to lower the water level and leave the kraken high and dry. You didn’t plan out ocean depth ahead of time. Does the wizard’s plan work as intended?

There are a couple of ways to approach these decisions. You can try to play optimally, giving your monster the maximum chance of winning the fight and killing the PCs. Then again, your can play in a characterful way, taking the monster’s psychology into account. Is it arrogant? Is it mindless? Under what circumstances will it choose to retreat? You might even take a mechanics-first angle, showing off as many tricks as possible for the sake of variety.

For my part, I wanted to foreground the multi-grapple aspect of the fight, so I leaned into those mechanics rather than maxing damage. I also like to reward my players for bringing the right tool for the job, so the teleportation and the water control tricks both worked. As for the inflict wounds business, that was just lazy monster building on my part. I can’t very well punish my players for my mistakes, and so the Will saves were summarily saved.

That’s my line of thinking anyway. But I'm curious to hear about how you guys handle these "soft difficulty adjustments" in your own games. Is it incumbent on a good GM to play the monsters as tough as possible, or do too-clever tactics get in the way of a good time? Conversely, does it ruin your victory when a GM “plays the villain dumb,” or can that serve to make more interesting fights?

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Do you like playing first level characters? I've encountered this sense from the community that the essential low-level experience involves getting crit and rerolling until you're finally strong enough to be a “real adventurer." Other opinion I've discovered include "low level play is boring" and "I've been gaming long enough that I don't need training wheels."

So here's my question: Do you like to start games at 1st level, or do you prefer to start campaigns at second or third level? What's the rationale for your preference?

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I'm looking for opinions on “the first level experience.” I’ve run into lots of hot takes about "first level is boring" and "all my games start at higher level" over the years. So here's my question: Should third level be the new first level? Or is there some other way to solve the twin problems of "extremely-fragile low-level mages" and "boring low-level play?" And if there is value to be found in start at 1st, what is it?

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For those of us lucky enough to be in a relationship with a fellow gamer: Do you ever worry about the appearance of preferential treatment?

It’s irrational, but the whole "GM’s Girlfriend" thing pokes me in the back of the head every time I sit down to write up content for my significant other. Am I giving her too much attention? Or am I overcompensating and giving her too little? Am I making too many rules calls in her favor? Does she have too much loot compared to the others? Maybe I should kill her character just to be fair?

Clearly, it is possible to overthink this sort of thing. That’s why I’m hoping for a little perspective from you gys. When you’re GMing for your partner, do you ever second guess yourself about how much attention they’re getting? And for all the players out there, have you ever seen your GM give “most favored player” status to somebody else?

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I'm not an especially visual person. So when it comes time to describe a character's appearance, I often rely on the stat block rather than my own creativity.

"He's a dwarf in medium armor."

"She's an elf with a bow and a magical cloak."

Do you try to avoid confusion by using character art? Or do you prefer to let literary description + the mind’s eye do all the work? Is there a good rule of thumb for figuring out how the happy medium between "vague description" and "overkill?"

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The classic example is a fireball in a wooden inn. You've decided to unload the big guns, but a GM assesses that you've chosen poorly. Property damage, excessive force, and pissed off NPCs are the result.

Here's where the weirdness comes in. "Fireball" is something of a special case. It mentions "setting fire to combustibles and damaging objects in the area" in the spell text. Do you think it's fair for GMs to tack similar effects onto other AoE spells? When does "you inadvertently blew up the setting" begin to feel punitive? We're talking stuff like "the lightning bolt deals half damage to your merfolk allies" or "the black tentacles thrash around and break the furniture." Is that kind of descriptive freedom fun and flavorful, or does it risk coming off as unfun?

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My question is a bit outside the normal scope of play. I'm interested in best practices for end-of-session. If any of you guys a theater kids, I’m talking about the concept of the "cooldown."

In a hobby like ours, where we like to talk about escaping into fantasy, entering another world, and becoming somebody else for a little while, the return to everyday life can bring out some peculiar emotions.

Therefore, I'm curious whether you guys have any special rituals to address the pent-up energy and feeling of emptiness that comes when moving from the game world to the real. What typically happens in your group when the game is over for the night? What signals that “the session is done” and “we’re back in the real world now?”

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I know what you're thinking. "Not another friggin' horny bard thread!" This is a good-faith question though. It actually came up at my table.

Here's the TLDR: A brass dragon had been trapped for centuries in a magical prison. Desperate for freedom, she tried to trick the party in swapping places with her. In the form of a half-elf, she begged the party's paladin to just -- pretty please -- step onto the suspicious dais.

"Alrighty then," said the paladin. "As long as you don't turn out to be some kind of creature that forces me to look on helplessly while you attack my friends, I guess I'll do it. Because I'm a paladin. And I believe in helping people. In fact, I can even imagine a scenario where I would still want to help someone even if they'd been less than honest with me up to that point."

Dude basically guilted the good (but slightly mad) dragon into admitting her ruse. The party managed to do a bit of problem-solving, and actually got the dragon out of prison. In gratitude, Calleosis (aka Callie) the dragon volunteered to serve the party for a year and a day. And because she was one of those "gregarious and whimsical" brass dragons, I thought it would be a good idea to give her a sense of humor.

"She returns to her half-elf form," I improvised, not wanting to give them a literal dragon cohort. "Only she's wearing a servant's livery this time."

"You mean, like, a maid outfit?" joked one of my other players.

I ran with it. And now I find myself trying to figure out what courtship would look like between this selfless paladin and his secretly-a-dragon maid.

The situation is ridiculous enough to have me stymied. What kind of plot developments would you spin out of this setup? I certainly don't want it to get weird, but I do want to support this paladin's chosen narrative. Any help with romantic comedy plots? It's a bit outside my wheelhouse in terms of genre.

One of my players has a swashbuckler coming up in a new campaign. They've expressed their love of chandelier swinging, bannister sliding, and general over-the-top stunt work. I want to make that present in the game. The only problem is that there's not much payoff for these sorts of stunts beyond, "You made your Acrobatics check and now flank the goblin."

What are some suitable mechanical rewards for successful derring-do maneuvers? Do I engineer exploration encounters that rely on this biz, or is there a reliable way to make "put myself at the mercy of the dice to look cool" a viable combat strategy?

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Should players feel comfortable surrendering? I mean... I know it won't work every time. The "successful surrender" generally winds through some kind of prison, the subsequent prison break, and a rematch against your captors. It’s either that or gladiatorial combat. But in both cases, it seems better than futilely swiping another few HP from the thing that’s about to kill you.

So what do you think? Should that kind of mid-combat diplomacy be freely available, or would your rather rely on mechanical solutions like "call truce?"

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I'm coming to the end of a long-running campaign. I'm talking 10+ years IRL of adventuring through a mega-dungeon. I've thought about writing up all the session summaries and turning that into a leather-bound volume for each of my players, but the cost (both in time and money) is prohibitive.

So help a gamer out. What's the best way you've found to memorialize your adventures?

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Standing in the backfield while unloading shot after shot into the baddies is an appealing combat style. As an archer you’ll be full-attacking long before the dumb brute with the pointy metal stick closes to melee, meaning that you basically get a free turn just for rolling initiative. Of course, that assumes you’re fighting on a featureless plane. If you’ve ever plucked a bowstring, fletched an arrow, or shot into melee, you know just how rarely that’s the case. That in turn makes mobility really friggin’ important for an archer.

So here's my question to the board: What’s the best way to get around the battlefield as an archer? Do you go the mounted route? Buy a flying carpet? Get your Barbarian to play Master Blaster with you? Gimme all your best battlefield taxis!

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You're a small-sized hero.

You just found a magic weapon / magic armor.

Your GM refuses to adapt the module to make any of this crap useful to your character because your GM is a colossal jerk butt. (And also possibly because the world doesn't revolved around you.)

What are the bet ways to resize equipment to fit your li'l dude?

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Pathfinder can get complicated. Familiarizing yourself with rules subsystems, antagonists' special abilities, and 3D dungeon layouts can all take time and effort. And yet, fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants GMing is a rewarding exercise in improv and wacky hijinks.

So here's my question to the board. Do you think Pathfinder lends itself to a pantsing style? Are there any tricks or resources that help to make making-it-up-as-you-go-along easier? Or conversely, is Pathfinder straight up better when you put in some minimal level of prep time?

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We all know that evil tends to be self-destructive. Sudden by inevitable betrayal goes hand-in-hand with the dark-bad alignment, and villains like nothing better than murdering minions / assassinating superiors. The question I have is how to design encounters around this sort of setup.

Think about all those Shadow of Mordor orcs you've pitted against each other. Gimûb the Infernal hates Skak the Poisoner. Akoth Pain-Lover wants to murder Ûkshak Bone-Ripper. Jôanie loathes Châchi. But how do you make that kind of dynamic accessible to players on the tabletop? How do design antagonist relationships that can be manipulated and triggered?

In other words, what's the best way to signal to players that "turn them against each other" is an option? Have any of you guys pulled it off successfully? Or is this just another case of forcing players to opt for some "correct" solution?

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In an effort to make this often-invisible part of GMing a little more visible, what do you say we share our favorite tools and processes for session planning? How does your group handle scheduling, conflicts, and reminders? Tell us all about your Doodle polls, sacrosanct game times, and favorite cat herding strats!

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So here's how it happened in my game. After our wizard cast his feeblemind on the assassin, the dude stabbed the hostage just like he'd threatened.

When the smoke cleared, the duchess (and her one remaining hit point) demanded an explanation. “What in the hells is the matter with you? I could have been killed!”

“Meh,” said the wizard. “We’ve got breath of life as backup. You wouldn’t have been killed for long.”

That's a fully rules-legal take, but it doesn't strike me as a very satisfying one. Is there a good way to make the old "human shield" shtick an actually-challenging challenge? How would you design this trope in your games?

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It's an old debate, but I find myself running with a group of newbies, and they're asking how "seven slashing damage" impales a commoner but inconveniences a (presumably mortal) barbarian.

So how do you conceptualize HP? Does it represent the same narrative idea in every situation (e.g. actual bodily injury), or do you like to throw out multiple, sometimes contradictory descriptions (it's just 'battle fatigue' this time)? Do you have any favorite ways to describe HP-loss?

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I love me some vigilante dual identity. So much so that I've been known to hand it out as part of a homebrew "amateur vigilante" feat. It does tend to raise thorny questions though.

How far will you go to preserve your secrets? How central will secret identities be to the game? And perhaps most importantly, is the vigilante player on the same page as their GM?

So here's my question for the GMs of the board. When you introduce secret identities, how do you go about making sure that the player is getting everything they want from the trope? How do you structure a campaign to keep it from becoming silly? (e.g. Why doesn't the party recognize Clark Kent?)

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Here's my situation. My big bad dragon had kidnapped one of the PCs are robbed her. That meant he'd gained an unusual variety of magical gear that I wanted to use against the party. Maniacal laugh and such, sure, there’s no listing for dragons on the Magic Item Slots for Animals chart.

Over the course of my research I encountered the wildshaping rules. Rangers discussed their animal companions. Paladins had questions about their mounts. The 3.5 version of the Draconomicon came up, and the always tricky question of in-game justification reared its horned head: “Such external dependencies are mortal crutches unbecoming of a true dragon!”

In the end I simply let my dragon wear its captured booty and nobody called me on it. I'm curious to hear how you guys would handle it though. What magic items do you allow your critters to wears? Do you fudge the rules in corner cases, or are you comfortable making a few judgement calls when it comes to weird body types and gear?

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You’ve prepped the adventure, and your GM game face is on. Your quest hooks are laid like bait in a bear trap. You’ve got bandits waiting in the woods. Deadly peril is prepared to spring from the darkness in A3 (the Old Mill) and B1 (Collapsed Passage). Excitement and danger are hovering just around the bend, and all the players have to do is walk out that door. But then:

“Come on, guys. Let’s faff about in town all session.”

“I’m going to talk to an inn keeper for several hours!”

It's tempting to shrug and give it the old "so long as they're having fun." Ain't nobody want a railroad after all. But my tables tend to split between a hurry-up-and-get-to-the-next-thing and I-love-side-questing.

Therefore, my question to the board is this: When is it wisest to tap the breaks on the "main quest" and let the party linger? When is it best to nudge them forward with Chandler's Law? ("When in doubt, have a man come through a door with a gun in his hand.") And how do you split the difference at your own tables?

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I've got a new campaign coming up this summer, and I'll be playing my first divine caster in ages. I'm have trouble wrapping my head around proselytizing in Golarion though.

When it comes to representing a polytheistic society, do you tend to favor state religions and devoted theocracies? If so, would a cleric get in trouble with the authorities for recruiting for her own deity? Or does your game world adopt more of a laissez-faire attitude? The existence of Hellknights suggests evil deities are cool as long as you aren't out there sacrificing people. But I'm genuinely unsure of the extent to which those faiths are tolerated when they become "active" rather than just passively existing.

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If you have the misfortune of being a caster or a ranged combat specialist, a light slashing or piercing weapon isn’t going to do you much good from within the belly of the beast. That means it's time to improvise.

Nowhere in gaming is there a more flavorful situation. You’re being crushed to death in a monster’s throat! You’ve got to do something! On the other hand, nowhere in gaming is there a more nebulously defined set of mechanics. So like… Is there any way to cast fireball so that it doesn’t hit me too? How long can I breathe in there? Can my buddies try and give the monster the Heimlich maneuver?

Therefore, as an exercise in adventurer preparedness, I propose we brainstorm our best creative method for escaping from a “swallow whole” situation. Alternatively, I will also accept clever actions designed to harm your big-mouthed foe from the inside out. All clear? Alrighty then. See you down in the comments!

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I always seem to wind up going for big, world-shattering plots. We're talking about planar collapse, wars among the gods, and end-of-the-world(s) scenarios. The problem is that you run into superhero storyline problems when you go that route, always needing to one-up yourself and fight ever-larger critters. That way lies the neutronium golem.

So here's my question for the board. As a recovering "go big" addict, how do you move a storyline from "save the everything" back to "track down the bandits?" How do you avoid anticlimax if you want to keep that campaign going?

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What is the most extravagant, expensive, and not-very-useful-in-combat purchase you've character has ever made? Was it a permanent spell effect? Funding for a new orphanage? A partial stake in a small business?

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This is a problem that I think of as “The Forest of Doom.” You’ve probably heard of it. Rumors of that fell wood abound in all the inns and ale houses of the kingdom.

“To set foot within the Forest of Doom is death!”

“That’s a cursed place, and no mistake! Those who venture beneath its boughs are never seen again.”

“I’ve head that even that shadow of the trees can kill. Beware, adventurer. Beware the Forest of Doom!”

Meanwhile my players are sitting there like, "Holy s!+# you guys! I bet there’s all kinds of treasure in there!" That’s because all those fun, fluffy rumors are typical quest text. NPCs are expected to play up the dangers of local dungeons, making players feel like a big damn heroes when they stride boldly forth. But if the Forest of Doom is in fact a straight-up death trap, and if it’s a DC 25 save to avoid insta-death every round you’re in there, then we’ve got a set of competing expectations at play.

Ideally, players show proper caution. The respond appropriately to the dire warnings. They note the dead woodland creatures that ring the edges of the Forest of Doom, and realize from context clues that, “Oh. This isn’t a proper dungeon. It’s a setting element meant to show us that the ancient Hex War left an indelible scar on the land. Let’s maybe not go in there.”

You want to keep flavor on the one hand, but you also want to convey expectations on the other. So here's my question for the board: If you’re a GM, have you even been surprised when your players ignored all your dire warnings and did the “obviously stupid thing?” And in retrospect, was there any way to warn them more clearly?

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If you're a GM, I assume you're the warden of your own dice jail. I've been thinking about upgrading my "drawer of shame" for some time now. I'm not much of an architect thought, and I want to make sure I get it right.

What's the best build? Do you paint the acrylic rectangular prism of a Chessex box like a tiny cell? Is it better to construct some sort of balsa wood dice gibbet? Or is the best setup an executioner's square, complete with stone block and hammer? Is there any one method that seems to get better results from your other dice?

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So often GMs get bogged down in the specifics of the craft (Dungeon design! Plot twists! Story arcs!) that we forget to consider our broader process. That’s what I’d like to talk about today.

How do you go about preparing for a game session? Do you have a "session notes template" that you could share with the class? How much time do you spend for a single session? How do you know when you're over-prepping? And how do you keep the hard work of planning from ruining the fun of improvisation?

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When you’re noodling with a PC's visual design, I think there's a temptation to treat the character’s appearance as a living record of your adventures. You’re a complex, three-dimensional protagonist after all, and you want to convey the rich palette that is your dude. Therefore, rather than working towards a unifying motif, it’s all too easy to transform your character into chronicle: She got this dagger from the first goblin she killed, and there’s a bead from her dwarven foster father tied into her hair, and she has a scar on her throat from that time she got crit by a hag, and she bought these boots of speed last session.

So as a possible corrective, what do you say we try an exercise I learned back in undergrad? Describe your character using only three details. That’s about how many items a reader can fit into their head after a first impression, and the same holds true in the oral landscape of the tabletop. If you choose wisely, we should get a coherent picture of your PC and their personality. I’ll give you the usual race/class/gender stuff for free, so feel free to get specific with the other items. All clear on the ‘three details’ thing? OK then. Go!

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I'm always terrified that I'll come off as condescending when it comes time to explain the rules to newcomers. My actions may very well determine whether a player has discovered a lifelong passion or a dull-as-dirt math problem masquerading as a game. I want them to be excited to play, not intimidated by the learning curve.

And so, in the hopes of getting better at this part of the hobby, I turn to forum. What are your favorite tips, tricks, and techniques for teaching new gamers? When is it appropriate to go into full rules-depth detail, and when should you go for a "just roll that one" approach? Is there a best order to teach subsystem?

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Have you guys ever managed to make the old "my guy was super-powerful in his backstory" trope work? I'm talking about the kind of PC who gave up godhood because [insert backstory malarkey here] and now has to reclaim their lost power from level 1.

The appeal is obvious: You get to do the "prince to pauper" shtick, watching a Kuzco-type character learn humility. But it's also a wildly over-the-top backstory, putting a low-level dude with a pointy stick and a towering ego at the center of a GM's presumably-already-established setting.

So here's my question for the GMs out there: If you encounter this type of character out in the wild, how do you accommodate it? Is it possible to do this kind of PC without overshadowing a campaign (or the other party members)? Or is it better to ask the player to reconsider the concept altogether?

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Folks like to talk about the "batman wizard" who has a contingency scroll for ever situation. What about melee dudes though? Getting disarmed sucks, and so does getting neutered due to DR.

So supposing that you're a well-prepared fighter: What do you put in the old golf bag of holding? And since wealth-by-level is always a concern, what's the most economical way to cover all your bases? When you’re building up your arsenal, what tools do you positively, absolutely have to have in your toolbox? What threats are too esoteric to warrant prepping for? And perhaps most telling: what is your current melee dude carrying?

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Suppose you've got a monster cohort. Your sparkle pony might be a "magical beast," but it's got human-level intelligence, languages known, and the personality of a pampered noble. For all intents and purposes (aside from a share of the loot), this is another member of the party. The problem is that they still look like an animal.

So here's my question. How do you help a non-humanoid feel like people? If you're on an incognito mission, the indignity of a stable for your unicorn or a bowl of offal for your blink dog might be acceptable. But when there are no beds for young dragons in ye olde inn, how can a PC go about placating their picky monster-bro?

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This is a problem as old as dungeons, and it’s one that every GM has to figure out. How do you justify battling your way through a dungeon without fighting every inhabitant all at once? Why don’t the monsters seem to notice the sounds of slaughter emanating from the next room?

Typical answers include:

-- The monsters are selfish, and don't care about their comrades.
-- Infighting is common in this lair, so a bit of scrapping isn't cause for alarm.
-- Sounds carry strangely in the dungeon.
-- My guys do respond intelligently! I have cascading guard stations here, here, and here. Doesn't everyone?
-- I suspend my disbelief and play the damn game.

I’m betting you all have your own methods for this one. So as an exercise in better dungeon-building, share your rationale! (And, for the sake of argument, let’s assume that “dungeons don’t make sense which is why I don’t use them” is a less-than-useful answer.) All clear? Ready? Go!

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I've been thinking about this one lately due to a house rule on the Glass Cannon Podcast. In GCP games, a natural 20 on an attack still gets "exploding damage dice" if it fail to confirm. That means a rogue who fails to confirm can still reroll all the 6s on their sneak attack and add the bonus damage. This helps to mitigate the feels-bad moment that accompanies a failed crit.

What's the community's thought on this sort of thing? Does it throw off game balance too badly? And are there other options for taking the sting out of unconfirmed critical hits?

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When you want to show off a new BBEG, kicking puppies and heartlessly slaughtering your own minions can be an efficient introduction. Mistreating your own guys is useful shorthand for “I am a bad guy.” It's also slightly old hat.

My question to the community: When you’ve got your own BBEG to introduce, how do you convey to your players that they’re pure, dag-nasty evil?

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My go-to example for this sort of mechanic is the ever-popular Wayang Spellhunter. If you've ever piloted a magus, youj're probably familiar.

Wayang Spellhunter

Source Dragon Empires Primer pg. 14
Category Region
Requirement(s) Minata
You grew up on one of the wayang-populated islands of Minata, and your use of magic while hunting has been a boon to you. Select a spell of 3rd level or below. When you use this spell with a metamagic feat, it uses up a spell slot one level lower than it normally would.

Is it game breaking to ignore that region prerequisite and let players take this kind of ability willy-nilly? Or is the restriction a necessary part of game balance? What if you're playing in a non-Golarion setting?

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Base building is not for everyone. For some players, a base-building session is tantamount to hearing, “We’re not gaming tonight. We decided to do taxes instead.” That's why I've taken to cannibalizing the Downtime rules, using it for inspiration rather than as-intended.

It's not an especially complex subsystem, but I find that it's just technical enough -- and just divorced enough from the business of adventuring -- to bog down play. For that reason, I find myself using use it as a shopping catalogue (e.g. A palace costs 19,640 gp? Good to know.) and a random encounter table (e.g. The party has a house? Cool. I rolled a 66 on the event table, so here's some RP with their fussy neighbor.)

Does anybody else have any tips for getting the most out of these rules? I like that they exist, but I'm never quite sure how to make them really fun.

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I’ve been there. You’ve been there. We’ve all been there. The party has got the perfect item for the job, but it’s a single-use potion/scroll/whatever, and there’s no way you’re sacrificing your precious for commonplace purposes.

I think of this as the "phoenix downs" problem, referencing the trope of Final Fantasy players ending their playthrough with a trove of never-used resurrection items.

My question to the board: As a GM, how can you encourage stingy players to actually use all those fun one-shot items? Are there additional incentives that can help tight-fisted players loosen their grip on a potion hoard, or is this a spot where GMs should remain hands-off and let players do what they do?

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Certain preconceptions seem to follow APs. The introductory explanation from 1d4chan serves as a good example. There we learn that modules are, “An accessory to games that companies sell for a gamemaster without the time or creativity to make their own adventure.”

You guys already know that gatekeeping is force for evil. That bit isn’t news. What’s more worrying to me is the next line in the 1d4chan entry: “A module contains a premade adventure the GM should be able to run for his group with minimal modifications.” More than the condescension, it’s this fundamental misunderstanding that bothers.

Let me be clear: you absolutely can run an AP “with minimal modifications.” You can also read quest text at your players verbatim using your best Ben Stein impression. These practices are how you wind up with a community that thinks of modules as GMing for dummies.

If you’re really giving it your all though, and if you’re embellishing and tailoring the adventure to your players, then you’re operating at a level of creativity every bit as valid as a homebrewed game. Rather than devoting your energy to worldbuilding or plot-crafting, those hours go toward fleshing out NPCs, incorporating player-specific subplots, or adding side-quests to the mix. That level of agency is exactly how you bring players into a game world, and it’s just as easy to do in modules as in homebrew.

So here's my question to the board: Have you ever run into that "modules are dumb" mindset in the wild? How do you respond to it?

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What do I mean by “stupid death?” Such pathetic ends lie in an ill-timed crit from an ogre at level 2. In the “oops I forgot to heal” between goblin fight #2 and goblin fight #3. And at higher level, in charging out for death and glory against a non-boss enemy without taking the time to buff, do a little recon, or think through a proper strategy.

So as a combination of heroic memorial and catalogue of cautionary tales, what do you say we share our own “stupid deaths?” Was it bad dice luck, or did you make a critical tactical blunder? Let’s hear all about your most derpy dearly departed PCs!

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Encouraging player creativity is a good thing, but does that remain true even when the plan is ill-advised? Should GMs go out of their way to “let it work?” Or is it incumbent on creative players to accept negative rulings with good grace?

For example, suppose an excited first-time player declares, "I've got it you guys! I know how we can cross the chasm! I'll just cast a fireball at my feet, and rocket jump like it's TF2!" Do you go out of your way to "yes, and" such a maneuver, or is it time for 6d6 fire damage worth of painful lessons?

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You know the "problem player" archetypes that Paizo calls out in the GM Guide? One of them hits a little close home.

I identify as a diva. There’s nothing I like better than chewing some in-character scenery, adopting accents, and waxing eloquent about my extremely-interesting backstory. But as a self-acknowledged spotlight hog, I've had to come to grips with the idea of being part of an ensemble. So on the off chance that this is useful to any fellow divas out there, here's what I've learned over the years.

When you’re a natural diva, there’s a risk of becoming “the protagonist” rather than “a protagonist.” And if the other players feel like you’re overshadowing the rest of the cast, it’s on you to be proactive about the situation. In that regard, my favorite tactic is to check in with my party members from time to time: “What are you hoping to do with your character? Is there anything my guy can do to help set up a cool moment?”

You see, I think that there’s a little bit of GM in every player. The common wisdom is that it’s the GM’s job to manage the group and make sure everyone is having a good time. But I think that it’s the mark of a good player to shoulder a little bit of that load as well. You’re not just there to have fun. You’re there to help everyone else at the table have fun as well. That means playing foil to other PCs, standing out of the way when it’s time for someone else’s special moment, and in general helping your more introverted castmates to shine.

Not everybody thinks of RPGs in terms of performance, and it is by no means a requirement to game. But if you are the kind of gamer that likes to go for the Oscar, it pays to remember that RPGs are a group effort. Let your pals take center-stage from time to time, and your own performance will be stronger for it.

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Working for the baddies can be an interesting plot hook (e.g. The Black Company, Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser, Fezzik and Inigo, etc.). However, getting the players to take the job can be tough. Whether it's a case of "my alignment says I must smite" or a neutral PC deciding that the risk isn't worth the reward, making a suitably tempting offer as a DM can be hard work.

Since it's the job of every guy-behind-the-screen to cause drama though, I ask the GMs out there this question: Have you ever successfully tempted your players into signing on with the villains? What incentives and threats did you offer?

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Have you ever seen a player give up and disengage? I've seen it happen in my own games when incorporeal foes resist weapon damage, golems prove immune to magic, or alchemists straight up run out of bombs.

The response I'm trying to avoid is, "I guess I can't do anything. I delay." At that point, the discouraged player checks out of the adventure.

As a GM, how do you help such players understand that there are other way to contribute? I mean, even if it’s a less-effective-than-usual option like setting up a flank, using aid another, or attempting an RP gambit like taunting the enemy, it's got to be more effecting than twiddling your thumbs and glowering at your mini!

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There's this interesting tension between paladin auras (beneficial auras of all kinds really) and the desire to not get clobbered by fireballs. Sticking together in a "standard marching order" is a great way to take advantage of proximity-based buffs, but it's also a great way to get everyone hit by AoEs.

So here's my question for the board: How do you weigh risks and rewards when it comes to tactical positioning? Do you like to space yourselves 15' apart, or is it better to make sure everyone gets that sweet +4 morale bonus vs fear, charm, etc.? I'm sure the answer is "it depends," but what's your personal litmus test? Does it change depending on expected enemy? Cramped dungeons vs. open world terrain?

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