Taking Bold Actions

I am amazed by the educational qualities of group role-playing games. From the variety and depth of articles that have become available over the past decade, it’s becoming widely understood how Dungeons & Dragons (D&D) and similar games provide a more accessible form of learning in a huge variety of areas: maths, literacy, social engagement, history, reasoning, moral and ethical dilemmas and debate. 

I’ve listened to an excellent chat with Rob Gruber, interviewed by Shelly Mazzanoble of #DragonTalk (the official D&D podcast). He’s been running games in his home town for over 9 (?) years for kids and helped them learn the game, while discovering that role-playing games teach a variety of other meaningful skills and qualities as well. There was something he and Shelly discussed that is close to my heart: the value of making choices through your actions, and that actions have consequences. 

Here’s where it reminded me of a memorable game I ran for teens at Penrith City Library: We were finishing our game series at our local library with our introductory adventure, and the group was fighting a massive troll at the edge of a very deep well. We came to the last round of the night (and the series) for each character before we wrapped, and the stakes were high - a couple of the team had gone down to the claws of the mighty troll, and things were on a knife’s edge. We also wanted to wrap the series with a definitive end, hopefully by taking down the troll. It came to the turn of the boy playing a half-orc paladin: when I asked what he wanted to do, he said he wasn’t sure whether to attack the troll with his sword, hoping to knock it back into the well, or try to tackle the troll and drag it into the well. 

The boy’s half-orc was one of the largest characters in the group but still at least a foot shorter than the troll. Considering the options, I offered him a choice based on the circumstances: 

• he could try to push the troll into the well, but due to its size it had the advantage to try and resist him; or, 

• he could run and try to tackle the troll and carry it with him into the well, which would be a little easier but he’s have to make a dexterity check to avoid going down into the well with it.

I clearly remember the other kids making an audible “oooh!” at hearing this! Everyone was excited by the possibility, but could he save the team without losing his own life? 

The kid decided to take the sacrifice play: tackle the troll and hope it would go down with him. Everyone cheered at the decision, but then immediately grew nervous , waiting the outcome of the die roll. I can’t remember the number, but it was low, and everyone groaned - until he said he’d like to use his inspiration, allowing him a second roll. Another cheer, more nervous waiting! He rolled the die, and it came up a natural 20. The cheers were deafening as I described his full body tackle into the troll, and carrying it over the edge and into the well. I described the troll grabbing at him to try and pull him in: now was his final chance to see if he could avoid the fall. Everyone held their breath, he rolled… and rolled low, a 3 or 4, and failed. Everyone cried “Noooo!” as I described his half-orc paladin holding valiantly onto the troll to ensure it went into the well to its doom, and his character along with it, into the darkness below… I finished with, “and that is the end of the series.” The kids were ecstatic and did not stop raving to each other about that ending for the entire wrap up, and congratulated the kid on his great role-playing and story-telling choices. Did his  half-orc paladin survive? Would they be able to rescue him? In some ways the cliff-hanger ending did not matter. The story of this brave half-orc’s sacrifice, knowing the odds, was what went down as legend. I realised it was important enough to begin the next series: the next series of games with many of the same kids was started at that precise moment, so we could enjoy the memory of that moment again and follow up what happened next. 

I love watching players dicing up with choices to go through risky situations, and then taking a bold action knowing what’s possible. I also love seeing players get their characters to run headlong through a closed door, heedless of any caution, to surprise whatever is on the other side! Either way, there will always be consequences, whether for good, for ill, or sometimes a mix of both. 

There’s inevitably times I’ve found running games, for both kids and adults, where someone says they’d like to retract what they did so they can choose another path. That’s a rule breaker for me. Actions, once they have been taken, should have consequences, and I am careful to introduce and reinforce with my groups as it builds true character. 

Success or failure at a choice of action is the simplified range of results on offer. What’s more interesting to me is the story that then results, and the effects that has on that character, her party members, and the wider story. The story that results is the learning: learning from the actions we take, for good or for ill, teaches us and helps define our future choice making, and where the story goes.

That’s why it’s a rule-breaker in my games to “retroact” your actions: to make a choice to act, see the results, then to say you’ve changed your mind and instead choose to take a different action. That’s basically time travel! I’m a big fan of time travel in fiction; but it is counterproductive in role-playing games, as making choices are a defining factor in both the play and the outcome of the game. Because of this I work hard provide as fair and wide a variety of options available to characters making tough choices. We can all be biased in our approach, so it’s important to me to learn as much about my biases to ensure I don’t penalise players for making choices that I may not do. The choice must always be the players;  I will always attempt to outline the risks and likely outcomes, to ensure that players can make the choice based on the knowledge they have at hand. The action they take is up to the players, so they can be satisfied in being accountable in their choices. 

On time travel: If we can simply go back in time and undo the actions you take, there is no risk of failing with the choices we make. What’s the point in trying if we know we always succeed? Without risk of failure, we always succeed, we lower our interest and value of the situation. With a risk of failure, we are invested in the situation, are motivated to rise to the occasion, and attempt things we wouldn’t normally consider in the attempts to succeed.

The risk of failure, the thrill of not knowing if something will succeed, the fear of losing that which is important to you - your health, your life, your friends your property, your land - all these things motivate you to act. The risk of failure makes stories memorable. Stakes are vital for storytelling. There’s nothing like the chance of falling to serious harm for you to do your best! Stakes bring value to action. 

I firmly believe that role playing games are built around the device that any choice is possible for the player. This is what separates RPG’s from board games, card games, even the most realistic computer games have no chance of living up to the one thing the RPG’s provide: a player can decide to do anything in the game with their character.  

That is why consequences are vital. To potentially fail at your actions. To learn not to swallow any pink sparkly potion you come across. To let go of the bag of gold so that you’ll be able to leap to safety. To lose your sword in the maw of the dragon to ensure the lives of your team. To dive into the pit of fire, in the hope of saving your lost love. 

So I try to be a champion for players to always make bold choices. Consider their choices wisely, always, but stand by the choices you make: it’ll make the successes all the sweeter, the failures all the more memorable, and the stories you tell all the more valuable and remembered. 

What are some of the most memorable actions you’ve made, or your fellow players have made, in your games? I’d love to hear them, share your stories below! 

Cheers, Ian.