Interview with a 5th Grade Dungeon Master

A 5th grade girl at the school where I teach is running a D&D-like game at recess. The rules are posted below. I decided to interview her to get some insights.


Questing Beast: What are all these monsters that you wrote down in the rules?

Dungeon Master: They’re what you can be.

QB: What are the really unusual ones, like the Orazen?

DM: Drazen?

Player: It’s like part dragon, part human. Also, in D&D, it’s also known as the Dragonborn.

QB: What about a Racsaca?

DM: They’re in D&D! They’re like a Tiger-person, with a mane..

QB: What’s a Fawnalese?

DM: It’s like a human that has an animal quality, like ears, or a tail, something like that.

QB: So it’s like a part Faun?

DM: Yeah.

QB: What is a Bungee?

DM: Bunger?

QB: Bunger, sorry!

Player: That’s what I am.

DM: It’s like a normal human, but when they get very mad they can become 3 times the size of a normal human, or three times as small, depending on the dice roll!

QB: They can shrink or get bigger? That’s neat. Ok, what’s a Zazen?

DM: That’s what you are. Remember? It’s like an animal that can speak and turn into other animals?

QB: It’s a shapeshifter?

DM: Yeah, yeah.

QB: Let’s see…what is a Dragonteller?

DM: Oh, you can’t be that!

QB: It says “No killing the Dragonteller.” What’s that?

DM: It’s hard to find the Land of Dragons, but if you find the Land of Dragons, you have to get past the dragons, and once you do all that if you find the Dragonteller, he can answer your questions, he can tell the future and the past…

QB: So he’s the most powerful person in the Dragonlands?

DM: Yes.

QB: Why are there 600 dimensions?

DM: …I don’t know.

QB: Because it’s cool?

DM: Yeah.

QB: Have you gone to any of them?

Player: How many dimensions?

QB: 600 dimensions is what the rules say.

DM: Yeah we’ve been to some of them.

QB: Like which ones have you gone to?

DM: Nether…you can make up any of them…

Player: We went to this sky dimension, that had an evil part of the dimension…

QB: Cloud kingdom…it had an evil part, a good part…the evil part had the Lord of Death.

DM: The Lord of Death?

Player: Lava dimension, the acid dimension, the giant dimension…

QB: So it’s all different elements, basically?

DM: Yeah! No! You can make up any dimension, basically.

Player: There’s the giant dimension, where everything is huge.

QB: What does rainbowneum look like?

DM: It’s like a coin, and it’s rainbow.

QB: It says it costs 100,000 Wadroneum. What’s a wadroneum?


QB: Is is just another coin type?

DM: Yeah.

QB: I’m really curious about he Cloud Kingdom. How do you get there?

DM: In ONE dimension, in one TOWN in that dimension, there’s a tiny door that leads you there.

QB: Wow.

Player: Also, you can be teleported into it.

DM: Someone can be like, boom, you’re there.

Player: You can ride up to it, you can fly up to it…but you have to FIND it.

DM: Yeah, you have to find it. That’s the hard part.

QB: Why did you start making your own roleplaying game, instead of just using Dungeons & Dragons?

DM: …it’s fun.

QB: It is fun, isn’t it? What things about it do you like better than the normal D&D rules?

DM: Well…you can have a special power.

Player: Well, it’s also that creating your own game, your own Dungeons and Dragons game…it’s showing how much you like D&D.

QB: What’s it called?

DM: Adventures in the Land of Dragons.

QB: Makes sense.

Player: It’s pretty much D&D, except there are different mosnters and stuff.

DM: You can be more things than you can in D&D. And you have special skills…and INSTEAD of having having just Intelligence and Wisdom, you can just have Mind, because that just takes less time.

QB: That’s true. That’s why I made mine, because I didn’t like the D&D rules as much, so I just made up my own. Where are you guys right now? What are your characters doing?

Player : So we’re in a dark manor that has a bunch of these doors, and we’re trying to find the owner, kill her, so we can get out of the manor.

Player 2: I want to kill her like a BOSS!


The Real DIY D&Ders

A 5th grade girl is DMing D&D with a circle of boys on the playground of the school where I teach. I sit down to play along. She is having everyone roll a die.

Me: “Where are we?”

DM: “We’re in hell.”

Me: “Why are we all rolling dice?”

Boy: “Hades cursed us to pick up his room. We’re rolling to see if we can put away all the clothes.”

Me: “Can I teleport out of here?” (I’m a magic user.)

DM: “No, there’s too many clothes.”

[Rolling continues until someone rolls a natural 20. Everyone cheers.}

DM: “Hades teleports you all out of there! Roll a die to see where you end up!”

Me: 12.

DM: “You’re in the top of a tree! A palm tree.”

[Everyone else rolls. They’re in a tropical village nearby.]

Me: I want to climb down.

DM: Roll a die! [It works]

Me: I want to find out who’s in charge of this place.

DM: Roll a die! Use your Charisma.

Me: 4 [I’m not charismatic].

DM: You have no idea who’s in charge of the village. A lady walks by and is like, “Who are you?!”

Boy: I want to find out who’s in charge! [Rolls CHA. Succeeds.]

DM: You see a huge mansion on the hill. It has enormous billboards next to it saying “The Guy In Charge.”

Me: I want to knock on the door.

DM: Roll a die!

Me: 12.

DM: No one answers. They’re ignoring you!

Me: I want to kick that door down.

DM: Roll a die!

Me. I’m a weak wizard, but I’ll roll my strength. 17!

DM: You kick a hole right in the door! You stick you head through and see the guy in charge.

Me: What does he look like?

DM: Roll a die!

Me: 14.

DM: He’s a…half orc. A really skinny half orc.

[The whistle is blown and recess ends]

Let’s analyze this. For one, there was almost no railroading (apart from not being able to escape Hades’ bedroom). It was a total improv sandbox, where you could try anything and the DM would come up with a result.

Second: there was no cutesy theme, no polish. Character sheets were hand drawn and photocopied. Character art was about what you would expect, which was half rabid enthusiasm, half bored doodles.

Third: There was no moralizing, no paternalism, no appropriateness filter.

Fourth: There was no emphasis on storytelling of any kind. No narrative mechanics, no personal goals. There was also no combat (although I have observed sessions this DM runs with combat). The focus was on immersion and on doing what you found to be entertaining. Exploration and amusement was king.

Fifth: The DM let herself be surprised. She demanded rolls for everything, even rolling to see what kind of NPC the village leader was. She didn’t have a table or anything, so I have no idea if she just made that up on the spot, or if it corresponded to how dangerous the species was, but it was funny anyway. She treated the dice like a kind of oracle that was guiding the game nearly as much as she was.

In other words, it was utterly unlike every RPG on the market that’s targeted at kids.

There’s no shortage of “Kids RPGs” (No Thank You Evil, Playground Adventures, Do: Pilgrims of the Flying Temple), but they all seem like games written by people who haven’t observed kids playing RPGs in the wild. The most worrisome was Playground Adventures, which actually pitches itself as a game about making good moral decisions. Kids are amoral little psychopaths in games, and no RPG is going to reign that in. (I certainly haven’t in my four years of running RPGs with kids.)

Most kids’ RPGs are highly mission based. Set up a quest, have the kids go do it. Turns out that that kids love random tables and surprising twists that they have to deal with on the fly. Most Kids RPGs focus on carefully designed PCs who don’t ever die. Turns out that kids love the high-risk, high-reward structure of lethal dungeon crawls, and love generating oddball characters with dice rather than planning them out. Turns out that kids don’t enjoy games where violence is sanitized or glossed over, and enjoy dealing with real danger.

(Example: I had a game where kids were on a sinking ship in a storm. They piled into the lifeboat, but there wasn’t enough room for the captain, who begged to be put on board. One kid looked at the others and said. “It’s okay guys, the captain always goes down with his ship,” and they rowed away.)

The biggest problem is that these games talk down to their audience, and kids (at least 5th graders) can smell condescension a mile away. Kids don’t want to be “A Cool Robot that love Ooey-Gooey things,” as No Thank You Evil! would have you believe. They want to be Spike, A Chaotic Neutral Fire-dog Rogue with claws, fire fangs, and a 7d6 fireball spell.


Open and Shut: Videogames, Stories, and Digital Myopia

I’ve been reading about the Big Model of tabletop RPGs over the last few weeks, especially its doctrine of creative agendas. According to the Big Model, there are three distinct ways a player can play an RPG: as a game, as a story, or as a simulation. For the gamists, the experience is about skill, mechanics and competition. For the narrativists, the game exists as a medium for drama and character development. The simulationists just want to discover and explore, to be transported.

The thinkers behind the Big Model emphasize that it’s vital to make sure that all of the players in an RPG are on board with a single primary creative agenda. Otherwise, the GM may find that although all players appear to be playing the same game, they may be approaching it in such totally different ways that the consensus reality breaks down and the game flounders. For example, if some players are prioritizing story, they might decide to sacrifice themselves for the sake of drama, just as the gamist players were counting on them to defeat a level boss.

At first glance, this looks a lot like what writers in videogame journalism have been calling ludonarrative dissonance, or the conflict between a player’s actions and the creator’s intended story. If so, the Big Model’s solution for RPGs might be helpful to designers in the digital world.

Social, Digital, Physical

But it can’t be as simple as that. For one thing, there are some fundamental differences between videogames and tabletop RPGs that aren’t easily avoided. At their roots, videogames are far more akin to boardgames than they are to traditional RPGs. RPGs are unique in that they have a kind of open structure. Despite their massive tomes of rules, they are far less constricting than traditional games, since the real shape of the game remains largely up to the players. The rules describe how the players interact with one another and their setting, but a player’s actions within that setting remain limitless. There are no rules for what you can do, only for how you can do it.

On the other hand, digital and physical games are almost always closed systems. They exist in the discrete, logical, binary framework of computing, rather than the fluid interpersonal space of tabletop RPGs. As a result, what you can and cannot do is strictly laid down, and all possible situations are set up beforehand (or generated procedurally) from precise rulesets. Social games like RPGs are fantastic vehicles for interactive story precisely because of their open structure; drama and character development are limited only by the players’ abilities. Videogames and boardgames, on the other hand, are ideal for the gamist types. Their closed, pristine systems offer the perfect platform for balanced, rewarding competition and personal mastery. The simulationist approach could probably go either way.

The Problem of Interactivity

This is not to say that games can’t tell great stories (Dear Esther being a favorite example of mine) but to be honest the problem with most of these stories is that they are being told. We have several different art forms for telling stories, and they are far more effective than videogames. Indeed, Dear Esther is just as affecting when watched passively as it is when played actively. It could easily have been a short film. Games like Gone Home gain almost nothing by making them interactive; nothing is lost by watching someone else play it. The interactivity seems to exist only to trick players into sitting through the whole thing, since most people would not watch a film of someone ransacking an abandoned mansion, accompanied by a fairly pedestrian audio story playing in the background. I tend to think of games like these as lift-the-flaps games, because, like lift-the-flaps books, they offer a façade of interactivity over a basically unalterable story. As far as I can tell, this tendency holds true for almost all “story-focused” digital and physical games.

Truly interactive stories, that is to say stories that are made by the players, rather than simply played, are impossible in videogames, or nearly so. The stories they do have are a crutch stolen from film and literature to prop themselves up, but linear stories are weak and out of place in an interactive medium. They serve no purpose there that they would not serve better in their traditional forms. The underlying plot of Bioshock: Infinite would make a fantastic film or novel. The fact that the plot is tacked onto a fundamentally gamist framework is not so much a problem of dissonance between the two as a problem of apples and oranges. It’s not a problem of presentation either; both elements are done exquisitely, but the experience of an interactive shooter bolted onto a linear plot never feels quite right. The story and the game are pulling the player towards two different experiences, the active and the passive, which lie in opposite directions.

Real interactivity in a story requires real choices, choices the players invented and decided upon. In a closed system, all choices have to be designed head of time. You’re inevitably playing someone else’s story, not your own.

One intriguing possibility might be to have the story emerge organically from the videogame mechanics. This is only really possible in large-scale multiplayer games like EVE Online, where real human interaction has the opportunity to generate narratives naturally, similar to what happens in social games. Still, since a videogame remains a closed system, even these types of games will, by their very nature, lack the level of freedom and creativity a player can express in a traditional RPG. Players sitting around a table coming up with stories is the purest form of interactive storytelling possible. Putting that framework into a closed system inevitably reduces choices to a limited set. It puts narrativist goals into gamist box. Randomly generated roguelikes like FTL do offer the possibility of a story-like experience, but these suffer from the same basic problems as an MMO, and the likelihood of a compelling story arising in them is even slimmer.

Strengths and Weaknesses

Real, emotional, and profound interactive stories are possible in games (and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise), but not in closed systems, or at least not to the extent that they are possible in open ones. In the same way, the tense, mechanical enjoyment of a real gamist’s game is not supported nearly as well by open systems as it is by closed ones. Understanding the capabilities of games and their artistic possibilities requires more than just videogame examples, especially as the boundaries between the online and offline worlds blur. The extraordinary work being done in social gaming (FiascoThe Burning Wheel, DreadPolarisDo: Pilgrims of the Flying TempleFreemarket) as well as physical gaming (WaldschattenspielRisk: LegacyKemetAndroid: NetrunnerLadies & Gentlemen) deserves much more attention from the digital games community.

By looking at social games, digital creators can see examples of what real interactive storytelling looks like, in a form that’s been pushed far beyond what closed-system digital games are capable of. Physical games, on the other hand, can provide examples of ingenious mechanical structures for videogames to aspire to. Both of these game types are relatively inexpensive to create and publish, and as a result take far more risks than videogames and stretch the limits of design farther and faster.

We’re all gamists, narrativists or simulationists at one point or another. We want experiences that nurture these creative agendas to their fullest, and flesh out what is possible in a game. However, games will never reach their full potential if their designers keep trying to force one particular type of game to yield up an experience it was never meant to support. The pursuit of story within a game structure is a worthy cause, but digital creators should be using the tools and systems appropriate for stories if they ever want to see them truly live. Doing so may require them to take a step back, and turn off the screen.

Explaining Boardgame Rules

Shut Up and Sit Down, quite possibly the best boardgaming site out there, just put out a video covering tips for rules explanations. I thought their points were dead on, but I felt that I should add my two cents.

Wholes Versus Parts

Most of us have probably played at least a few games so many times that they feel like clockwork to us. We no longer see particular rules, we see a coherent whole, and we’re able to manipulate the game mechanics to try and nudge our overarching strategies towards a victory, if all goes well. On the other hand, new players are often unable to see the grand design. Instead they see only a handful (or in some cases, dozens) of individual systems, little islands of rules with only tenuous connections between them. A new player knows that there is a complete engine in there somewhere, but he can’t keep it in his head all at once.

The difference here is that experienced players have an understanding of the causal relationship between the different elements of the game. They have grasped the “why” of the mechanics. Beginners may understand how this or that subsystem works on its own, but they don’t understand the usefulness of that system as regards the other subsystems or its effect on the final objective.

Understanding the “why” of every mechanic in the game is essential to playing a game well. Without it, a player’s actions become random (“I’ll try this and see what happens”) or short-sighted. Games are goal-oriented activities, so if players don’t know how an action advances their position then they often end up irritated or bewildered. Of course, when most of us teach boardgames to new players, we do try to explain the purpose of each of the rules and how they fit together, but inevitably our explanations are a bit scatter-shot and incomplete. We’re always backtracking, re-clarifying, correcting ourselves, jumping ahead etc.

After teaching a couple boardgames over a dozen times, I had the realization that the best way to teach an activity like a boardgame was to do it in reverse.

Why-First Explanations

In SU&SD’s video, Quinns points out that the first step in teaching a boardgame is to A.) Give them their components to play with and B.) Explain who they are, how they win, and why it’s going to be fun. I echo this advice completely.

However, after explaining the goal of the game, continue backwards from there, explaining firstly the actions that allow the players to win the game, then what actions enable them to take those actions, and so on. The principle here is that you should never at any point be explaining a rule if you haven’t already explained why it matters. Go from the why to the how, not from the how to the why.

This is the opposite of how most players (and rule books for that matter) go about it. I usually conceive of a game’s rules in tiers, with the goal of the game at the top and with levels of increasingly specific rules below it. The why of each rule is found above it, and its how is below it. The  game’s objective is its own why. When teaching a game, the standard method is to begin with the game’s objective, and then jump back to the lower level rules and try to build up to the objective from there.

The problem with this approach is that after each rule is explained, the teacher has to constantly jump ahead to why it’s important, and the beginners end up feeling lost and ungrounded, because they don’t understand what the ultimate purpose of all these rules is. They know that the lower level rules relate somehow to the objective, and trust that they are working towards it, but they remain in the dark until the end of the explanation, when everything is pulled together. By that point the teacher often has to begin again, because the beginners start asking clarifying questions, trying to grasp the game as a whole.

In contrast, by starting with the game objective and working down through the hows, beginners are always grounded in the purpose of each rule and what the system looks like as a whole. In my experience, this greatly reduces instruction time and helps players to come up with long-term strategies right out of the gate.


Some games are easier to teach this way than others, due to highly interconnected rules or unorthodox structures. In cases like that I just do the best I can, and try to adhere to the principle of “why first.” With that in mind you can’t go too far off. You’ll want to be saying “Here’s how you’re able to do that…” a lot, rather than, “Here’s why you want to do that…”

Another difficulty is that rule books definitely do not help you out here. Rare is the rule book that give you any kind of strategic advice or explanation as to why you should take a particular action. Most rule books are organized chronologically, which is the direction in which we play, but not the direction in which we learn. This really grinds my gears, and I’ve been thinking about making some videos that explain rules in the proper order.

Let me know what you think. Are there any other methods you’ve found to be useful?