I started as a Dungeon Master in 1990 with the second edition of Advanced Dungeons and Dragons. I’d started playing in a new group earlier that year through a friend in high school and soon turned the newest portion of basement into a room for D&D. My friends and I were consumed by the Forgotten Realms®, with giant maps of Faerûn across our walls, we ventured into each new release with the gusto that only a 14- or 15-year-old with an entire Saturday to burn can accomplish.
When my turn to run arrived in 1991, I chose to run The Ruins of Undermountain. With the gaming room illuminated by a blacklight bulb overhead (yes it was connected to a little chain) and using flashlights to see our dice, I guided my friends into the ‘dungeon of the mad mage’. The slightly dank and chilled basement was the perfect underground setting for the game. We played that game only a few sessions, but it set me up for my future with gaming. It started with second edition for me, and that’s to say I never got a chance to play anything older than that.
The only earlier DM experience I had prior to that was running myself through the adventure in the BECMI edition red box. It was a fun introduction. I’ve run and played a lot of different games and systems since those days but the rise of the OSR had me increasingly interested in trying out another style of play. I investigated a bunch of retro clones and old school style games, read a bunch of OSR blogs before settling on Old School Essentials for the game. For the adventure I chose Tomb of the Serpent Kings by Skerples. This meant I had to make some choices about monster stats and abilities but overall, I enjoyed running it. So much so, I ran it again with another group.
The first lesson of the whole experience is simple, run it again. If you have the chance to run the same adventure multiple times for different groups, I highly recommend it. It’s so entertaining seeing how groups differ in approaching problems. In the case of the OSE game, I was able to refine the experience a bit for the second group, knowing that some things didn’t work exactly how I wanted or I needed better descriptions for some elements. It was a testament to what playtesting can do for smoothing out an encounter, adventure, class – whatever. I later applied this refinement to my 5e playtest for The Dread of Dynwel.
The second lesson is let the dice fall. This is an essential mantra for some in the OSR community and it really does complement this play style well. It’s a dangerous world, any false step might mean doom, not just for the characters but the entire retinue of henchmen, hirelings, and torchbearers in tow. In an encounter with a basilisk the first party managed to blunder into the lair, as it is a large chamber and torch light casts only so far. Were they careless? A little. It made me happy, but only because of what it led to.
The first sign something was wrong was when man-at-arms Largrim was unable to move his leg, as the chained creature appeared at the edge of the torchlight. The players had a tough decision to make. They were being attacked and could run, but it meant leaving a man behind. Geoff the Fighter, Delf the Elf, and Persephone the cleric came forward to face the beast, and managed to hurt it before it took its toll.
With a loss of initiative in the following round, Geoff was down (and perhaps dead), Largrim was petrified, Persephone was petrified, and the torchbearer Mordra was rolling the best morale checks imaginable. Delf came forward, two-handed sword poised to lance his opponent, intent to let his strike be true. The basilisk bled, but its gaze would not waver. Even as Delf’s limbs grew rigid, he focused.
It comes down to initiative, rolled each round with the winning side acting first in each round. The initiative roll is a tie. This can be resolved in several ways, but the most interesting way for the situation at hand was simple. The tie means the actions occur simultaneously. And we let the dice fall where they may. For this situation each of the rolls is on Delf. He starts with his roll to hit the monster. Delf lanced out with the tip of the long blade piercing through the throat of the beast, a gurgle of blood pouring from the pierced scaled hide. The next roll is Delf’s save versus the basilisk’s petrification. The roll fails. Even as the bloodied blade came to a stop, Delf had turned to stone.
The last roll of the night focused back on Geoff the Fighter. His character made the death save and lived. Thanks to Mordra the torchbearer who managed to survive (well up to that point anyway), Geoff made it back to town, with all the gold from the adventure so far. Did I mention all the gold meant all the XP? Geoff leveled up, and with newly rolled companions came back to finish off the dungeon.
So, what lessons did this provide? Don’t be afraid to allow emergent play and action to occur at the table. When the players are given clues, such as ‘the strong scent of ozone permeates the air’ and then choose to walk boldly that direction, let them. You (and your players) might be shocked by the results. There is a myriad of other lessons, like the dynamism that can come from a group initiative system which allows for better teamwork and coordination among the team. Or how the procedures of play assist in creating the milieu of the dungeon crawl (and how lack of those procedures can cause a section of material to just the rails).
The biggest lesson The Dread of Dynwel was to run it again, and I took that advice several times. Some of the material changed entirely through that process while other aspects held up over several playthroughs. Not every adventure gets the refinement it needs or that the author of the content wants. I was glad to have the players and friends willing to play and test the material I’d gathered. So, let those math rocks fall where they may (as long as it is within the designated rolling area, not on the floor, not a cocked die…) and game on.