As they arrive in Stavanger, the party has a dilemma. They have entered Mimmarudla twice; the first time, they woke up the denizens within, a group of killer frogs, or froglings, that have spread out through the countryside and initiated a guerrilla war with the inhabitants, burning farms and killing inhabitants. While the party regrets this, they haven't actually told anyone their part in these events. While expressing a desire to right the wrong, and bravely choosing to enter Mimmarudla a second time, while the froglings were drawn away into a fight with the army, the party has chosen not to tell the authorities all they know. This has given them cause to be concerned.
Once they are brought into the town, the party is given the following information by an alderman of Stavanger:
I meant this to sound perfectly ordinary and innocent. But then, as it is often the way with these things, the party was led to an abandoned workshop, a place where the could be kept conveniently away from the audience of the town. They are told that there is a barrel of water, that benches have been added to the room for their comfort and that they have access to a water dipper and five "cheap" cups. Then they're left there for a long, long time, while they hear people outside, cheering.Sigurd Trevvaldson: "We would ask, if you could, to wait here on the dock for some bit of time. We have made some space at a workshop at the top of the pier ... if you would please consent to wait there, until we can have things organized ..."See, the Prince and Ordforer have just returned themselves ... and we understand there is to be some sort of ceremony and celebration. In which, we were hoping, humbly, that you seven would take a part. May I know all your names, and how you relate to one another, in order that when the presentation occurs, we are all well-informed?"
As DMs, there's a lot to be said about the simplest of situations, as they encourage players to ask "why?" ... just as you and I would, in similar situations. Why are we being kept here, and not someplace nicer? Why are the cups cheap? Why is it only water? What's going on? Why haven't we been given more information? And what does it mean, "take a part?" What part, exactly.
It was intended that the players should ask these questions ... for a simple reason. It might seem logical for the town to set the players up someplace comfortable and luxurious ... but given the way the players arrived in town (they were found only hours before, and brought at all speed only to arrive here now), and the fact that the battle against the froglings ended just the night before and the army has also just arrived back in town, there's been no time to make preparations. Sometimes, before they give you the Medal of Honor, it's under short notice and bureaucracies don't always do well with short notice. The players are in this warehouse because it's close to the hastily created stand where the war is being celebrated in front of a crowd. There are soldiers hastily bivouaked all over town. The players are being kept aside because the authorities know how to set up a show; keep the heroes hidden, then reveal them to a roaring crowd and everyone loves the spectacle.
No one has explained this to the party because they're too busy. Trevvaldson thinks he has explained it. He said they'd be part of the celebration, right? He doesn't know the party has no idea what exactly is being celebrated. That's how bureaucrats and politicians are.
The players, however, are thinking:
Engelhart: Uhm, guys, I don't like the sound of this... we should send someone to get a handle on what's what; I don't know, call it a gut feeling.
I expected that. I deliberately set up the austere surroundings and then let the players stew. And once Engelhart opened the subject, I had to make a decision.
Did I want the players to stew about it or not? They'd been through a lot. I could have let them sit in that room for awhile, chatting among themselves ... and probably would have, if we had been at a game table. Instead, I decided to open the door and have a guard chase away the potential moment while making a snub:
DM: The door opens, finally, and a guard in a very clean, very polished uniform beckons at you; not rudely, but certainly business-like.Guard (npc) [paced]: "They're ready for you. Time to get your rewards."
I could have gone the other way. Sometimes it's a lot of fun to let a party get started overthinking. As a DM, I can often predict it, seeing it in their faces or hearing it in their voices as they begin to ramp themselves up. And that can be great in game play if that's what we want. Overthinking can be a gamewasting process but it can also be a tremendous opportunity for role-play, particularly when you're holding the player-reward card and the player's don't know it.
See, I'm set to drop a bunch of nice magic items on the party on the part of the Town of Stavanger, who thinks only that the players are a bunch of heroes who bravely entered the dungeon (a fact that was discovered by others who followed them in, unknown to the party), who fought a huge monster, who survived to tell the tale and are, in part, made up of hometown boys. Stavanger doesn't know anything about what deeper part the party played and the town doesn't care. The town leaders are thinking, "These are brave fellows, with their hearts and minds in the right place: let's give them more stuff so they can accomplish more things!"
As a DM I am thinking, they beat the dog beast but because they had to run, they got no treasure. I want them to feel rewarded, I want them to go up levels, and this is a good way to give them what they didn't get in the dungeon.
But I am also thinking, what a great practical joke to scare them, then reward them! So the guard says his piece ominously (perhaps he's jealous he's not getting rewarded), and the party expands on their thoughts:
Engelhart: In fact, since we weren't actually under guard, I'm not thinking of trouble, rather I'll go on a limb and say that the big-wigs have probably just done stolen our glory. Nothing at all unexpected.Pandred: So be it. I take a moment to gather myself, and stride out in the forefront as confidently as my weary self is able. I AM a big damn hero!Lothar: We've still got our weapons, so they aren't planning on hanging us, and they wouldn't have bothered healing us. Forward into the sunshine to allow the bureaucrats to have us hold their banners. Sooner we're through with this pageantry, the sooner we can get back into the wilderness and seeking real treasure.
Love the bravery, the self-talk ... and even the acceptance behind the outward cynicism. I can hardly blame Engelhart. That is how a lot of DMs would play the scene, because there's a deeply held belief that the role of the DM is to keep the players down, to hold them back and not to act the part as enabler.
I don't see "enabling" as my responsibility as DM. But if the players risk it all, if they act bravely, if they make their retreat with grace, if they don't trash talk each other for failing to achieve their goals ... then they deserve to be enabled. They deserve a win.
I mean that in the same sense that we would describe our own good days. Real life isn't about "winning," though many do like to self-describe as winners and we know what sort of people those are. But life is about winning today, or getting this win for this effort ... and since there is no actual force of nature to recognize when the party deserves that win, it falls to the DM to do it. I don't want the players to win all the time ~ as evident in their nearly dying to a man, prior to their escape. But when they do win a battle, they ought to win at life, too. That seems fairly obvious.
Does it make the party stronger as fighters? Does it guarantee they will win the next fight? Of course not. But it is a real addition to the way they think about themselves, about the way they can expect to be treated as they move about my world. It is MY commitment to the party as DM: "Appear in front of NPCs and I'll have your back. I'll take care of you."
Which is what I did, when they went back to Mimmarudla a third time.
Next, I gave them money. In part because it gave them experience, but ALSO because it enabled them to lick their wounds, buy more equipment, ready themselves for the next fight and soldier on. Money is not just experience. It is a game mechanic that should be given carefully, thoughtfully and with full intention to enable the party to do more. It should never, ever, be a false promise. Money shouldn't be stolen from the party after it is given, under the argument that, "Well, they got the experience, and I don't want them to be too wealthy." That's a very shitty attitude, betraying a very shitty code of ethics, Mr. Gygax, sir. The right way is to give the party exactly what they deserve, and then as DM, eat the consequences. If we're not prepared to eat those consequences, then we shouldn't be giving out that coin.
Finally, I gave out four magic items, one to each hero. I put thought into them, with the following intentions: (1) not to give anything that would overpower the party; (2) to give items that would be specifically appreciated and treasured by the party; (3) to give unique and unusual items, not simply things from the rulebook; and (4) to give items with a history.
The party consisted of an assassin, a fighter, a ranger and a cleric. The assassin had clearly shown in previous fights a need for more fighting power, so I gave the assassin an axe. The fighter had consistently shown a tendency to be wounded and badly hurt, so I gave an iron bottle that would pour out a salve that would heal 1-4 hit points each day. The ranger had chosen "scouting" as his sage ability, and had consistently shown interest in leading the party back and forth through the forests around Stavanger, so I gave him the bloodhound figurine that had actually been used to track the party (remember I said they'd been followed?). And because the cleric had shown a tendency to be high minded, I provided a flag that would enable him, and the party, to raise a small force of fighters (15) on a moment's notice.
None of these things were particularly powerful. Each was unique to the player and unique in make.
The axe had been used by a fellow named Gabriel Oxenstierna. Gabriel's brother was Axel Oxenstierna, who in 1650 actually was the Lord High Chancellor of Sweden; and a confidant of Gustavus Adolphus; and a major mover and shaker in Swedish politics. And though I haven't said in this post until now, the Prince who hands these four items to the party is Charles Gustav, future king of Sweden. Think about that a moment. At the time of the player's adventure, this Prince of Sweden is on a hunting trip in and around Stavanger, when he gets involved in this fight (for fun) and ends up following this little party of 3rd levels until he feels the urge to give them some gifts. So when the assassin in the party turns up with Oxenstierna's axe in Sweden, with a heraldic sign of Rogaland prominently on his chest, how do YOU suppose he'll be treated?
What's more, I know how the axe was made, and who made it, and I can tell you there is a story there.
Just as there is a story behind the hound figurine given to the ranger. And the flag that was given to the cleric ... though some of that has already come forward, as giving the flag to Engelhart is ALSO giving a flag back to Norway that was lost during the 30 Years' War ... which makes the mere possession of the flag an act of heroism to the monarchy of Denmark and Norway, as well. Boo-yah!
Now, there's a story behind the bottle, too. And I would absolutely love to tell it, having created it at the time of giving the bottle to Pandred. Moreover, Pandred had to step down from the campaign due to time issues; she wanted to leave the bottle for the party, but I ruled against it. Even if Pandred the player is technically no longer in the campaign, Pandred the now NPC is still alive, and I don't accept that she would part with it just because she's not running now. She wouldn't have parted with it if she had stayed in the campaign, yes?
It would seem, then, that there's no harm in telling the story. The party hasn't got the bottle and so they can't chase it down to its origin. Pandred won't be doing it. And yet ...
As a DM, I just don't feel right ever giving out the truth behind any part of my world that isn't earned. In my youth, I used to pour out this sort of detail cheerfully. But as I get into my old age, I feel reluctant. Perhaps that's not the only bottle. Perhaps I'm waiting to pass another one to the party, at the right time, and reinvigorate the story. Perhaps Pandred will come back and play some more. In any case, the truth wasn't found through channels, so perhaps the truth will never be known. Perhaps it will die with me.
I'm fine with that.
The long and short of all this is the reaction of the party. The party was ... well, go read their words.
You know, people talk about how D&D is such a simple game, and how a world doesn't really need all that much depth and detail. People chatter about one-page dungeons and playing on the fly, and how this is the best way to play, etcetera. And I look at these items, and the history behind them, the world behind them, the depth of that world, the insane, crazy depth, not just in the wikipedia pages but in my own fundamental desire to invest myself into the complex strands that underlie what a Prince might be Stavanger, or what might be under an ordinary mound in west Rogaland, and how these things are drawn together and laid out ... and then at the staggered reaction of the players ...
And I think, a lot of people who talk about D&D are very, very deluded.
