The Map is Not the Mystery

I think many RPG experiences would be improved if the GM simply showed the players the dungeon map. I realize this runs against the fairly well-established tradition of withholding the map and making players reconstruct it through exploration. As a player, I admit there’s a certain old-school satisfaction in drawing a map from verbal descriptions. But as a GM, I think I’d rather give the players the whole thing up front, or let them discover an actual map in the game early on. I’m less interested in having players reconstruct the dungeon’s layout than in giving them enough information to make dramatic decisions about where to go, what to investigate, and what to avoid.

I don't think this necessarily spoils anything. The map itself isn't the mystery; what's in the rooms, what the characters discover, and what they choose to do with that information are the mystery. Giving players the overall layout doesn't mean their characters know what's behind every door, where the traps are, or which rooms matter. It just gives the players a framework for understanding the place they're exploring.

I know the objection: discovering the dungeon is supposed to be part of the fun, and having the whole map in front of you can feel like giving away the answers. But I think there's an important distinction between discovering the shape of a dungeon and discovering what's in it. Knowing that there are twelve rooms down a particular corridor doesn't tell you which one contains the treasure, which one contains the monster, which one is trapped, or whether the seemingly insignificant room is actually the most important one in the dungeon. In fact, knowing the overall layout can make those decisions more interesting. It lets players think about where they want to go and why, rather than making them spend their attention reconstructing the GM's map through trial and error. 

If someone really enjoys the cartography game, that's perfectly legitimate; I just don't think it needs to be mandatory. I've also played for years in games where the GM simply describes each room verbally and nobody bothers to map anything, and that works perfectly well too. But I think something gets lost in that approach: part of the appeal of a dungeon is that it is a place--a strange, interconnected physical environment with a shape, a scale, and an internal logic (or illogic) of its own. If we're never going to see or use that spatial structure, we might as well be working from a numbered list of rooms: Room 1 contains a monster, Room 2 contains a pit, Room 3 contains treasure. The map doesn't have to be a puzzle for the players, but I think it should have some aesthetic value beyond being a diagram the GM keeps behind the screen. So let's see it! 

I'm perfectly happy for the map the players see to be approximate rather than exact, but I want them to understand, from the beginning, roughly how big the place is, about how many rooms there are, and how those spaces relate to one another. Ideally, of course, a dungeon map can be revealed gradually as the characters explore it, with unexplored areas genuinely concealed from the players. But if that's not how the adventure is designed, I'd rather show them the whole map than play the awkward middle ground of revealing one corridor at a time. I'd rather spend our game time encountering the dungeon's events--traps, monsters, treasures, inhabitants, secrets, and choices--than repeatedly asking, "Do you go left or right?" a dozen times while everyone tries to remember which direction they came from.

The Interface is Not the Game

I used to dislike virtual tabletops like Roll20 and similar sites because they often felt like they were turning RPGs into board games. Too much attention ended up on moving tokens around, clicking menus, or fiddling with interfaces instead of actually talking, imagining, and playing. I still think that’s a real danger. Digital tools can easily become a barrier between the players and the game itself.

I’ve softened on them over time, though, especially when the interface doesn't have a learning curve and stays out of the way. A good character sheet that’s easy to read and easy to use can speed things up considerably. Maps and images can also communicate things much faster than a long verbal explanation. Sometimes it’s simply easier to show where things are in relation to each other (even if your group doesn't use miniatures), or put an image on screen to establish some atmosphere, than to spend five minutes trying to describe it perfectly.

I also strongly prefer open rolling whenever possible. Part of the excitement of tabletop games comes from everybody seeing the dice hit the table together and reacting in real time. Online play can lose some of that feeling, because no one can see the dice of the other players. But platforms that show the dice rolls in a chat window preserve that tension. Even digitally, there’s something important about uncertainty being shared openly rather than hidden behind the screen.

At the same time, online play creates problems of its own. Running a virtual tabletop alongside a separate communication or recording platform like SquadCast means people are often juggling multiple windows at once. Character sheets can cover maps, maps can bury chat windows, and the whole setup can become awkward unless you have multiple monitors. I still don’t think there’s a perfect solution to this. The best approach I’ve found is simply restraint: keep maps simple, keep the desktop uncluttered, and avoid putting more on screen than the players actually need. If someone has a second (or third) monitor, that helps tremendously, but even then, simplicity matters.

At the end of the day, no interface really replaces human interaction. The actual game still lives in conversation, improvisation, and the chemistry between the people at the table. I don't want to end up managing software instead of running a game. Most of the time our group doesn't use a virtual tabletop; we play in SquadCast and the action happens in our theater of the imagination, as if we were playing in person without the use of miniatures. I think something like Roll20 needs to be a support, not as the centerpiece. I do not want to create a board game on a screen. That being said, it can be helpful to use it for things computers are good at--organization, visualization, quick accessibility--while leaving the important parts of roleplaying in human hands.

The Space Between the Rules

People often say they like crunchier RPG systems because of all the choices: classes, subclasses, feats, powers, cards, talent trees, and so on. And I get the appeal. There’s a real pleasure in building a character from a huge catalog of mechanical options and carefully assembling a build from pre-defined parts.

But over the years I've realized that those systems don’t necessarily feel more free to me. In fact, they can sometimes feel ironically limiting. Your meaningful choices are still the ones the designer already anticipated and wrote rules for. The game gives you a thousand possibilities, but they are still its possibilities.

That’s one reason I like games like Into the Odd or Knave. Their lack of exhaustive abilities and defined actions doesn’t feel like a lack of choice. It feels like open space. By not specifying every maneuver, specialty, or team role in advance, those games effectively imply that your options are not limited to what appears on your character sheet.

Of course, most GMs will let a player "try anything," even in a game where special abilities and maneuvers are spelled out. But why have rules for so many things, and then also have a de facto rule that says you can try anything? Why not save a step? Why the bloat, if, at the end of the day, you can try anything anyway? If you're going to hand-wave the rules away, are you sure you needed them in the first place? 

For example, in a lot of systems, if there’s an ability called “Shield Bash,” players can unconsciously get the idea that shield-bashing is a special exception requiring explicit permission. In a lighter system, the absence of a “Shield Bash” ability suggests the opposite: of course you can try to bash someone with a shield. Why wouldn’t you?

I think some players genuinely find this uncomfortable, though. A lot of modern RPG design trains people to look at the character sheet or list of character build options to discover what actions are available. If it isn’t listed, they may feel like they can’t do it. So when a rules-light game says “you can try anything,” some players experience that less as freedom and more as vagueness. A detailed system can be more comfortable, or promote confidence that one isn't doing something stupid, because the boundaries are clear.

And honestly, I think part of that comes down to trust. Rules-heavy systems push authority into the book. The more tightly things are spelled out by rules, the less players have to rely on the GM’s (or their own) judgment. Rules-light games require a different dynamic: trust that the referee will adjudicate fairly, consistently, and imaginatively without needing a specific rule handed down from on high for every possible action.

So to me, the divide isn’t really between “lots of choices” and “few choices.” It’s between a game that defines possibility and a game that leaves possibility open.

Run the Rules You Know

I think about games a lot, and I have quite a bit to say. I will share some of it here (if not here, where?) and you can take it with a grain of salt. Quick disclaimer: if I say something is good for me, or state a preference, it is not necessarily an attack or judgment on anyone who doesn't do it my way. If this isn't the way you do things, I'm not saying I won't enjoy your game. These musings are for my own benefit and reflect my own idiosyncrasies and abilities. If they serve as food for thought for anyone out there, great. If not, they at least help me organize my thoughts! 

With that out of the way, I'll get to it. No GM has asked for my guidance, but I'm offering it anyway. My best piece of advice is simple: choose a system you can completely wrap your head around without frequent need of the book. 

My approach to running a game is based on my limitations. I am often charmed by the clever mechanics of a new system; but I've learned that hard way that being interested in a game and being able to run it effectively are not the same thing. After 40+ years of gaming, I know what I'm good at and what I'm not. What I'm not good at is remembering rules of even moderate complexity. 

I choose systems that are simple enough to run smoothly without obliging me to check rules. If I do run a more complex system, I try to prepare my materials so thoroughly that they function that way in play (though I don't always succeed). Because momentum matters. Frequent pauses to search for rules or flip through books (or decipher my own handwritten notes!) break the game's immersion and bore players. When I'm doing things right, I organize what I need in advance so that information is always in front of me--but if I can't fit that material onto, say, three sheets of paper, then it's too much for me to handle. So when something unexpected arises, I make a quick ruling and move forward. The game’s flow takes priority over perfect accuracy in the moment. 

This preference obviously has to do with system choice itself. Over the years I have come to favor rulesets with a small number of widely applicable mechanics over large systems with many exceptions, subsystems, or procedures for special conditions. A simpler framework (such as Into the Odd, Knave, Black Hack, Troika! or MÖRK BORG) is not only easier to run, but easier to fully internalize. Since I cannot realistically hold a complex system in complete working memory during play, I would rather choose one I can genuinely know well than one I can only reference partially. Mastery of a simple system produces an objectively "better" experience than fragmented understanding of a complex one. In practice, this leads to smoother play, fewer interruptions, and decisions that are made quickly and (hopefully) fairly. 

Again, I don't condemn complex games or the people who like them. I envy people who can run them smoothly. I love to read them and geek out on them. Burning Wheel is a dear favorite. But I am not good at running it at the table. It's worth saying again: mastery of a simple system makes a better game than partial mastery of a complex one. 

But hey, that's just me. There's room for all of us at the table.