Death by a thousand bludeons to the head - My First Campaign
In light of recent discussions on the TGA discord, I feel that it is necessary to recount the my version of the near-universal trainwreck campaign. The spring of 2019 was when I first got into D&D, a combination of my sister telling me about it, Stranger Things, and Matt Colville videos. I got the starter set and gathered a group of friends to play through The Lost Mines of Phandelver.
After running the Delian Tomb, we ran through Phandelver in what I can only describe as perfectly average D&D. I only averaged about two player per session out of five players total, which was the first waring sign that this campaign was destined for doom. After five or six sessions, the players defeated the bbeg and saved Phandelver, or whatever the plot of that module is. A successful campaign, wrapped in a neat bow. But like Icarus I wished to soar even higher, to create a truly great campaign that would be remembered fondly by all.
This is when I commited the cardinal sin of game mastering. I did not talk to my players. I did not ask if they wanted to keep playing. I simply picked a new module and continued on. I went down to one player most of the time. I spun my wheels in what I can only describe as painfully boring D&D. At this point, neither me or my one dedicated player were having fun. Surely if I flew even closer to the sun, things would start to be fun again?
The months dragged on and at this point I knew that nobody was having fun, including myself. In despiration, I began experimenting to shake things up. Homebrew adventures, gridded combat, props, lots of roleplaying, lots of combat, a pointcrawl adventure, a funhouse dungeon, an adveture tied to backstories, speeding up combat, slowing down combat, I tried just about anything to salvage the campaign. Most of the sessions were completely dull, with everyone at the table too polite to say anything. However, a few sessions shone through, like diamonds in the rough. I improved my craft through trial and error, but I still wasn't having fun most of the time.
Before I knew it, it was 2020. As the world began to lockdown, I silently thanked the gods for this perfect excuse to end the campaign. I ended up joined a new campaign a few month later, this time as a player. This one fizzled as well, but now that I was in the passenger seat I was able to see the mistakes as they were being made. I kept running. I kept playing. I finally had that memorable campaign.
The moral of this story is simple: Talk to your players. Talk to your GM. Please. It will save you so much trouble in the long run and make the game more fun for everyone. But a secondary moral rises too. So many of us have had bad experiences in our first campaigns, and yet we come back for more. Is something fundametally broken in our brains? Maybe. But there is something special about TTRPGs, something that we will wade through sessions of broken glass just to get. While I hate to admit it, I love my trainwreck campaign. The games I run now would be worse off without it.
Rewrite/Edit
In light of the recent discussions on the TGA discord, I feel that it would be fun to recount my version of the near-universal tranwreck campaign. The spring of 2019 was when I first got into D&D; from a combination of word of mouth, Stranger Things, and Matt Colville videos. After purchasing the starter set, I gathered a group of friends to play through The Lost Mines of Phandelver.
After starting off with the Delian Tomb, we ran through Phandelver in what I can only describe as perfectly average D&D. There really isn't much more to say about it because I can't remember any spefic events that happened during the adventure. After five or six sessions the players defeated the bbeg and saved Phandelver. A successful campaign, wrapped in a neat bow. But I had caught the TTRPG bug, and I was going to let my fever burn through for as long as it would last.
This was when I commited the cardinal sin of game mastering. I did not talk to my players. I did not ask if they wanted to keep playing. I simply picked a new module and continued on. During these summer months, I was often down to only one or two players. I spun my wheels in what I can only describe as painfully boring D&D. I was trying to recapture the magic of the first adventure, but my fever blinded me from all the issues my game was facing.
The months dragged on, and my fever wore off. I knew that nobody was having fun, including myself. The momentum of a weekly game kept me going, and in despiration I began trying anything to bring the life back into my game. Homebrew adventures, gridded combat, props, lots of roleplaying, lots of combat, speeding up combat, slowing down combat, adventures tied to backstory, an epic plot, a pointcrawl, a funhouse dungeon, an open world, I tried just about anything I could think of to salvage the campaign. Most of the sessions were completely dull, with everyone at the table too polite to say anything. A few sessions were successful, but these were random chance at best. I never bothered to think about why some sessions were better than others, at least not deeply enough to make concrete improvements. The sessions continued, status quo unaffected.
Before I knew it, it was 2020. As the world began to lockdown, I silently ceelebrated the perfect excuse to end the campaign. I joined a new campaign a few months later, this time as a player. Something about the shift in role finally made game mastering click for me. I thought about how this GM was running his game and by extension how I would run it differently. My fever was replaced with a calm, dedicated appreciation for the fact. I kept running. I kept playing. I finally had a successful campaign.
The moral of this story is simple. Talk to your players. Talk to your GM. Talk to yourself. Please. It will save you so much trouble in the long run and make the game more fun for everyone. But a secondary moral rises too. So many of us had bad experiences in our first campaigns, and yet we come back for more. Is something fundamentally broken in our brains? Maybe. But there is something special about TTRPGs, something that we will torture ourselves just to get. While I hate to admit it, I love my trainwreck campaign. It set me down the path I am on now, and the games I run would be worse off without it.