Okay, so bad news, your party's passive perception sucks, and they have just been ambushed by giant frogs. Somehow your fighter managed to fail the strength check, and a frog has taken his weapon and dropped it down the pit of the winding stairwell they're currently descending. Good news, your wizard just blasted away frog number one.
But then she unsurprisingly failed her strength check and has now lost her staff to frog number two. Down the well it goes. Since she is the only ranged member in your party, you have effectively no way to hit the frogs as they are stuck to the ceiling.
But that's okay because the frogs are jumping down to attack you! Your ranger crits the attack roll and demolishes frog number two, but loses track of frog number three. Now the frog’s tongue is wrapped around your ranger’s axe as he tries to keep his weapon, the fighter helps him out.
With the advantage, they barely manage to make the strength contest a tie. Cut to the rogue. The rest of the party is effectively useless because your front line is stuck in a tug of war with the amphibian and the wizard can't cast any of her magic because she might hit them too and she only has AoEs.
It's time to use some of that rogue cunning. You made a nature check earlier concerning the poisonous tentacle vines that dangle from the ceiling and were informed by the Dungeon Master that they tend to nestle into the many traps of the dungeon. After a good perception check, you now see that there is an ingrown tentacle sprouting out of a hole in the wall next to the frog.
Unlike the tentacles currently drooping on to the frog, this one seems odd, like it's stuck on something. If you pull it out, it might activate the bolt trap and help you deal with the frog. Problem: The poisonous tentacle vines will paralyze you if you touch them.
How are you going to pull it out? Then it hits you. Despite the tentacles touching its skin, the frog is not paralyzed.
You quickly cut off the skin of one of the dead frogs. Use some twine to craft some nasty makeshift frog skin gloves and roam over to the tentacle stuck on the wall. You use your inspiration to give you an advantage on the strength check and manage to pull out the tentacle.
The trap springs and shoots out a crossbow bolt nailing the frog and ending the combat. Good stuff. This video is sponsored by World Anvil.
Now, what I have just described is what you could usually expect from a combat in Dungeons and Drgons or any other similar roleplaying game. Only it's from Dungeon Meshi or Delicious in Dungeon, a fantasy manga written by Ryoko Kui, which was adapted into an anime by Studio Trigger. Today I want to talk about why this anime encapsulates the best parts of roleplaying games like D&D and how this in turn allows it to elevate its storytelling.
when creating characters in D&D you start by choosing their stats, which will be the numbers representing their aptitudes. Like most things in D&D, this is done through rolling dice Okay, so let's roll some dice for these characters. Awesome!
Our wizard Marcille has very high intelligence! Eh, let's have wisdom be the lowest score. She's smart, right?
Surely that covers that. Oooh! High strength and constitution for the fighter Laios.
But that charisma score is abysmal. Meh, it should be fine. If you haven't watched the show, here's a bit of a spoiler: It's not fine.
In fact, these two characters consistently make things worse for everyone because of these low stats. Marcille’s lack of wisdom means that she is constantly out of her element, using magic at inopportune times or getting caught in the trickiest of situations. While Laois’ absolute lack of social skills and common sense mean that he is virtually incapable of making sensible decisions and has to be closely monitored by his party.
Likewise, the halfling Chilchuck is definitely a rogue and not a fighter, and the dwarf ranger Senshi is foolhardy to a fault. Their odd personalities force these characters to constantly have to bail each other out. But honestly, that's what you want.
Dungeons and Drgons is a game to be played with friends, and it is all the more fun because you and your friends are covering for each other's characters and their limitations. A part of the roleplaying is accepting that your character can't possibly succeed at all tasks, and recognizing that if they did, they would be less interesting as a result. We like to see situations get out of control due to characters because it makes them feel more real.
Teamwork makes the dream work, and a party’s shortcomings are complemented by a party's strengths. Senshi has the dungeon wisdom to complement Marcille’s overreliance on magic. And Chilchuck has the presence of mind to temper Laios’.
. . Laiosness.
Likewise, some of Marcille’s spells are practical enough to overcome Senshi’s stubbornness. And Laios being a monster geek means that he often knows things no one else does. So.
. . It's okay.
Our party is flawed, but they are still very skilled and they work well as a team. They should be able to progress through the dungeon together if they have each other's backs. But talk is cheap.
Let's put that theory to the test. <i>Oh no! Our heroes are beset</i> <i>by goblins!
</i> <i>Find out in the next episode</i> <i>if they make it out alive. </i> They do. They make it out.
The goblins didn't stand a chance. There's a reason why this is the case. Try to think of the last time that you watched a TV show or a movie or read a book or a manga where a main character dies to small fry enemies.
It just doesn't happen often. Which, you know, makes sense. If our heroes fail and die at the first sign of trouble, then the story ends before it can even start.
You know that the boulder is not going to crush Indiana Jones, just as you knew that the many traps before it would not kill him. The reason it doesn't happen is that these encounters are not designed to have those kinds of stakes. And that's fine, even if we know that only some obstacles are truly deadly from a narrative standpoint.
What makes challenges fun is not only how deadly they are, but how characters overcome them. Authors, game designers and showrunners have a tacit understanding with the audience that “<i>in this next part,</i> <i>no one is really supposed to die</i>”. This is where roleplaying games are a bit different and I will explain why later, so just hang on to that for a little bit.
Adventure is about finding out ways to arrive at that final situation where the characters will truly be tested and making the journey there as fun and thrilling as it can be. Still, for us to be engaged in the story, there must be stakes, and the success of our heroes must also feel earned. In other words, if I lay out endless traps and hordes of evil minions, but my heroes dispatch them all without worries, the story will be less interesting.
So how do you deal with this problem? Well, I think Dungeons and Drgons can give us some answers. Now you can play D&D the old-fashioned way with pen and paper, but you can also use a dedicated website like this video’s sponsor, World Anvil, which makes everything way easier.
For instance, I love worldbuilding, which is probably why I always end up being the Dungeon Master. But being DM is a lot of work and I am a disaster when it comes to keeping tidy notes regarding my world or the campaign. That's where World Anvil is extremely helpful.
Instead of having information on my world's lore scattered across dozens of word documents with different titles that I don't remember exactly what this one does, that one does. I can have all of the information that I need in a customized page where I can manage and prioritize the aspects of worldbuilding that I most enjoy. World Anvil can also be used by players when creating characters, and it has a bunch of new functionalities that I didn't even know it had back when I first heard of it, which made creating a new character or importing an existing one all the easier.
Go check out World Anvil! They do have free accounts if you want to just try one out. But if you use our affiliate link at BEGHAST, you can get a nice discount on one of the paid tiers and try out a lot more stuff in the website.
A big thank you to World Anvil for sponsoring this video. When designing a combat in D&D, a DM has to consider several things. How deadly should this combat be?
What are the consequences of failure? Is it worth it for the party to risk it for the biscuit? A final boss combat will not be designed with the same mindset as a little roadside scuffle.
This is because they serve different purposes. When a DM makes a room full of deadly traps, the party is not supposed to just run in. You let the rogue take care of it.
This is not only an opportunity to give these players a challenge, but also to let them roleplay. In overcoming or failing to overcome these challenges, the characters become more complex, and this is where roleplaying matters most. Because, you see, maybe no one cares about having vegetables tonight, but the ranger planted some produce on the back of some golems a couple of weeks ago, and he's already running to the room, so I guess we're having vegetables tonight.
Likewise, Chilchuck's Midnight Mimic Escapade is a perfect example of how to use an action sequence for characterization and is one of many such situations in the show where the threats encountered serve the purpose of further developing the characters. Each character's backstory and personality will dictate the choices that are made by the party and in turn lead to the kind of interesting scenarios that put their strengths and weaknesses on display. But this can only happen if the characters are tested, and in D&D, there is another essential thing that determines the success of even the smallest test.
Something that makes each campaign different and unpredictable. Because in D&D there is no such thing as “<i>in this next part</i> <i>no one is supposed to die</i>”. And that's because the only true god in D&D is.
. . Remember when I was making fun of goblins earlier?
Well, it turns out that goblins are quite deadly when it comes to D&D. Not because they are particularly capable, nor because the characters that they ambush are incompetent. Any D&D player worth their salt has had a combat that should have been a walk in the park turn horribly wrong because the fighter missed all three attacks and is now surrounded by wolves that give each other advantage on the attack, and one of them just landed a crit.
Ideally, at all times, the challenges a party faces should be proportional to the stakes at hand as well as the rewards expected. However, D&D is a dice game, which means that there is an element of chance to every challenge, and often that luck can quickly turn against a party in order to alter situations in very interesting ways. Bad luck means an arrow shot at the wolf may instead find the back of the fighter's head.
A fireball that killed several foes may ignite the building where the party is fighting. And that intimidation check, you really needed to work on the bandits might just happen to have the opposite result when you fail it. This, of course, compounds with the weaknesses of the party and puts them in situations where things are clearly getting out of hand.
Bad luck can be mitigated through careful planning and in trusting everyone with the things that they are best at. But in D&D, the best strategy is the one that understands that things will probably not go according to plan. When push comes to shove, you always have to improvise.
In a way, this is the beauty of a dice rolling game because the moment the plan has gone sideways and the party is on the verge of wiping, often happens to be when someone does something crazy. And when you improvise, sometimes Lady Luck is more than happy to throw you a bone. Critical strikes are purely luck based.
Often they will be wasted on an inconsequential enemy. The reason why they are a rule in D&D is not for that. Crits exist to represent those rare magnificent moments where when the time to perform beyond one's measure is at hand, a character risks it all to try and bring home the glory.
And they do just that. Or you could just got a crit fail and die. There is one key thing about Dungeon Meshi’s lore that you need to know.
Dying is not final. The magic of this particular dungeon makes it so that dead bodies hold on to souls allowing for resurrection. This means that the members of the main cast have, at one point or another, probably died and been brought back.
You know who else makes a habit of dying during the adventure? D&D characters. All the time.
In fact, it is very unlikely that players will go through an entire campaign without a single character dying. In D&D, death is not a narrative problem, but rather an opportunity for storytelling. And losing a character can become a very strong motivator.
Laios’ party exemplifies this. The whole reason for them to be risking their lives is that one of their party members was eaten by a dragon and they are delving the dungeon in order to resurrect her, which is itself another opportunity for storytelling. If you have someone with spells that can resurrect the dead, this not only becomes a chance for them to use them, but for other characters to react to such magic being used in the first place, which could be an interesting source of conflict.
And if you don't have access to such magic, then finding a way to resurrect your dead comrade could become the next objective of the party. Of course, you could also just let the character stay dead. While it may hurt to lose them, this also makes it possible for a new face to join the party.
All of this being said, if individual deaths are manageable for D&D players, the death of the party, on the other hand, is quite the issue. Because if you're halfway into a dungeon and everybody just kind of dies, the story is effectively over. The same is true for Dungeon Meshi.
If a party wipe happens on the upper levels, it's usually not a big deal. Their bodies can be recovered, brought back to the surface and resurrected for a fee. But the deeper into the dungeon you go, the harder it is to recover bodies.
Whether characters are willing to take this risk or not depends as much on their personality and individual beliefs as it does on party dynamics and logistics. In a similar manner, any choice that detracts from the main goal that the party is pursuing further develops the plot through conflict between the characters, and this often becomes the perfect way to introduce future plot elements. While the confrontation with the dragon might seem like the ultimate goal of Laios’ party throughout their journey, what are seemingly distractions at first are later revealed to be hints given to the audience, pointing to the fact that the narrative will not simply end with the defeat of the monster.
There is a deeper, more complex story at play waiting to be unveiled by the party. But first things first. There's a dragon to kill.
So you lost your healer and have been teleported out of the dungeon without your backpacks and most of your gear. You're broke and your party member is running out of time in the stomach of the dragon. Okay, you're in a rush to save your friend.
So let's keep it simple. As long as you have food and manage to get some rest, you can continue through the dungeon without a accruing levels of exhaustion, and hopefully save her before she gets digested. Sleep is free, so the only thing you need to figure out is how to deal with the food situation.
Now, D&D players can deny this all they want, but the first thought that crosses their minds whenever they kill a beast during a campaign is “<i>how do we cook this</i>” or “<i>can we safely eat this</i>”? This is not because of a love of dungeon cooking, but because it's more efficient to do so. You only get to carry so many rations, and if you appreciate roleplaying, you're probably not abusing lame spells like Good Berry to generate infinite food.
That means that D&D players usually take advantage of any source of sustenance they encounter on the way. Arguably, Dungeon Meshi pushes this further than any media before it ever has. It's an.
. . <i>Interesting</i> choice from a storytelling perspective, but I think that it's brilliant for three reasons.
Firstly, it's hilarious the fact that these maniacs are actually cooking the monsters they defeat is funny in itself, and this is only heightened by the resistance that half the party has for dungeon cooking, being in stark contrast to the excitement of the other half. Not to mention that Ryoko Kui’s monster recipes being riffs on existing dishes is a clever trick that adds levity to the story. Secondly, it's an excuse for developing the lore of each monster.
There is clearly a deep love and comprehension of what makes fighting monsters so fun in exploring the unique properties of each creature, even if it's merely as an ingredient. I think that if we compiled each recipe into a cookbook, we would end up with a strange but earnest love letter to Monster Bestiaries. Thirdly, and most importantly, it distracts the audience from the increasingly complex and dramatic narrative and provides our characters with some respite when things are looking bleak.
In the same way that rests help restore tired D&D adventurers. Which seems a bit counterintuitive. After all, why would a fantasy show about four morons cooking dungeon monsters to save money ever bother to have dramatic stakes?
Dungeons and Drgons is a bit deceptive. On the surface, it may seem like a casual game where players are just meant to have fun and roleplay silly characters. But the more you play it, the harder it gets to not become invested, to not want to take it seriously.
As you watch your characters struggle and grow through the many challenges they encounter as you find yourself learning more and more about the world that surrounds them as you pull them away from the jaws of death, time and time again, you cannot help but remember that this is not just a game. It's a story that you all are telling together. Author Ryoko Kui understands this perfectly.
It should be clear by now that she used D&D as a source of inspiration for her work. But what is impressive is that beyond the merely aesthetic choices of her fantasy setting, she has steeped her story into the best aspects of fantasy roleplaying games. By designing the combats, puzzles and other situations of her story to emulate these games, she harnessed her adventure to serve the narrative and made her world, and especially her characters, all the more interesting for it.
She has cooked up something truly special and I, for one, cannot wait to have seconds.
