It’s Dino Racing Time! Where I commit a cardinal DM sin and permanently lose a player as a result.

When last we left our heroes, they have, at long last, made in to Port Nyanzaru, but their problems did not end there. They were critically low on funds, the coin they did have was worth nothing in this land. They found their contact man, but he was in just as bad of shape. And he wasn’t a man. It was a kobold named Meepo. The warehouse he had obtained was in the dodgy part of town and it was falling apart, but at least it put a roof over their heads. Okay, half a roof.

It wasn’t all bad news. They had managed to obtain an ally in town in the form of a street urchin named Bucketboy. He seems to know everything about the city and has offered to be their guide in this jungle metropolis. They signed up for some competitions that will occur next week, during a festival called the Trickster Trials, a holiday celebrating some local minor gods. Hopefully, they can earn a little prize money in the tournament. Lastly, Martic showed off his dinosaur wrangling skills and got him a job as a jockey in the next dinosaur race which is happening today!

Finally, after weeks apart, we are all in the same room together. So, what’s the first thing we do? Split the party. These guys love to split the party, and I don’t get it. Sometimes splitting the party is great. Maybe half the group is lost or captured. Maybe you’re doing a heist where everybody has a different role that has to occur at the same time. Or maybe everyone is doing a private downtime activity that they get to describe to the other players later. But here it is unnecessary.

The two objectives my players want to do here are not mutually exclusive. One group wants to begin buying up the needed equipment for our jungle expeditions. The others want to check out the dinosaurs prior to the big race. Okay, but you can all do both. There is no time crunch and I can’t physically roleplay them at the same time anyway. So, you can just do one after the other. Nope. Okay. We’re splitting the party.

Roland, Thames, Miche, and Scáth head of to the Marketplace to find out what equipment they need to mount an expedition. The book makes a big deal about all the various Merchant Princes and how they control different sectors of goods and services. One’s in charge of weapons and traveling gear, another runs the pack animal market, a third handles all the guides, a fourth is in charge of armor, and so on. This is great in theory and provides an interesting opportunity to disrupt the political status quo if your players are so inclined, as mine are.

But the practical application of running separate shopkeeper encounters; one to buy food, one to buy carts, to buy insect repellent, to buy rain catchers, and on and on, is a tedious nightmare. Not to mention all the nameless, faceless, boring NPCs I’d have to create for every type of merchant. This ignores the seven well-written and distinct Merchant Princes that the players won’t even meet yet, because the Princes don’t deal directly with the rabble. I kept the concept of the seven different areas of commerce, but also created a one-stop-shop to supply the expeditions.

In Port Nyanzaru, there are several markets, but none as opulent as the Grand Souk. The book does a pretty poor job providing box text for most Port locations, but the description of this market is quite good. I would just add that each of the different market stalls displays one or more “License Medallions” to represent which Merchant Prince the vendor is allowed to sell for. For instance, a blacksmith might display a red shield and a yellow gem medallion to show that he is authorized to sell weapons and armor. The manufacture of these medallions is a closely guarded secret, but should the player uncover it, more shenanigans could occur. Furthermore, when the players eventually meet the different Princes, they wear the same colors matching their medallion. This makes them more recognizable and yet somehow more mysterious at the same time.

One medallion is elevated above the others. A white star medallion means that the vendor is authorized to represent all seven Princes. Such is the marking of this very peculiar stall that the players are standing in front of. All the other stalls are stuffed to the gills with products, housewares, foodstuff, arms, armor, and other items for sale. This particular stall is empty except for a large desk behind which sits a man in resplendent robes fanning himself with a palm frond. Above the desk is a large banner that reads: “Expeditions R’us”.

Miche commented on the title, “Expeditions Are Us, that’s a catchy slogan.”

The proprietor replied, “What are you talking about? Expeditions are us? That’s not even proper Common. It’s Expeditions R’us. (He pronounced the word as “Roose”.) R’us is my name and expeditions are my game. What can I do for you?” After this needlessly awkward introduction, in the service of a bad pun, we got down to the business of planning a jungle expedition. R’us pulled out a pad of paper and an abacus and went straight into his rapid-fire sales pitch.

“Okay, you mentioned a river expedition, so you’re gonna need canoes, four canoes, oars and extra oars. There are six of you…” R’us starts clicking beads on his abacus. “You’re gonna need to hire 10 porters, plus your guide…” (Click, click, click), “They won’t work for less than a 30-day journey, that’s 17 months of rations, plus a few extras.”  (Click, click). “Let’s see, 5 rain catchers, 10 tents, baskets, barrels, waterskins, 300 feet of rope, a dozen 10-foot poles, couple of machetes, pots, tinderboxes, lanterns… Ooh, and shovels ‘cause you will get stuck in the mud.” (Click, click, click, click, click). “Let’s see, a grappling hook, mirror, and I almost forgot, insect repellent, both ointment and campfire bricks for 30 days.” (click, click). “Tej, gonna need tej, gotta keep those porters happy. One barrel should do. And you said you wanted to do some hunting; so, traps, nets, plus half dozen cages of different sizes. Throw in sacks, torches, stakes…” (Click, click, click, click). “That brings your grand total for a 30-day jungle cruise to… one thousand and forty-three gold. Do you have 1,043 gold on you?”

Needless to say, my players suffered from some major sticker shock. They didn’t expect the up-front costs to be so high. They balked at all the excess equipment and what they considered to be unnecessary items. R’us explained, “I’ve planned hundreds of excursions. I’m guessing this is your first. Stuff breaks and gets lost all the time in the jungle. The expeditions that bring extras, come back. Those that don’t, don’t. You’ve heard the phrase, up the creek without a paddle? Yeah, that really happens. But if you want to risk fate, fine. The economy tour. Take out a canoe, if you don’t mind doing some manual labor, you can lose four porters, the 30-day guide is non-negotiable, less food and supplies, equipment to a bare minimum. Cancel the hunting. Okay, this insane, cross your fingers, and pray nothing goes wrong, (Hah!) excursion will cost you 600 gold.” They still didn’t have enough. On purpose, I might add.

With promises of “We’ll be back”, the group wanted to go off and interview potential guides. Since I wanted all my players to participate in that encounter, I gave them a not-so-random encounter instead. Actually, I combined two.

As the group walked past a stall that was more of an impromptu tavern, a stout, stocky man wearing blooming pantaloons and a white, puffy-sleeved shirt comes crashing backwards out of the doorway and into Miche. Several books spill out of a saddlebag carried by the portly man. He is followed by a giant of a man who has his hands cocked in massive fists and appears to be covered in fermented honey. “I want my gold, old man!”

Miche stepped in to diffuse the situation. “What seems to be the problem here?”

“The problem is this con man owes me money! If he can’t pay, I’m gonna beat it out of him.”

“Nobody’s beating anyone. Do you owe this man money?”

“I’ve never seen this ruffian before in my life. ‘hic’”

“He lies! We made a fair bet and he lost. Now pay up!”

“Is this true?”

“I do not associate with hooligans, let alone make wagers with them.”

“What was the bet?”

“He bet that he could drink more tej than me. Then he tried to pay me off with one of his stupid books.”

“I might have made that bet,” conceded Saddlebags.

Miche looked at the presumed victim with an incredulous look. “C’mon, seriously?” Then turning to the tall, angry one, “How much does he owe you?”

“Five gold.”

“That’s it? You don’t have five gold?”

“Regrettably, I am bereft of funds at this current juncture. But I assure you, these books are worth ten times that amount. A more than fair exchange.”

Miche takes out five gold and presses it into the thug’s hands. He also takes out one of his carving knives and presses into the brute’s side. “This is the end of it, correct? No more misunderstandings?”

Miche passes his intimidation check handily. “No, no, sir. We understand each other perfectly. Th-thank you.” The thug takes the gold and quickly exits.

“Well, it appears that I find myself in your debt. We haven’t been properly introduced. I am Volothamp Geddarm. But my friends all call me Volo.”

Volo is one of the most recognizable names in the Forgotten Realms, right up there with Elminster, Xanathar, and Drizzt. He has been a featured NPC in several published adventures (including this one) and “authored” several real-world and in-game books, such as Volo’s Guide to Monsters. (Which is the title of the books that spilt out of his saddlebags.)

Miche’s backstory includes a jealousy and animosity toward Volo although they had never met, so of course, he will become a recurring thorn in the player’s side. I was going to have Volo be on the boat ride to Chult, but thought it better that he just “pop” in, cause problems for the players to solve, then go away, until the next time he could show up in another ludicrous location with another ridiculous situation. But for now, following our introductions, unkept promises are made to “meet up” later with their new friend. Volo heads off to ply his books at a different pub and the group goes off in search of spices.

Meanwhile on the other side of town, Gwen and Martic have tracked down the dinosaur pens in Tiryki Anchorage. Martic to bond with his cretaceous mount in the upcoming dino race, and Gwen to check out the competition. There wasn’t much to be had with the encounter and I really just wanted to get straight on to the actual race. They met with Gimble Hipporun, the gnome owner of the dino Martic will be riding, saw the other dinosaurs running in the upcoming race, and even got some inside intel on the mounts and jockeys. For instance, the jockey riding Jungle Princess is a terrified rookie. Now before we get to the big race, let me reveal one thing:

I hate having any of these dinosaurs in Port Nyanzaru. They should not be here in town. Having them in town ruins their mystique. Dinosaurs should be the epitome of the unknown; dangerous, known only in rumor, revered, and most importantly feared. You want the first dinosaur encounter to be something monumental: You hear a low rumbling coming toward you, the ground quaking, birds fleeing, the sound of trees cracking as something very large approaches. Suddenly, the canopy crashes around you and an enormous beast, unlike anything you’ve seen before, stands before you, ready to charge. It opens its gaping maw, filled with razor-sharp teeth and bellows forth a mighty roar that splits your eardrums. Roll initiative.

That’s how you introduce a dinosaur. But having one show up as a pack mule for some boats, even one that runs amuck (as we had last session), is so anti-climactic. Even worse, is this dinosaur race. Presenting these deadly carnivores as domesticated beasts, bred for entertainment, completely undermines their danger and nullifies them as a threat. They’re basically pets. And pets are boring.

I wish that I had not introduced them at this point in the campaign at all. But honestly, I can’t think of a better suitable creature to replace the dino in the harbor encounter last session. Elephants are the obvious choice, but canonically elephants do not exist in Chult. (another storyline I intended to explore). Perhaps a mechanical creation from nearby Lantan or a friendly hill giant would suffice. But I am not a fan of either option. As for the dino race, I wish that I had replaced it with a different set of wild animals. Similar to greyhound racing, you could have a Big Cats race. Lions, tigers, cheetahs and such chasing after something that has had haste cast upon it or some other effect. Not as memorable as a dino race, but it preserves the dinosaurs’ mystery.

If you must have a dino race, I would hold it in the pirate encampment, on the southern shore of Chult. This would be discovered after a few forays into the jungle and some proper encounters with these terrifying dinosaurs. At this point, seeing a few dinos in captivity would not be so out of place. Maybe the pirates wrangled a few sickly or emaciated dinos and forced them to run laps on a track for the rowdy pirates’ amusement. Maybe the players could sneak into the camp to enjoy the festivities themselves. Maybe the players could find a way to release said dinos and wreak havoc on the camp. Just some ideas.

But having a dino race through town with the players playing the jockeys is so fricking cool! I was caught up in this awesome premise as well. I was determined to have a dino race and make it even more exciting and more epic than presented in the book. So, here is everything I did and I regret all of it.

First off, the rules presented for dino racing are very abstract and if you actually attempt to “play out” the race, it is hard to keep track of who is winning and it’s rather boring. The book says there are three races: a two-legged and a four-legged race where all the dinos are muzzled and combat is minimized, and then an “unchained” race where the muzzles are off and anything goes. But the book only presents one table of betting odds mixing all the dinos together. And some of the dinosaur breeds listed don’t even have any statistics if you actually run a race. Yes, there is a line marked “other” on the stats table, but that’s lazy.

I created a Betting Sheet handout to give to my players. It’s a race card with the name of each dinosaur in each particular race along with the odds of that dino to win. I divided the race card into the three separate races. I expected that my players would also like to participate in the races, so I made sure that each race had at least 6 dinosaurs running. I had to create a few new dinosaurs to fill out the card for each race.

In the chart below, I listed every dinosaur I had running in the various races. I’ve listed the two-legged dinosaur first above the center line and the four-legged dinos below it. The dinosaurs listed in italics are the ones I added to account for my extra players. The two dinos with the double asterisk (**) after their name I intend to use during the unchained race only. Those with a single asterisk (*) in the DC column, run the risk of being knocked out of the race if the player fails their Animal Handling check by too much. I completely forgot about this rule during the session and it cost me dearly. Lastly, I did some research to find the height and length of each dinosaur as a juvenile in case anyone asked. No one asked.

As for the race itself, I am not a fan of the abstract way it is presented in the book. It is a mindless repetition of rolling Animal Handling checks, tallying up speed scores and the first to 300 wins. Boring! I can’t eliminate the volume of checks made but I can at least vary the purpose of the checks, Plus, I wanted a visual representation of the race so that players could see where they stood on the track and I wanted to add some obstacles, hazards, and even some shortcuts into the race. So, I created a board game. But first I need a track.

The book mentions only that the races occur throughout the streets of the city. Where exactly is unclear and frankly, this is a horrible concept of a race. Do you know why chariot races occur within a single space, like the coliseum of Rome? It’s so that the audience can actually see the race. A race through an entire medieval town makes no sense, unless everyone is standing at the finish line. But then no one gets to see what happens during the race. Imagine standing on a random street in the middle of Port Nyanzaru when suddenly a pack of dinosaurs goes running past you, each with a rider on their backs. “Hunh, that was weird. Wonder where they’re going. Well, they’re gone now.  Wanna get a bite to eat?” But I digress.

I decided that my race would run around the perimeter of the Market Ward, starting and ending at the Red Bazaar in the center of that Ward. The streets here are wide enough, and the Merchant Princes certainly wouldn’t allow dinosaurs to run amuck in the expensive Merchant’s Ward where they live. This is lowbrow entertainment for the common folk; let any damage that may occur, happen in their part of town. Using this route, I drew a race track on my hex grid battle mat. I included some possible shortcuts and choke points to make things interesting.

On the map, there are two narrow paths drawn in red. These are narrow alleys, with a shorter pathway, that players can use to catch up if they are falling behind. Since the whole race is determined by Animal Handling checks, to enter a shortcut, the player must pass an additional skill check. If they pass, the dino can continue through the alley using its current movement rate. If they fail, the turn ends here. Any remaining movement this turn is lost. There are also three narrow chokepoints on the main path indicated by the spaces marked with three parallel lines. If two dinosaurs enter this space at the same time, both players make a contested Animal Handling check. The winner gets through the narrow gap first and is placed one space ahead of the losing player.

I kept most of the regular “rules” intact with some minor tweaks. Each round, the players roll an Animal Handling check and compare it to the DC of the dino they are riding. For simplicity, each player uses their own character’s skill bonus for these rolls. If they pass, the dino moves the number of squares equal to the dino’s move speed divided by 10. Thus, a triceratops, after passing a DC14 skill check, would travel four squares. If the player fails the check, the dino does not move any squares that turn. See the complication table below.

I switched the rule for dashing. Now, if the player wants to push the dinosaur faster, they roll the skill check with DISadvantage. If they pass, they can move at the faster speed. (Divided by 10, of course.) So, our same triceratops could now dash for five squares this turn. If they fail, the movement is zero. If they fail this roll by more than 5, then the dino is out of the race, exhausted. Or worse, as we’ll soon see.

To make things more interesting, I made a chart of complications that would give a distraction event that occurs when a player fails an Animal Handling check. From crashing into things, tripping over obstacles, or dodging things that run into the street, this chart gives a plausible reason to explain a dino’s lack of progress as you narrate the race to the players. After explaining this new mini game to the players, I gave them the caveat that I had literally just invented these rules this afternoon. They might not work; these guys were my playtest group, and I might need to alter things as we play.

The only thing left was to assign each player a dinosaur. I made cards for each dinosaur that has printed on them the name of the dino, the Animal Handing DC score, and the two speeds it can run at: normal and fast. I laid the cards out face down and each player picked a random dinosaur. Except James, he’d already met his assigned mount. He is the jockey for Numbskull the pachycephalosaur. Ian is riding Swifty, the favorite in the race. Wes is on Banana Candy and Theo is the terrified jockey for Jungle Princess. Aidan is riding Scarback and Jane is the jockey for Bone Cruncher, the T-Rex and the allosaurus respectively.

I raided my sons’ old toy chests looking for small dinosaurs to use as game pieces. Incredibly, I found almost all I needed and painted them different colors to make them look like proper meeples. You don’t need to obsess over dino minis like I did, any colored tokens will suffice. I wrote all the dinos, their name, rider and color in my notes for my role as the race track announcer.

Except for James’s character, Martic, who was actually running in the race, the other players were playing various NPC jockeys but their characters were spectators during the race. First, as a group, they wagered 20 gold on Martic’s dino to win. Then Wes told me that Thames would do everything he could to cheat to help Martic win. I really like Thames’s “By any means necessary” attitude. I told him that getting caught cheating would be bad, so Thames used his homunculus griffon as his patsy for any illegal shenanigans. The rules do allow this, and I ignored the distance limitations for this instance. Enough talk, let’s race!

I played my announcer NPC to the hilt and spoke in that same breathless, rapid patter, “My fellow Chultans! The last dino has moved into the starting gate… And they’re off! Bone Cruncher has taken an early lead but the newcomer, Numbskull, and his rookie jockey are not far behind, followed by Jungle Princess and Banana Candy. The race favorite, Swifty, is off to a rocky start after getting pushed to the outside and narrowly jumping over a bunch of crates, but it cost him valuable time. He’s being chased down by Scarback… who just crashed into a wagon!”

“Bone Cruncher is really turning on the speed. This race might just be a blow out. I don’t think he can be caught. But wait! Numbskull just ducked down a narrow alley with a sudden burst of speed. He comes flying out of the alley and has caught up to the leader. We got a real race now, folks. Meanwhile, at the back of the pack, Swifty has full stopped at a rain barrel to take a drink! Looks like Scarback is about to pass him. Here he comes… And, oh my god! Scarback has eaten Swifty! I don’t know how it happened, but somehow Scarback slipped out of his muzzle and just swallowed the two-time champion. C’mon guys, save it for the Unchained race!”

In that exact moment, this bit was super cool, but it opened up a pandora’s box that was about to cost me a player. And several mistakes on my part led up to it. First mistake, allowing carnivores in this race. This is supposed to be a clean, no-combat race. But having carnivores is just too great a temptation. Second, I expected to have combat in the no-holds-barred “unchained” race, but not in this one. But I foolishly allowed one exception.

If two dinosaurs ended their turn in the same space, as they did here, then the jockeys would roll another check to see if they could control their dino’s bloodlust. Aidan boned his roll so bad that I decreed that the T-rex slipped his muzzle and attempted to eat the other one. On this roll, Aidan crushed it, possibly even hitting a crit for so much damage that it murdered Swifty on the spot. Note to all future dino races: Do not allow carnivores or combat in the two-legged race. I felt bad that Ian was out of the race, but he was a good sport about.

The next turn saw Jane’s Bone Cruncher and James’s Numbskull arrive at the first narrow gap at the same time. Here, Thames used his cheating homunculus to cast Dancing Lights into the eyes of the allosaurus. Due to this (player induced) intervention, I decreed that Jane should roll this contested Animal Handling check at disadvantage. Unhindered James won the contest and moved ahead.

This proved to be another mistake. Essentially, this race is PvP (player versus player) action. First off, PvP never works out. Despite everyone’s best intentions, someone, somehow is going to get mad. And Jane was playing it correctly. She played to win the race, despite it being in the group’s best interest to lose and let James win. But my decision on the cheating, even though it was initiated by another player’s actions and seemed fair given the circumstances, denied Jane the ability to win the race fairly. And it was maddening.

Immediately, a dark change occurred in the game. We kept playing the race and following the “rules”, but it stopped being fun. James’s Numbskull passed every check and could not be caught. He “won” the race easily. Since Jane couldn’t win or perceived that she wouldn’t be allowed to win, she tried to do the one remaining thing of interest in the race: to eat another dinosaur.

Somehow, Theo’s Jungle Princess caught up to Jane’s Bone Cruncher. From this point on, Jane passed every single check to keep pace with the other dinosaur, but failed every single check to control the allosaurus and keep it from attacking the other dinosaur. For his part, Theo did a great job playing the terrified, panicked jockey being hunted by a relentless eating machine. Wes’s Thames even tried another cheat to help Jungle Princess escape. But this failed and the chase continued. Until I set the final straw that broke the dino’s back.

Now, I want to preface this by saying that I had no issue with Jane’s allosaurus killing Theo’s dinosaur. Theo seemed resigned to his fate and seemed okay with it. Over the course of five or six vindictive rounds, the allosaurus had whittled the helpless deinonychus down to exactly one hit point. There were at least three turns left before the finish line; there was no way that Theo’s Jungle Princess would ever cross it. And then came the final narrow section of the track.

Both dinosaurs ended their movement on that space. Now, my prior allowed-on-the-spot rule meant that there would be another control-your-beast check that would presumably fail, followed by a combat roll which would presumably succeed, resulting in one dead dinosaur. But I also had an established rule that when two dinosaurs share the space of a narrow, the winner of a contested check would move ahead one space. I chose the wrong rule to enforce.

Theo fairly won the contested check and as soon as Jungle Princess moved ahead one space, I knew that I had made the wrong call. In my head, it made a better, more tragic narrative to have Jungle Princess die mere inches from the finish line and safety rather than in this non-descript alley. But I don’t write the narrative, the players do. I realized this immediately and apologized, but it was too late. Jane was already packing up her dice.

Now, I’ve spent the last few sessions pointing out the growing rift that was occurring between us, but I’ve only been able to write about it as such in hindsight and after I’ve had weeks to dwell upon it. At this very point in time, this reaction seemed to come out of left field. Sure, I had just made a bad call, but you’re still going to kill this dinosaur which you seem very intent upon doing. I was ignorant of the signs leading up to this, and I was caught off guard. But clearly this had been weighing on Jane for some time. She was done.

Not understanding where this vehement finality was coming from, I wanted to talk about this. Jane did not want to talk. She only reiterated that she was done and that “certain behaviors (of mine) could not be changed.”

This line bothered me for weeks. And still bothers me to this day. It made me question, doubt, and reevaluate everything I know about this game and my role in it. Am I a lousy DM? Am I an asshole? I don’t know for certain what she meant; we haven’t talked since the incident. More questions arose. Where did I go wrong? Why didn’t I see this sooner? Do I still even want to play this fucking game?

Wes and James were disturbed by this event and worried that it would kill the campaign. And it almost did. I was worried that the remainder of the group might have to choose a side. Most of the players, including Jane, had been playing at this store for years. I still felt like an outsider in comparison. If the others in the group also felt my “behaviors” were irredeemable, then the group would fracture and die. Fortunately, this was an unfounded fear. No one had to choose sides, no other friendships were lost, and no one else left the game.

But for my part, I could not get out of my own head. For the next several sessions, I did not want to play. Each week, I dreaded going to game night. The game was no longer fun. It was a chore. I’m busting my ass for this campaign. I had read, dissected, and annotated three additional books, including one on survival techniques, just for this adventure. I’m adding all this extra lore and world building because this group actually asked it. I’m expanding storylines, fleshing out dozens of NPCs, and creating a ton of new content; hell, today I invented a board game to try and give my players a fun and unique experience. I don’t need this aggravation.

I dwelled for weeks on my “behaviors”. What kind of DM am I? Am I a railroad DM, always pushing the players where I want them to go? Am I an aggressive DM always trying to win in some pointless DM vs. player conflict? Perhaps, I’m a too lenient DM, fudging dice rolls and pulling my punches to keep the players alive. Or am I just a failed novelist DM, who only wants to tell my story and the players are just along for the ride? Honestly, the answer is: Yes, to a certain degree, I’m guilty of all these things and more.

As for the railroading, I’ll admit that I’ve spent the past four years running games for beginner players who happen to be children. They need heavy-handed direction to know where to go and keep the story going. Playing with this group of self-motivated adults who each want to go in a different direction has been a new challenge for me.

As to the adventure so far, of course, all roads lead to Port Nyanzaru and I definitely steered them in that direction. But how they got there was up to their actions. If I had completely railroaded them, they would have arrived here four sessions ago. In addition, if they had chosen to go completely off script and head toward Fort Beluarian or straight into the jungle; that would have been okay too.

As for engaging in DM vs. Player conduct, I really try not to. I despise all forms of player vs. player action, and I consider the DM to be a player. But there are times when a DM has to just say no to a player’s intended actions. And I said “No” to a lot of Jane’s desires, especially during the survival sessions. One could argue that any and every action should be attempted, just let them roll some dice. I disagree, there are times when some things are just impossible, but I definitely should have been more judicious and willing to make concessions.

Adjacent to this topic is the fact that this whole dinosaur race is actually a PvP scenario. Even though the players are playing NPC jockeys, they are still now competing against each other in a game that breaks down when the cooperation between players ends. And the rules presented in the book are weak and open to exploitation to begin with, and all my added complications merely compounded the opportunities to unbalance the game against another player. During this race, I sided with a decision that favored Wes and James, while hurting Jane. Another example of why all PvP is bad for the game and another reason why you should not run the dino races in town, especially with players participating in the race. No matter your best intentions and diligent efforts, one player will always get screwed over.

What about being too easy on my players? I am definitely guilty of this sin. Frankly, I prefer an epic campaign where 1st-level peasants rise up to become heroes of the Realms. And while most players hate it when their beloved character dies, others despise it when anything other than the dice controls their fate. I have made a conscious effort to play this adventure above board. All my dice rolls involving combat or PC danger, I’ve rolled in the open; not behind a screen. I haven’t fudged any dice or saved any character from dying; they’ve done that all on their own.

But I’ve still pulled a few minor shenanigans to give the players the upper hand. I’ve telegraphed enemy actions, had a few make sub-par combat choices, and given alternative skill checks to compensate for initial failures. Nothing egregious and nothing I wouldn’t do normally. I’ll admit that I didn’t want any character to die before reaching Port Nyanzaru and the proper start of the adventure. From this point forward, the encounters have gotten even more deadly, but I can see how a savvy DM/player,  such as Jane, would recognize my manipulations, and regardless of its intention, make the entire experience feel less “real”.

Then there is a frustrated novelist angle. I’ve made no secret that this entire website is largely a creative writing experiment to build up my confidence toward creating my own “great American novel”, of which I have dozens of ideas but very few actual pages written. But the prevailing opinion of D&D is that the DM merely sets up the scene, and only the players tell the story. I strongly disagree.

I am a player too, and I have a story to tell. Granted, my story will end in ignominious defeat as the players emerge victorious after a hard-fought and epic struggle. But I have themes and tropes I want to explore and my NPCs have character arcs for good and ill. And I hope that my players have an arc too. I want them to grow and be changed in the course of the adventure. But it all starts with a theme.

Up front, my players knew that I wanted to explore themes of survival and terror exploring a lethal, alien land where death can occur from any direction. I wanted the players to struggle early on in this harsh environment. Because the struggle is the drama. There is no drama in the story of Jimmy who was awesome at everything, fixed every hardship, solved every problem and lived happily ever after.

But this put me instantly at odds with Jane who wanted to tell the opposite story. This led directly to the DM sin that I regret I definitely did. I took away that player’s agency. Without meaning to, or even realizing it, I refused to let her do the one thing I think she wanted to do. Master the jungle. I told her no at every solution or work around she suggested. I had my researched reasons, but it doesn’t negate the fact that I denied Jane her agency. Then when I did it again, refusing to let her kill that stupid dinosaur when it was reasonable to do so, that was my final mistake. We both made mistakes during the course of our adventures together, but this was my unforgivable one.

No matter how you dissect it, the bottom line is that I failed this player. I failed to meet her expectations, and I failed to recognize any friction before it passed the point of no return. For my part in this unfortunate affair, I am sorry.

The saddest part of this whole story is that of all the players at the table, Jane was the one whom I was most looking forward to playing with. She was completely jazzed about exploring the lore of the world, which in turn excited me, and I planned to have a ton of content geared specifically for her character. In addition, she was very helpful and compassionate to me when I had a personality conflict with a different player during our previous Witchlight campaign, so I was really looking forward to repaying her kindness with the lore-heavy campaign that she was craving for.

But sadly, it was not to be. Sometimes player styles just do not mix well. It’s nobody’s fault and to her credit, she recognized that my game just wasn’t for her and she left before we both became miserable. Now, since I am the one writing about this and you as the reader only have my side of the story, it is easy to credit her with the blame in this situation. But I don’t want you to do that. I still respect Jane as a player and a person, so keep any comments respectful. I will delete any comments that are not.

Needless to say, the session ended here. We never played out the 4-legged and unchained races and we just dropped the whole storyline. Instead we talked about the incident. Jane had already left, but I needed to make sure that the other players were all okay. We chatted for almost an hour. Everyone seemed okay, some more than others. We had theories, but no answers. Fortunately, everyone else still wanted to play. Beyond that, all we can do now is move on and continue with the campaign as best we can.

Next week, Ladies and Gentlemen! Boys and Girls! Welcome to the Trickster Trials festival! Witness thrilling competitions, feats of daring-do, and the specter of past sins.

Sometimes, no matter how hard you try, it just doesn’t work out between all players. Stay Calm, and Carry On!

As always, don’t forget to check out my Tomb of Annihilation Resources Page, filled with all the stuff I use to make this epic campaign even more epicier: My full Campaign Diary, plus Handouts, Maps, Charts, PDFs, Images, and more to use, abuse, or ignore at your peril.

And written specifically for this adventure, read my Explorer’s Guide to Chult to delve into all the legands, lore, history, religion, and culture that I used to bring even more life to this adventure.