#1 – Wyrmpriest Snazzlgorgl. A rather overgrown snotling, having a snotling mother and a goblin father. His biggest joys in life was watching a game of skull-skull while scratching his spiretop drake behind it’s right ear. Then the Westside Crew killed him and took his stuff.

#2 – Snuffles. The loyal companion of Snazzlgorgl. Enjoyed making babies laugh. And then eat them.

#3 – Dirty Sam. Son of  a remarkable but poor seamstress. Once a prosperous businessman, but lost everything when envious nobles wrongfully accused him of horrible deeds. Turned to the Westside Crew for help, but they granted him a date with the gallows instead. And they took his stuff.

#4 – Agrid. A witty and charming gnome. Was supposedly killed because he was in the employment of evil. More likely he died at the hands of a jealous priestess.

#5 – Balrond the Fat. Dabbler in the dark arts of necromancy. Tried to make a pretty monster from a dollface and a nice pair of legs, but the face and legs ended up killing him instead. And you can probably guess what they did with his stash.

#5 – Irontooth. A nasty piece of goblin. Well, actually, for a goblin he was pretty nice. And well-spoken. But when a gang of bloodthirsty adventurers slice and dice their way through thirty of your friends you don’t really want to sit down and have a chat. His leather armor, still spattered with his blood, is proudly worn by the Westside Crew treehugger.

Railroading is mainly criticized for strangling player involvement. The setting and choices limit the players instead of encouraging inventive thinking. It kills the role in roleplaying, or so they say. But I’m inclined to say that it can kill the overall strategy part of the game, not the actual roleplaying. And when discussing the grand strategy, or “who do we put pressure on next”, that’s when analysis paralysis tends to emerge in my gaming group.

Of course, one of the reasons leaving the Grand Strategy to my players can make them feel a bit lost is our gaming-schedule. Our sessions are three hours long, and we at most meet up once every other week. Maintaining a good grasp on all the crossing storylines can get pretty daunting for anyone. So, in the end, I have no problems with telling my players where they go and why they go there at the start of the session. What they do from there is entirely their own fault. Choice! I meant choice.

“How did you become so stylish and splendid?” I hear you ask. The question is understandable, and the envy is obvious. But I fear that aspiring to become as fabulous as me is too big an undertaking for any of you. But you are free to try. Especially you at the back, with the big bosom. Some private lessons might get you along the way.

Knaskth (front) and his sidekicks Akta (left), Dekcuf (back) and Groma (right). Any resemblance to characters from a different epic is purely coincidental.

Hm? Get on with what? Oh, about the Goblin Terror of a Hundred Eyes, you say. My my, what a great story that is! There Knaskth was, surrounded by fifteen goblins and a swarm of spiders. Make that three swarms of spiders. My companions, able as they are, all lay gravely wounded. They asked, nay, begged me to employ my preternatural combat skills in defeating this menace. Naturally I obliged, and five thrusts later the moans and shrieks of unnatural beasts were abruptly quelled, as quickly as they had started.

Alas, it seems some of my sidekicks have succumbed to jealousy and despair, and are approaching my position as we speak. Do not fear, for Knaskth will always prevail! I see you raise your fists in approval.

Hey, look behind you, a three-headed monkey! *poof*

Click on the picture if you want a more detailed image of the characters.

Left to right: Grawl!, Bree, Hellga, Torquinho and Thorgal

Grawl! – a male human warlord, hellbent on getting down and dirty in close combat. Has a tendency to hog all the healing potions for himself, even if some poor archeologist lies bleeding to death close by. Currently on a secret mission for a traveling group of curiously chatty Avandra crusaders.

Bree – a female halfling cleric. If she turns her gaze on you and mutters “Do you feel lucky, punk?”, well, then you probably don’t. Has no problem carrying around a Battle Standard of Might, which is about three times her own size. She is mostly a kind and caring soul, except for the occasional crushing of enemy skulls beneath her feet.

Hellga – a female tiefling warrior. Not very agile, but that never stops her from trying daredevil stunts like swinging across the room with a skull attached to an iron chain. Which ends up with poor Hellga falling 20 feet into a pool of green slime. Sticky slime. There’s still traces of it on her boots and skirt. No wonder she is ill-tempered.

Torquinho – a male elf ranger. Facing off against him in combat is kinda like engaging in a one night stand. Except he shoots you in the face with a couple of arrows. And you die. Afterward he likes to strike a manly pose, gazing into the horizon. Or just skulk off. He’s complex in that regard.

Thorgal – a male half-elf warlock. Adorning the tip of his quarterstaff is the skull of his late wife. You know, there is nothing wrong with carrying a small memento of your lost love around, is there? The rest of the group found him drunk in a ditch somewhere, and let him tag along for now.

I used to believe that one of the ways to inspire drama and characterization in my players was through giving them choices combined with mysteries to unravel. The arrogant, magically cloaked man will not disclose his allegiances. Will the players approach a member of the “StingerZ” or the “Snakes” for inside info? Will they have the man followed? Or will they basically beat it out of him? Or what of the four factions warring over the powers of a little girl the players protect. Are the players loyal to their own organization? Maybe one of the rival factions actually has a better offer? Do they hide her from all of them, friend or foe?

As it turned out, what I inspired in my players was determination, investigation and frustration. It became a game of gathering information, checking every angle, and then make the choice that seemed correct. The characterization suffered greatly. Determined to untangle every mystery and get to the bottom of things, there was not much room left for actual role-playing. Not because it couldn’t be done. Just because everyone was too focused on the task at hand.

When I started a fresh campaign in Dungeons & Dragons 4th Edition, using nothing but four encounters woven together in a dungeon crawl, strange stuff started to happen. My players established quirks and battlecries for their characters. They tried to negotiate with the kobolds, even though all of them knew they had to fight after all. They made jokes and one-liners, and willingly created inner turbulence in the group (although never enough to make real problems). The level 1 Cleric of Avandra ended up having a helluva lot more personality than the abused Mastigos mage of the Mysteries.

There are of course other elements at play here, but in the end the silly stereotypical and railroaded dungeon crawl inspired a lot more interesting characters than my grand urban open-ended fantasy epic.

Guess what? Railroading has won in the fun department. Every time. I’ll give my thoughts on why in the next couple of posts. So stay tuned.

(click here for the second part of this series)