D&D 5e Runs on DM Judgment: A Guide to Adjudication

First, what is adjudication? To adjudicate means to judge or to make a decision about a situation. You take contextual information from the situation, you apply rules and subject knowledge, and you make a ruling. You decide what happens and how it happens. This is one of the roles of the game master (GM) or dungeon master (DM) that is misunderstood by new people (and sometimes not so new people). Today, I'm going to teach you to adjudicate your pretend games.

I'm going to assume everyone is playing D&D 5e and I'm going to be referencing the 2014 version a lot, but this advice should apply to all TTRPGs. Before we get into adjudication, first let's discuss two different ways to interpret the rules. One is called Rules as Written (RAW) and the other is called Rules as Intended (RAI). Discussing and understand these two interpretations is valuable because it means we'll all be on the same page.

Rules as Written (RAW)

Rules as written (RAW) is an interpretation of the rules as literal.

In the PHB, the section for Ability Checks reads "the DM calls for an ability check when a character...attempts an action that has a chance of failure." This is a description of a rule.

Some DMs extrapolate rules as written to mean that this is how the game is played; that any time there is a chance of failure, an ability check is required. Note that rules in the Player's Handbook (PHB) are often written to be referential not instructional, meaning a rule describes how it works, not how the game is played. How a rule works and how the game is played mean two different things.

We know that the DM has to make a decision about whether or not a roll is needed. Instructions for that are not provided in the PHB, they're in the Dungeon Master's Guide (DMG) instead. I hope to show you that the DMG teaches judgment, not procedure.

Rules as Intended (RAI)

Rules as intended means the game's author has an intent other than a straight reading and literal interpretation of a rule. In other words, the author intends that DMs understand how the rule works and decide when and how to use them, or not to use them.

Class, please open your D&D 5e 2014 Dungeon Master's Guides to page 236 and read the section The Role of the Dice.

• Quote: "Dice are neutral arbiters...The extent to which you use them is entirely up to you."

This is the game's official instruction to DMs on when and how to use dice. Keep this quote in mind for a few more paragraphs.

This section of the DMG has three subsections: Rolling With It, Ignoring The Dice, and The Middle Path. They describe three different styles for running D&D where you roll for everything, roll for almost nothing, or roll somewhere in the middle. All styles are permitted by the official core rule book.

My favorite passage comes from Ignoring the Dice.

• Quote: "Some DM's use them (the dice) only during combat and determine success or failure as they like in other situations."

If you're reading the rules RAW, these two quotes together should recontextualize everything in the core rules for you. In case you missed it, let me explain what the official DM instructions permits in D&D 5e (2014 version). Ahem. The DM decides when checks are needed.

The section of the DMG I have shared with you, The Role of the Dice, reveals the intention of the author:

Your preferred implementation of the rules is permitted.

The DM's Criteria

Now that we're all on the same page about RAW and RAI, we can talk about adjudication. Adjudication is not rules mastery; it's applying common sense to the fiction of the game. By what criteria does a DM use to make rulings? From the section Using Ability Scores on page 237 of DMG:

• Quote: "Only call for a roll if there are meaningful consequences for failure."

The question then becomes what is a meaningful consequence for failure? The answer is loss of time, resources, opportunity, or immediate harm.

Let me tell you what is not meaningful:

• Rolling for something free of stress and conflict.
• If you fail and nothing happens.
• If you have unlimited chances to re-attempt the action until you succeed.

Therefore, if a player wants to attempt an action, you the DM must determine whether there a consequence of loss or harm. If not, the action succeeds automatically because to call for a roll otherwise trivializes rolling dice and slows down the game. The determination that a player's action is automatically successful is part of your authority as the DM (reference the DMG, page 236-237, subsection The Middle Path.

Example - Lock Picking

Take lock picking for example. To pick a lock in 5e, the books explain that the character makes an ability check and applies their proficiency bonus from the tool (thieves' tools in this case). I call this a tool check for simplicity.

If the player is in a safe, comfortable place and they are attempting to pick a lock (let's say a wooden strong box they found on their last adventure), and they have all the time in the world, they successfully pick it. They just do. No rolling. Why? Because they will eventually get it open.

What if the player is trying to open that same locked strong box in a dungeon with dangerous random encounters? Then every attempt costs time. Lost time in a dungeon means torches burn away, light spells expire (not that this matters in 5e in particular), and there are chances of a wandering monster interrupting the distracted character. The DM can call for a roll here. On a failure, time passes, resources dwindle, danger approaches.

Tangent - What do the Rules Forbid and Permit?

What if the character doesn't have proficiency with a tool?

The way 5e is written, 5e very rarely, almost never states what is not permitted. It almost always states what is permitted. I think this is by design. If so, this is good to know about the books because it helps us understand them better.

If you don't have proficiency, RAW, you simple can't apply the proficiency bonus to an ability check. The rules don't state that lacking proficiency forbids characters from attempting actions or using tools.

The only instance I can find in the core books that forbid a player from attempting an action without the right proficiency is DMG, page 102, under Locked Doors, "...doing so requires thieves' tools and proficiency in their use." This appears to be an inconsistency in the game's instruction and possibly due to an oversight.

How Difficult is an Action

D&D 5e gives DMs instruction about choosing a difficulty class (DC) from pages 238 to 239. Let's look at some.

• Quote: "It's your (the DM's) job to choose a difficulty class for an ability check or saving throw when a rule or adventure doesn't give you one. Sometimes you'll want to change such established DCs."

I read this to mean that the GM may always choose the difficulty class when they believe it's appropriate. If you're running a published adventure or a monster from the monster manual, you may change an established DC.

• Quote: "Think of how difficult a task is and then pick the associated DC from the Typical DCs table."

This means the DM decides how difficult a task is, and DMs do so using a scale that the game gives:

• Very Easy (DC 5)
• Easy (DC 10)
• Moderate (DC 15)
• Hard (DC 20)
• Very Hard (DC 25)
• Nearly Impossible (DC 30)

The DMG is written like it's advising you to pick a word, not a number. It says "...think of how difficult a task is, and then pick the associated DC from the...table." The number is associated with the word. It tells you your game can be completely functional if you stick with Easy (10), Medium (15), Hard (20).

Objective vs Subjective Difficulty?

Objective difficulty means standardizing DCs for everything with the expectation that the DM is intended to use them. Subjective difficulty means that the difficulty is subjective to an individual's feeling or belief. As previously discussed, the DM chooses DCs when none are provided, and the DM may change a DC established by an adventure or rule.

When you choose a DC when there is none, you are evaluating the action yourself. When you evaluate an established DC, you may change it. The game trusts you and gives you the authority to do this.

Changing Established Game Content

Remember my tangent about how D&D 5e is written to be permissive rather than restrictive?

Page 6 of the Monster Manual has a sidebar that reads "Feel free to tweak an existing creature to make it something more useful to you." Then it refers you to the DMG. Page 273 on the DMG has a Section Creating a Monster and a subsection Modifying a Monster.

You're given guidance here, but no restrictions. The pattern in 5e is that the books repeatedly give guidance, examples, and procedures, but then returns authority to the DM.

This should go without saying, but the author's intent is not anything goes. Remember RAI? The DMG reminds you that changes to statistics change the monster's CR. The game still intends for you to adhere to their Challenge Ratings (CR) system. It gives you tables and explanations to understand the design logic of D&D 5e.

If You Fail, Do You Fail Forever?

Can players repeat failed actions? Short answer: Some but not all.

DMG, page 237, under Ability Checks, ability checks are defined as a test to determine whether a character succeeds at a task. That's it. One task. In fact, this section of the DMG explicitly tells you that players can repeat a task, and to save table time, you can assume that a player who spends ten times as long on the task automatically succeeds.

Note that this portion of the book resolves some situation in your game where players want to repeat checks ad nauseum. This works for things like picking locks or tying knots unless the character is in a rush, under pressure, or in danger.

This section of the DMG also says that no amount of repeated checks can turn an impossible task into a possible task, and, in some cases, failing a check makes it impossible to make the same check to do the same thing. It also says that you can decide if initial failure makes repeated checks more difficult.

How do you know which checks can't be repeated?

Short answer: DM judgment.

How do you judge this? Consider that this is not just a game, it's also a fiction and a setting. Ask yourself what makes sense within the fiction and the setting?

Let's say a player wants to pick a lock in a dungeon. As already discussed, you may call for a roll. If you fail to pick a lock in real life, you simply fail. The lock doesn't break. Neither does the tool. This action can be repeated.

Let's say a player wants to disarm a trap in a dungeon. On a failure, the trap springs. That means the player logically gets one try. The action cannot be repeated unless the trap is reset and needs to disarmed again.

Were you to tell a player no they can't repeat an action, consider you justification. Would you tell them that they can't repeat an action because it's already been done? What changed that prevents them from repeating it? Would you tell them "that's the way the game is played." That justification would be arbitrary and contrived, and the player would justifiably not be satisfied by this ruling.

How about making a knowledge check? Note that the PHB uses the word "recall" rather than "possess" in the descriptions of knowledge skills (arcana, history, nature, religion). Meaning we roll int (knowledge) checks to determine if a character recalls knowledge, not whether a character possesses knowledge. This allows for a possibility that any knowledge can be possessed by any player character, but success of recall varies.

The definition of an ability check (DMG page 237) is for a task, therefore recalling knowledge is a task. I would rule that knowledge is one of those cases where failing a check makes it impossible to make the same check to do the same thing as previously discussed. In other words, failing a knowledge check means you can't recall the knowledge until you try something different or something within the fiction changes. Maybe you hear a new rumor or piece of lore and you can justify "maybe this jogs my memory. I try to recall knowledge." That works for me.

How about for repeated speech checks? Read your DMG pages 244-245.

• Quote: "Once a charisma check has been made, further attempts might be fruitless or run the risk of upsetting...the subject creature potentially shifting its attitude...Use your best judgement."

I think that portion "Use your best judgement" is the game giving you its trust.

Is the Character Aware That They Failed?

Have you had this experience? "I roll stealth. Uh oh, natural 1. Guess I'm detected!"

First, that is called metagame thinking or metagaming. The player is aware of the concept of an ability check, a die roll, and a natural 1, but the character isn't. Reference DMG page 235 Metagame Thinking. 

Second, when / how does the character become aware that they failed a task? I would also like to point out that page 237 of the DMG defines ability checks as a means to determine success or failure for a task. This definition does not state whether or not the character is aware of success or failure.

So how does a character know if / when they failed (if it's not obvious)? 

We're talking about the moment in the game when the outcome of a task is revealed. 

Option 1. One preferred way to handle this is to hide the rolls from the players; The character finds out when the player finds out. Make a roll when the player declares an action and save that roll for when (or if) it's needed.

Option 2. Consider this: As a DM you don't just decide whether a roll is needed for a task, but also what moment during the game to call for a roll. If a player says "I sneak", you don't have to call for a roll until there's someone or something that can perceive the player character. Then either call for an opposed roll (stealth vs perception), call for a stealth roll vs a DC, or use passive skills, or whatever.

When the failed roll becomes relevant within the game, then you reveal consequences. That's how the character finds out (if the result is not obvious).

Deciding Consequences

The game does not prescribe consequences (outcomes) for success or failure of every action. Sometimes failure means failure, but what happens on a failure is based on the context of that moment in your game. The consequences ought to be what would logically happen on a success for failure within the context of the fiction or setting.

Avoid punitive consequences or gotcha's.

Page 174 of the PHB, the last sentence under Ability Checks reads "...failure, which means the character...makes no progress towards the objective or makes progress combined with a setback determined by the GM."

Did you miss it? RAW, failing an ability check doesn't automatically mean nothing happens or that no progress is made.

Page 242 of the DMG, under Resolution and Consequences, it reads "You (the DM) determine the consequences of attack rolls, ability checks, and saving throws. In most cases, doing so is straightforward...As a DM, you have a variety of...approaches...to make things less black and white." It then lists several options:

• Success at a Cost
• Degrees of Failure
• Critical Success or Failure

These is a core rule, not an optional one, not a variant. I've never played with these rules. I've never heard anyone talk about degrees of failure or succeeding at a cost in 5e. It's very oddly overlooked in discussion about D&D 5e.

Trusting the DM - DM Resolutions and Descriptions

The GM is supposed to be fair, neutral, and consistent. You're not going easy on the players or making the game difficult for them. Arbitrary, contrived, inconsistent, or capricious rulings diminish trust in the GM.  

Once you decide how to resolve an action, you describe it. Your DM descriptions are your players feedback about their actions in the world. DM descriptions need to be objective and clear. If success or failure is supposed to be a mystery until the consequences are revealed, that's fine if it's understood; otherwise, the DMs descriptions should not be ambiguous. "The knot is secure" or "The knot is loose", not "The knot looks good to you" or "You think the knot is secure". Ambiguous descriptions lead to players attempting to repeat actions just to make sure they're safe. Ambiguous descriptions lead to players being suspicious of DM descriptions. That's not cooperative or collaborative play.

Conclusion

Many new DMs approach the game as though the books are trying to provide complete procedures for every situation; however, D&D 5e expects DMs to exercise judgment far more often than they may realize. Honestly, I don't think D&D 5e is beginner friendly, but hopefully you now know that the rules and dice do not determine the game, the GM determines the game with the rules and dice as tools. The rules do not replace the DM's judgment, they support it.

I spent about 10 hours on this post. After writing a game of my own (Bright Dark 3d6 Role-Playing Game), I have a new appreciation for the amount of work that goes into writing a rule book, and by writing this post, I have a newfound respect for the 5e designers and the 5e game itself.

Related: If you're interested in reading more rules that might change the way you think about D&D 5e, I wrote The Authority of the GM / DM which lists many rules across the three core rule books with an explanation or interpretation.

We Can Be Heroes - Index Card RPG

One of my favorite lines from any TTRPG book I've ever read is "We can be heroes!" This is the first subheading in the player's guide section on page 21 of the Master's Edition. The reason why this stands out in my memory is because one of my main sources of disappointment in TTRPGs is that many players want to play chaotic stupid @ssholes, and many game masters are permissive or supportive of their choice to do it.

By the way, just because D&D has all nine alignments and no rules about permitting them or restricting them, that doesn't mean GMs can't impose restrictions. You should!

I don't want to be an evil character, I don't want to play with other players playing evil PCs, and I don't want to make a character who would associate with evil characters. I don't want to run a game for evil player characters. Evil or chaotic player characters is not what interests me about this hobby. I want to be a hero, and I want heroic stories.

Index Card RPG is one of my favorite TTRPGs. If I could only have one TTRPG, I think it would be this one. My hesitation is that the book has a lot of stuff I don't want to use, like charisma or certain fantasy races, but because it's in the book, players may expect to be allowed to use it. Managing expectations is one of the hardest things to do, especially when the tone you want is heroic.

Someone please sell a TTRPG book that says "we can be heroes", but make it a central theme of the game.

In the meantime, here's my proposed solution for GMs. Ahem. Tell players when you pitch the game or send them the invite, “I am running a game for heroic characters. If you don't think you would have fun playing a heroic character, this game isn't for you." Add some softener to the end of that as you please. This explanation is firm but not harsh, and it respects people's time. They don't have to read between the lines to figure out what you're trying to tell them, and they don't smell an opportunity to bend the rules or negotiate. You're also protecting the tone which is easy to spoil.

Related posts:

Alignment and Morality in TTRPGs and D&D Alignments - How to Use Them!

And if you want a game that's all about tone, click here: Bright-Dark 3d6 Role-Playing Game

Deck of Playing Cards - A TTRPG Exploration Mechanic

Honestly, I think the best systems, mechanics and minigames have been invented. If you create new ones, I think they need to mesh with the basic gameplay loop:

1. GM describes scene
2. Players choose action(s)
3. GM determines results
4. Repeat

I personally need a TTRPG to keep this gameplay loop.

If you want to use a deck of cards for exploration, here's how I would start.

1. Shuffle deck.
2. Placed cards face down in grid on table. The grid represents spaces / rooms / areas where they can move.
• Wilderness or city: plain grid
• Dungeon: arrange like a weird maze. Each card is a room.
3. Tell players where they start (usually the middle card). This card is face up by default.
4. On players turn, they can make one move. To move, they chose one adjacent card and flip it. Based on the card, there is an encounter or event. Suits tell you a category
1. Club = combat
2. Diamond = treasure or fortunate discovery
3. Heart = good NPC encounter
4. Spade = environmental hazard or trap

• Lower / higher numbers can refer to an item on a table or a list, or you can interpret the number and improv the results. Example: Low bad, high good.
• Royal cards can but don't have to matter. My first instinct is that they represent major locations, major characters, major discoveries, etc.
• Jokers mean something bad.

Scale:

• Dungeon: 1 move = 10 minutes
• City: 1 move = 1 hour
• Wilderness: 1 move = 1 day

I think this could be playable. The grid creates spatial meaning w/o a map. Suits are intuitive so there's less cognitive load. Numbers determine severity so you can interpret the card and improv the fiction from the card. You the GM would say "you're in a wilderness. What do?" Players say "we go northwest." They flip the card. You tell them "you're in forested hills. Here's some features and sensations." Then you read the card and tell them what happens that turn. Done and done.

Players make choices. Consequences happen.
It's tactile and visual.
It's minimalistic and easy.
If players have fun, then you know this works.

Flaws? Maybe you want to balance the game more towards combat, hazards, and treasure, and less on encountering good NPCs? OK, take out some or all of the hearts, or change what the hearts mean for this location.

Human-Centric Stories

This post is an argument for human-centric fantasy, not because Gary Gygax said so, but because tone matters. Human-centric fantasy is easier for normies (normal people outside the hobby and other adults), and even some of the participants to take seriously or respect.

Gary Gygax envisioned Dungeons & Dragons to be human-centric. I know this because I read it in the Game Masters Guide he wrote for first edition AD&D. Quote "Advanced D&D is unquestionably "humanocentric", with demi-humans, semi-humans, and humanoids in various orbits around the sun of humanity." This is very different from modern D&D.

To quote Gary again, "The game features humankind for a reason. It is the most logical basis for an illogical game. From a design aspect, it provides the sound groundwork. From a standpoint of creating the campaign milieu it provides the most readily usable assumptions. From a participation approach it is the only method, for all players are, after all is said and done, human, and it allows them the role with which most are desirous and capable of identifying with."

Gary was just getting started! The font is tiny, and it goes on like that for an entire page! He goes on to say how we have a real world full of history, fiction, science, and mythology to draw from about humans, but not so much to draw on for other creatures such as elves. This means, to quote Gary,"...the magnitude of effort required (for a DM to create their campaign setting) is reduced by several degrees." This sounds practical. He also says that works of fiction that do not feature humans as the center focus are uncommon, and so creating a campaign around non-humans will be "shallow, incomplete, and unsatisfying" unless the DM is "a renaissance man". That may have been true in the late 1970's, or maybe it was Gary revealing his own biases. The reality is that the library of fiction has blown up since then!

Let me poke another hole in Gary's argument. Fantasy and science-fiction are so common these days that you can probably ask your players what their expectations of a generic fantasy setting or story are, and you'll probably arrive at a consensus after a bit of curating. I think the best point Gary raises is "Alien viewpoints can be found, of course, but not in quantity (and often not in much quality either)." By alien viewpoints, I think we can extrapolate this to mean elfs, dwarfs, hobbits, etc. The modern iteration of the elf is a creature who is practically immortal and doesn't sleep. How can something like this possibly relate to humans? There are people in this hobby who genuinely find it ruins their immersion when players play elf characters like humans with pointy ears. Some people don't care, but some people do!

By the way, the section of the Advanced D&D Dungeon Master's Guide that I have been referencing is called "The Monster as a Player Character", and I think Gary's intent with writing this section was to justify limiting players choices of races. It shows Gary's tastes are in low fantasy. What a coincidence; So are mine! Modern D&D feels like playing A Very Muppets RPG. I've read criticisms that call it kitchen-sink fantasy because there's a little bit of everything. It lacks cohesion. There are things that are stuck into the game without consideration for whether it makes sense to stick it in. In the last 5e gaming group I was in, I felt like Eddie Valiant in the movie Who Framed Roger Rabbit. I don't like it. It's not to my taste. I imagined being a cool wizard, but I was constantly outshined by a min-maxed little kobalt with goofy personality quirks and who soloed an NPC using Strahd's stat block in two combat rounds! Two!

I was expecting a vibe like Lord of the Rings. What I got was something else. The GM was trying to run the game with a tone like Lord of the Rings, but the players weren't. One of the characters was blatantly the Green Power Ranger. One character was based off the Mandalorians from Star Wars. One character might have been partially inspired by some gangster movie. And of course, one of them was that goofy kobalt assassin who was the most powerful of us all. These are tonally distinct and tonally incompatible ideas. They don't mix. It's like mixing Peanut Butter and Pepperoni (or as I call it peanut-pepper butter-oni). The tone of one idea spoils the other.

I really like Legends of Avantris. It's a podcast of people who play D&D for the entertainment of an audience. It's distinct from Critical Role, in my opinion, because the Avantris people make likable characters and half of the CR people don't.

I would like to sincerely apologize to the cast and crew of Critical Role for the above comment.

The point of bringing up Legends of Avantris was to point out that they don't use human characters very much and their shows, no matter how good, are always tonally off. They all feel a bit cartoonish. Even Icebound, a serious podcast with darker themes, would be slightly less silly if the characters were all human. It would be easier to take seriously, and it would be easier to get into

Here's the real reason for a human-centric setting. It's about tone and personal taste. If you can play a monster (i.e. kobolt player character), then monsters aren't monstrous; They're just exotic people, like South Park Canadians. You can't have it both ways. It's hard to reconcile a setting where monsters can be monsters like in a horror genre, but also exotic people.

Human-centric fantasy isn't about limiting creativity, it's about protecting tone. Think about it like this. If you wanted to introduce something to a normie, would you be more confident if it didn't have a bunch of cartoonish looking characters? For instance, in Icebound, the cast is a small green guy with a conniving expression, a big blue guy with a crab hand, a dragon man who always looks too relaxed, and a bunny girl depicted with flattering hips. Any of these things would make a normal person give you a funny look. The bunny with the hips might make them give you a dirty look. You might feel like you have to defend your interests. Someone might think you need to grow up. I think the cartoonish qualities make the medium harder for adults to take seriously, and I think it's detrimental to the hobby.

No matter what, cartoonish aesthetics will always undermine a serious tone. Human‑centric fantasy keeps the tone grounded, relatable, and emotionally legible. It's the same reason why they toned down superhero costumes in modern superhero movies. Tone and relatability. Human characters will always have more appeal to a causal audience. They make the world easier to believe, the tone easier to maintain, and the story easier for adults to take seriously.

Related post: Seven Rules for Monsters in TTRPGs - Your Fun is Wrong

Related post: Human‑Centric Fantasy Settings: Why Monster PCs Break Tone

Conflict is King - Story Writing Advice

Do you want to write but don't know where to start or how? Start with the conflict. Conflict comes before plot. Conflict is about the drama; Completely absent of the setting, myth, magic, cool powers, fate, or whatever. These other things are not a factor in drama, they're only flavor.

Here is your checklist for conflict; Not plot, conflict. Fill in the blanks for Protagonist, Antagonist, X, Y, and Z:

• The protagonist wants X. If the protagonist does not get X, then Y happens.
• The antagonist wants Z. In order for the antagonist to have Z, the protagonist cannot have X.
• The antagonist therefore threatens to cause Y.
• The protagonist is small. The antagonist is big. The protagonist cannot beat the antagonist.

For clarity:

• X is the protagonist's goal.
• Y is what's at stake. The stakes should feel very important to the protagonist.
• Z is the antagonist's goal. This is the obstacle for the protagonist.

Example: Max is a barbarian prince (Protagonist) who wants to marry Carry (X), a sickly barbarian peasant without wide child-bearing hips. If Max doesn't marry Carry, he will never have love (Y happens). Max's dad, Maximillan (Antagonist), says no, your role is to be a leader of men for our people, and my role is to make sure of that. Therefore, I will arrange your marriage with a proper woman so your lineage will be strong (Z).

The conflict here is that Max (Protagonist) is opposed to his dad, Maximillan, and is expressed in the because. Max wants Carry because. Maximillan wants Max to marry a proper woman because. Each character has valid reasons.

Setting can be functional. All you have to do is come up with consequences for the setting if Max chooses Carry. For example, if Max chooses Carry, Maximum will disown Max and instate his second born son, Mini-Max, as heir. Mini-Max is a git and a prat who wants to make war with all the other barbarian clans (neighbors) and take over the region. This may cause war and destabilize the region, making the region weak and vulnerable to attacks from people outside the region (foreign threats).

Player Skill vs Character Skill - Managing Expectations

There is a discussion in the TTRPG hobby called Player Skill versus Character Skill.

Player Skill describes a playstyle where players solve problems in the game using their own creativity and problem-solving skills. Examples:

• 1. Players using their own persuasiveness to convince NPCs to help them. The player makes an argument in character, and the GM evaluates it in character, then responds.
• 2. A player describes how they interact with a feature of a room or scene. If their description would reasonably allow them to find something hidden, then they just find it. For example, if they describe pouring water onto the floor and the game master describes that it drains through a crack of a pressure plate in the floor. They player has revealed a trap automatically!
• 3. If a player wants to sneak, they describe how they use their environment effectively to avoid line of sight, how they minimize sounds like taking off their noisy armor or jangling weapons, etc.

Character Skill describes a playstyle where players solve problems in the game primarily using powers and abilities on their character sheet.

• 1. A player declares an intent to persuade an NPC, then rolls some dice and invokes a game mechanic, such as a speech skill.
• 2. The player declares an intent to search the floor for traps, invokes a search or perception mechanic, and rolls a die.
• 3. A player declares an intent to be sneaky and invokes a game mechanic by rolling a die.

Player Skill and Character Skill describe two completely different kinds of games. They feel different.

The feel of games with player skill

• 1. Gives more value to game master descriptions of the room or scene.
• 2. Incentivizes good player narration, creativity and improv in the moment.
• 3. Rolling dice is a fail-state for poor creativity, planning, or decision making!
• 4. Deemphasizes the need for rules knowledge and systems mastery.
• 5. Solve problems with your wits and know that the dice won't arbitrarily spoil a perfectly good idea!
• 6. More freeform, rules-lite game.
• 7. The game becomes simpler and more intuitive. You don't need to know the rules; instead, just understand that anything that can reasonably happen in real life is allowed in the game.

The feel of games with character skill:

• 1. Players make decisions based on knowledge of game mechanics rather than imagining and describing clear actions.
• 2. Players are incentivized to master the rules and systems of the game, and even exploit weaknesses in the game design.
• 3. A greater emphasis is placed on rolling dice, and the game master's interpretations of the dice can feel arbitrary or contrived. Actions that have no business succeeding can succeed, and actions that have no business failing can fail. This can cause ludo narrative dissonance and loss of suspension of disbelief.
• 4. Creative actions and good planning can grant bonuses, but some players are most creative outside the game when creating their character.
• 5. Players refer to or rely on their character sheet for answers to problems.
• 6. Character options get classified as either optimal or sub-optimal, and all decisions eventually become a matter of doing the optimal thing over and over ad nauseum.
• 7. Good ideas get questioned because there isn't a clear rule for it, and we look for the rulebook to tell us if it's allowed or if it will be helpful, even if it reasonably would or be.

So, if we're playing a game that emphasizes player skill, why do we have game mechanics? Mechanics are not for solving problems, and they're not for resolving uncertainty. They give structure to the game, and they're for simulating actions that need to be simulated. If you want to strike a stationary object, you can just do it because there's no chance of failure. If you want to strike an opponent who's actively fighting back, then we use the mechanics and dice to simulate the outcome. We need to simulate combat because we can't hit each other with swords at the game table, but we don't need to simulate lying and haggling because we can actually do that!

Further, you don't need a mechanic for everything. Mechanics are only needed for things that absolutely need simulation, nothing more. Everything that can reasonably be solved through the logic of the world or narrative should be. This is what the game master (aka the referee) is for! If your opponent is no longer able to defend themself, you don't need to roll a die to hit them! You don't need a rule to tell you that if you take off your heavy metal armor and heavy backpack full of treasure, you can sneak, climb, swim, run and jump better.

What Does My Character Know?

Sometimes, players ask the GM something like "would my character know anything about X?" Either the player is knowledgeable about the game and the setting and wants to confirm what of their player knowledge they may use, or the player has no knowledge about the game and setting, and they want the GM to tell them what their character would reasonably know.

The Character Skill approach to the game is to allow the player to roll an Intellect or Knowledge check or test, or to invoke some feature of their character that lets them automatically possess and recall that knowledge.

The Player Skill approach to the game is to instead tell the player "why don't you explore the world and find someone who does know?"

Consider that this situation is a regular part of that game and liken it to a puzzle. It's a puzzle that can be solved in different ways. With the Character Skill approach, the player merely has to think to use a game mechanic. The solution is then either presented to them or it isn't. If it's presented, the players can then move onto the next challenge. The pacing of the game or major points in the narrative is fast.

With the Player Skill approach, the player has to rely on their own creativity and work out their own solution within the setting and narrative to solve the problem. They can think to research at a library, gather rumors and news from a tavern, or to search for an NPC expert within the setting and ask for knowledge. Access to that expert may have some prerequisites, like gold or a positive reputation. The player may first have to learn about the expert by asking around town. This is a type of discovery and is fun and rewarding to some players. Earning access to an expert NPC can also feel rewarding to some players. It gives more value to the setting by placing more need on the players to learn and understand the setting and the people in it.

The differences between the two styles also means that the player characters are either self-sufficient with non-material resources, or they are a group who occasionally have to make time to gather non-material resources.

Which approach to play is preferrable? Depends on you! How do you have fun? Do you want to solve the puzzles by flexing your own mental muscles, or do you want to solve puzzles by rolling dice? I'm sure there's pros and cons, and there might even be times when one approach is preferrable, and times when the other approach is preferrable.

Mapping

While exploring, either a wilderness or dungeon, how do your characters know when they're lost?

A Character Skill approach would say that players can use a game mechanic and know that they're lost, and then potentially use the game mechanics to figure out where they are. The players may also have access to a map or other visual aid to show the world and their process in it.

The Player Skill approach might say that your characters will know when they're lost in-game the same way that you would know you're lost in real life. You walk or drive around for long enough asking "how far is it? How long have we been traveling? Are you sure we're going the right way? Did we pass it? Does anyone recognize where we're at?" In my experience, recognizing that I'm lost in real life is a process rather than a eureka moment.

Getting lost in the wilderness or dungeon can be dangerous. You can run out of resources, get sick, die to exposure, or be attacked by some dangerous wild animal, monster, or human. Being lost is the obstacle and a source of tension. Being able to find your own way out of it is the solution, and to improve at navigation to avoid getting lost in the future is another solution.

Imagine the roleplay prompt: "you're lost in the dangerous wilderness with limited supplies and a deadline to save the victim of the monster. What do you do?" Some people want to work this out scene by scene, and they want to un-stuck themselves using their player skills. There's potential for team building and learning skills. One solution is to find higher ground, like climbing a hill or a tall tree, then you can see further. The game master will describe what you can see, and then you can work out landmarks and navigate your way back. The adventure was unexpected. There's also a chance to discover something you weren't looking for while you're lost.

Player Skill Over Character Stats

Your player skill is your character's luck, wisdom, intelligence, and charisma. Think. Be careful. If you the player get a funny feeling that something is not right, it's OK to use that feeling in play to keep your character safe. Don't hold back just because your character has low stats!

Game Balance

Do not assume the obstacles and challenges are balanced to match your character's abilities. Rely on your own creativity and ingenuity. There is no right way to overcome a challenge. Not all obstacles need to be overcome; some can be circumvented. Fleeing is always valid. Make sure you always have a way out.

Conclusion

At the end of the day, Player Skill vs Character Skill isn’t just a mechanical distinction, it’s a question of what kind of game you actually want to play. Some tables thrive on dice-driven certainty and character sheets full of buttons to press; others want a grounded, intuitive world where clever ideas matter more than modifiers. Neither approach is universally better, but they create completely different experiences, and mismatched expectations will ruin a game faster than any bad die roll. So decide what kind of play you enjoy, communicate it clearly, and build a table that buys into the same style. When everyone understands the expectations, the game becomes smoother, more immersive, and a lot more fun.

Related: Game Design Sins - Character-Skill over Player-Skill is a post about D&D 4e skill challenges and why they stink.

Chapter Showcase - Adventures in Midland, Jo the Blue vs Hunk

This chapter from a novel (unpublished) in my Adventures in Midland series; it captures the tone and style I aim for in my fiction: grounded fantasy, sharp dialogue, and high tension. It’s one of my favorite sequences featuring Jo the Blue. Reading it now, I can tell you I have improved a lot at prose.

CHAPTER 8 Hunk

Why the brig was a thought that repeated in my mind. After the trap door closed on us and closed us into a smelly room that only let in light through gaps in the floorboards, I squatted down and reached two fingers into my left boot and withdrew a small folding knife. 

“Jo or Iosefina, or whatever your name is,” Captain Atelier started.

I fumbled it open with my hands as they were and made a loud clicking sound.

“What was that?”

I worked the point under a rope and started sawing and pulling. I cut through portions of the rope and it started to unwind. It loosened and fell off my hands with a few vigorous shakes. I then grabbed the cloth over my mouth and yanked it over my head and took a breath.

“Oh, I don’t like the smell in here!” I said.

In a distant part of the room came a sniffing sound. I froze in place.

“I don’t like that sound either,” I said. “Identify yourself at once!”

“Nonsense!” The captain said. “What could be…”

From across the room a deep guttural voice spoke, “does something speak to I?”

My stomach clenched. If only I could see the captain’s face down here and express my frustration to him non-verbally.

“It does,” I said, and sang “Custos parvus,” and with a whip of my hand from my side to my face I conjured a small orb of light just behind my head.

A bright area of light appeared on the floor for about five feet in all directions and a dim circle of light extended beyond that by about ten feet and blended into the darkness.

Captain Atelier whipped his head. “Ah! What?”

I searched the darkness. “Calm down, Captain. It’s just a light.”

“Oh, that’s a splendid trick!” said the deep voice.

“Why don’t you show yourself,” I called out sternly. “And just know that I have more splendid tricks in me.”

There was a sound like a very bulky man getting to his feet. I listened intently, but couldn’t hone in on exactly where it came from.

“You say, you say,” the voice said.

The Captain furrowed his eyes and gave me a confused look.

“I think he means ‘so you say,’” I said to the captain.

The captain’s face flashed with a perplexed look, then he became impatient. “Enough!” He snapped. “I am Captain Louis Atelier. I captain an Odegrad vessel called The Hull. Who am I addressing?”

“Who I?” the deep voice asked.

Heavy, lumbering footsteps sounded. The captain and I took uncomfortable steps back, but I was still floating and so my boots made no sound. A large man-shaped figure formed at the edge of the light, and portions of the beast’s thick, leathery skin showed green as it stepped through the perimeter. He was very broad; his jaw, his shoulders, his torso, his muscular arms, his hips.

“My God,” the captain said.

“I is called many things.” He pontificated, “some call I monster, some call I man-eater. That man Gilcrest call I Hunk. I is troll, I eat the women and the children.”

“Son of a bitch!” Captain Atelier said.

Hunk smiled wide showing a mouthful of jagged teeth and snickered. I stepped into the light fully. He was so tall, he couldn’t quite stand up straight in this space and was hunched over. His skin was covered in flat lumps that might have just been thick patches of skin, and he had marks that looked like they might have been scars, but they would have described major wounds.

He had a scar that ringed his right wrist, and a large scar across his pectorals and abdomen. He had many, many smaller scars on the outside of his arms where he might have blocked dozens of swords or spears.

He seemed perfectly at ease. He took a deep breath through his nose. “Bargain with I,” he said and smiled. “I will one of you spare. I will one of you not. You choose.” His eyes swiveled lazily from the captain to me.

“You can eat me,” I said sternly. “If you think you can.”

Hunk laughed and took one step forward with his left foot. “You make I laugh.” He reached an arm out, presented a massive palm, and curled and uncurled his fingers in sequence. “I is much larger.” He made a fist and turned his arm to me, showing me all the scars criss crossing his forearm. “I is not stopped by any wound.” He sounded amused, taunting even. “You is puny child. I eat many like you. You cannot stop I. Much bigger men than this one have tried many times.”

“I’ve seen your kind before. Your kind doesn’t get back up after having their head cut off.”

Captain Atelier looked at me curiously.

Hunk chuckled. “Is plain to see.” He turned his head and a bone cracking sound came from his neck. “Ahh,” he said relieved.

I looked directly at the captain. “Move.”

Captain Atelier furrowed his brow at me. “No, that’s not gentlemanly.”

“Move,” I said again.

Hunk laughed.

“What’s to stop him from eating the both of us?” the captain asked.

“Me. Now move.”

Hunk laughed a little. Then he bent at the knees and arched his back and laughed slightly harder. “I, I, I, says she.”

I looked directly at the captain and I said sternly “my name is Jo the Blue, and I am the greatest swordsman in the world. Now move. You’re in my way, and you’ll get it my way, and you’ll get hurt.” I pointed a finger at him and I started to sneer a little as I finished speaking.

Captain Atelier looked skeptically at me. After a moment, he seemed to conclude that I wasn’t suicidal and his face softened. “Just one question.”

“Yes?” I asked, impatiently.

“No questions!” Hunk said, and he lunged.

In a flash I whipped my cloak out of the way and reached across my body for my sword. I tried to draw it, but the curve of the handle made me draw the sword at the wrong angle, and it only came out an inch. In as much time, Hunk had stomped loudly across the deck and swung a massive, discolored arm out and swatted Captain Atelier out of the light and into the dark. The captain’s face twisted in pain as he came up off of his feet. Hunk smiled in satisfaction. He wound his fist back and looked down at me like I was food.

And with a single stride backwards, I cleared ten feet. Hunk held his punch and watched me, awestruck. Then his awe turned to disappointment, then to outrage. 

“You cheat!” he said and raced for me again. His stomps echoed in the room. 

I drew my sword fully and scratched Hunks’s fist with the tip at the apex of the draw. His fist came down hard and hit the deck, but I stepped out of the way and cut twice at the back of his arm as I did.

In my light, I saw that the cuts I made were small, and Hunk grinned at me. “I has tough skin!”

He lunged for me and threw several punches, all of which I dodged like a cloth fluttering in the breeze. Hunk grit his teeth in frustration.

“Be still!” he said.

“No,” I said bluntly.

He wound his right arm back, then reached for me with his left. In a single sideways stride, I moved towards the center of the room and put ten feet in between us. He raced after me with loud, heavy stomps and threw a haymaker, which I avoided with a much larger stride and cleared another fifteen feet. I willed my light to follow after me, and it lit a dark portion of the room where Captain Atelier was climbing to his knees and looking dazed.

I shouted at him “I said move!”

The captain looked stupefied at me.

Loud stomps followed after me, and the captain didn’t look like he was able to dodge.

I pointed my sword at Hunk and lunged for him. The sword pierced his abdomen, and I pushed it in up to the hilt.

And his momentum didn’t stop. He kept moving towards the captain, though now his face seemed mildly annoyed by this new wound.

He skidded to a halt.

I heard the captain roll out of the way.

I planted a foot in Hunk and kicked off him, taking my sword with me. Blood issued from the wound with a single squirt.

Hunk’s arms closed on the space where I was, then his eyes tracked me like an animal honing in on its prey. He ran for me again and threw a punch.

I dodged his punch and ran past him, pressing the edge of my sword across his side as I did. I turned and watched as Hunk twisted at the waist and found me with his eyes. He was still bent over awkwardly, unable to stand fully. He looked down at the bleeding cut at his side and flared his nostrils at his wound.

He growled. “Is too small a space.” He turned casually and started walking across the room. Each foot step broke the silence. He stood under the trap door, pressed a hand to it, straightened up and stretched his arm into it. The trap door sprung open and he reached into the sunlight. He grabbed the deck above and pulled himself up and out of the brig.

Captain Atelier and I met each other's gaze.

“What are you going to do?” he asked.

“Wait and see?”

I looked back at the trap door. Much lighter footsteps pounded the deck above us. I heard muffled shouts.

“You, monster! You are not supposed to be above deck!”

“Get back down below!”

There was a moment of silence, and it was broken by a deep, guttural shout “girl come out! Fight I where there is space!”

I looked at Captain Atelier and complained “he’s going to be more vigorous now, isn’t he?”

Captain Atelier looked stupefied again, then he laughed.

“Are you alright, captain? He hit you pretty good.”

“I’m fine,” he groaned. “I’m fine.” He sucked in a breath. “You might not be. You ran him clean through and he’s still standing. That’s madness.”

“How come you don’t seem surprised by him?” I asked.

Hunk shouted again. “Girl fight here!”

There were more shouts from the men above I couldn’t make out. I waited for them to quiet down.

“We merchants already knew about them,” Captain Atelier said. “If you survive, I’ll tell you more if you like.”

Oh? I turned and started walking towards the trap door. “I want to hear everything. And I want a promotion.”

Captain chuckled. “Did I hear you say… No, nevermind.”

I looked over my shoulder at him. “Yes, you did.” Then I leapt straight up.

I dodged a wild green punch as I cleared the trapdoor and another fifteen or twenty feet of air. I looked down at the bright deck of musketeers with wild and furious faces. I looked at the upper decks and saw the amazed faces of a couple of officers and more sailors. 

I looked back down at Hunk’s green, grinning face. In the light of day, I could see that his forearms and legs had an appearance of very calloused skin. It was darker and thicker and covered in more of those wide, flat lumps like scales of thick flesh.

The wounds on his abdomen and his flank didn’t appear to bleed anymore.

I floated down and landed gently on my toes. I cocked an eyebrow and Hunk, and I pointed my sword at him again.

“Girl,” he said. “You fly?”

“Yep.”

Hunk chuckled. He reached down for his muscular abdomen and rubbed it with a large finger tip. “I no can die.”

“I disagree.” I gave my sword a flick and some blood splashed the deck.

Hunk laughed.

“Why fight me?” I asked. “Why not escape?”

Hunk looked and sounded satisfied. “I here to eat.”

“Understood!”

“Sailors!” An officer shouted. “Shoot her! Shoot the witch!”

“You!” I started to say, and nearly cursed. The musketeers aimed their muskets for me and I moved.

Bangs went off all around me. Flashes of fire and clouds of smoke erupted from a dozen barrels.

I strode, and was ten feet from where I was standing when the shots went off, flying directly for Hunk with the point of my sword first. I pierced his chest to the hilt, and his body jerked. I planted a foot in him and kicked off him. A green hand flailed wildly for my ankle as I went up. I came down on his shoulder and buried the sword into the gap between his neck and shoulder. He twisted wildly at waist and spun a half circle. I twisted my sword and pressed the edge into him, and I kicked up off his shoulders straight up into the air. I looked down at him grasping for his sputtering shoulder with both hands. I cut downwards as I floated to the deck. I caught him in the side of the neck and opened a gash, and I dragged the edge of my sword down his arms. His face twisted with pain, and his head turned hard. His knee hit the deck with a loud bang.

I took a single stride backwards and put a distance for charging in between us.

He shook his head and scowled at me.

I did a flourish with my sword, presented the edge at him, and I took a single stride. As I passed him, I caught him under the chin with the edge.

He gargled, then there was another loud bang as he hit the deck behind me.

I waited and didn’t hear him move.

I looked around at all the silent, stunned crew of Count Gilcrest's ship.

“Witch Iosefina!” called an officer from the upper deck.

I turned and looked up at him.

“You will surrender, now!”

I didn’t feel like raising my voice. I leapt up. Some of the crew flinched.

I landed on the upper deck. I rubbed the railing gently with my offhand once, and pointed my sword at the faltering stoic face of the officer.

“My answer,” I said.

The officer tilted his chin up at me. I pressed the bloody tip of my sword to his collar and I stepped in really close. With my offhand, I presented a single finger at him.

“You, officer, what’s your name?”

“I am Captain Frank Osborne,” he said with a firm voice.

“Captain Frank Osborne,” I repeated and thought for a beat. “How would you like for that name to be known as the captain who sank Midland’s foremost ship?”

He narrowed his eyebrows at me. “Do your worst.”

“I will,” I said sternly. “I absolutely will. You can bet your fool arse.”

Captain Osborne just looked back at me. Then his eyes swiveled away.

“Sorry about your uniform,” I said sternly. I kept the point of my sword in between myself and Captain Osborne and I walked past him. “I’m going up stairs. I’m going to have a word with the count. This ship will burn and sink into the Middle Sea if anyone follows me. You can share a watery grave with that green monster.”

Captain Osborne gulped.