Having Freedom to Choose: What D&D Teaches Us About Autonomy

Any long term readers (all three of you) of this blog know that I I love finding parallels between Dungeons & Dragons and teams in the workplace. This is not because adventuring parties are particularly effective organisations. Rather, a group of players all representing characters with different skills, goals and outlooks all come together to beat a common goal. Remarkably similar to teams in the real world. Something that drives both the players of the game and team mates at work is autonomy.

In game players have the freedom to decide what their characters do. Of course, those decisions should matter. It is not at all surprising that the same principle sits at the heart of creating a motivated and engaged workplace.

Autonomy is more than freedom

In his book Drive, Daniel Pink identifies three key elements that underpin motivation in modern workplaces: autonomy, mastery and purpose. Autonomy is the desire to have some control over what we do, how we do it, and sometimes when we do it. It doesn’t mean everyone gets to do whatever they want. A workplace without structure would quickly descend into something resembling a badly managed D&D campaign. Everyone would have their own objectives, nobody would know what anyone else was doing, and the person responsible for payroll would probably be hiding in the woods.

Autonomy exists within boundaries.

A D&D game has rules, a setting, a Dungeon Master, a scenario and consequences. Players aren’t free to rewrite reality whenever they want. But within those boundaries, they should have enormous freedom.

The DM might tell the players:

“You have arrived at the gates of the marble city.”

What happens next is up to them. They might walk brazenly through the gate. Or perhaps they sneak in through the sewers at night. Of course, they might decide the city is clearly too dangerous and wander off in completely the opposite direction. The important thing isn’t that the players get everything they want. It’s that they get to choose.

Choices need consequences

I’ve gone into this in more detail in my previous article and I don’t want to cover the same ground. But there is an important distinction between giving people choices and giving people meaningful choices. Railroading is taken badly by the roleplaying community for a reason.

At work we can ask employees for their opinions, run surveys, hold meetings and invite suggestions. But if every decision has already been made, people quickly learn that their participation is decorative only. Autonomy requires more than asking people what they think.

People need to believe that their decisions can change something. That doesn’t mean every suggestion must be accepted. Just as the DM doesn’t have to allow every player plan to succeed, managers can’t accommodate every idea. But when someone makes a decision, we should be able to explain why it mattered.

The D&D player needs agency

Lets consider two different D&D games. In the first, the DM has written an elaborate story. The players are expected to follow the plot from A to B to C. They meet the NPC the DM has prepared, discover the clue the DM wants them to discover, travel to the location the DM has selected and fight the villain waiting there. While the adventure might be beautifully written the players can begin to feel like passengers.

In the second game, the DM establishes a world, creates problems and introduces characters with their own motivations. Then the players decide what they want to do. The DM responds to those decisions. The players might ignore the obvious villain and become obsessed with helping a farmer recover a stolen cow. They might make friends with the Sheriff who was supposed to be an antagonist. Instead of entering the carefully prepared dungeon they might go straight to the castle, because they found another way to deal with the evil necromancer.

For the DM, this can be terrifying. However, for the players, it can be fantastic. Because now the story belongs to them too. Their choices shape what happens next. That is agency. One of the great pleasures of roleplaying games.

The workplace needs agency too

Lets look at a workplace that gives people responsibility without giving them control.

  • “You’re responsible for delivering this project, but I’ll decide how you do it.”
  • “I want you to take ownership, but please run every decision past me.”
  • “I’d like you to develop professionally, but here’s exactly what you’re going to work on.”

These approaches can create accountability without autonomy which eventually leads to people feeling like they don’t own their work. Instead, they become characters following someone else’s adventure path.

A more autonomous approach might sound like:

“Here’s the outcome we need. Here’s the timeframe and the constraints. How would you approach it?”

Now the employee has something to solve. They can bring their expertise to the problem and make their own decisions. Of course, by doing so they can learn from the consequences.

That is much closer to playing a great game of D&D.

The DM doesn’t disappear

Now, beware, because there is a trap here. If autonomy is so good, it can be tempting to conclude that managers should simply get out of everyone’s way. But that’s not what autonomy means.

The DM still has a critical role. They establish the world, create challenges, introduce consequences and maintain the rules. On occasion they have to tell the players, “No, your wizard cannot summon an ancient dragon just because you rolled a natural 20.”

Good managers do much the same. They establish expectations and boundaries, while providing resources and support. Where possible they help remove obstacles and make sure people understand both the objective and the constraints.

Ultimately, they allow people to decide how to get there. The skill is knowing when to intervene and when to let the players play.

Autonomy creates ownership

One of the most interesting things about D&D is how quickly players become invested in decisions they have made themselves.

If the DM tells the party that they must defeat the corrupt town mayor, the players may care. But if the players decide that the mayor needs to be brought down because of the way he’s been bullying their characters families, the objective becomes personal. They are fully invested.

Of course, the same thing happens at work. People are more likely to feel ownership over an outcome when they have had a genuine role in determining how they will achieve it. Telling the team “We need to deliver this project by the end of the month, within this budget, while meeting these quality and safety requirements,” creates the playing field. the team then decide how to play the game. That’s autonomy.

Failure is part of autonomy

There is one final lesson that D&D offers us. If players are genuinely making decisions, sometimes they are going to make bad ones. They will open the trapped chest (there might be treasure inside…) or split the party (haven’t horror movies taught us anything?). Sometimes they will charge the ancient green dragon head on.

If we want to create autonomy for our teams at work, we have to accept the same reality. People will make mistakes. The answer isn’t to remove their ability to make decisions. Doing so creates a workplace where the safest strategy is to ask permission for everything.

Instead, we should distinguish between acceptable failure and unacceptable failure. A junior employee making a poor judgement call on a low-risk task can be an opportunity for learning. A decision that creates a serious safety risk is completely different.

Boundaries do matter. Within those boundaries, however, people need enough freedom to experiment and develop their judgement.

That’s how mastery develops too. And Pink’s three elements begin to connect.

  • Autonomy gives people the opportunity to choose.
  • Mastery gives them the opportunity to get better.
  • Purpose gives them a reason to care.

Let the players play

When thinking about autonomy, perhaps the biggest lesson D&D offers managers is surprisingly simple: Don’t write the players’ story for them. Give them the objective and resources. Explain the boundaries before letting them decide what to do.

The same is true at work. If we want people to take ownership, solve problems creatively and become more capable, we need to give them opportunities to exercise judgement.

We need to move from: “Here’s what I want you to do.” towards: “Here’s what we’re trying to achieve. How do you think we should do it?” That small change can transform the relationship between a manager and an employee. One makes someone a participant. The other makes them an owner.

Perhaps that is why D&D continues to be such a useful mirror for the workplace. The best games aren’t about the Dungeon Master telling everyone what happens. They’re about creating a world where people’s choices matter.

The best workplaces aren’t either.

Exciting News: Unveiling the Book Cover!

A quick post today. Over the last year or so I’ve been working at turning some of the concepts of this blog into a book. Introducing:

Dungeons, Dice and Decision making: Leadership lessons from the worlds most popular roleplaying game.

My good friend and very talented Keith Turner has hand crafted this awesome cover and I had to share it with you all. Also, I should be expecting the physical proofs to arrive any day now.

The book cover! Drawn by the talented Keith Turner.

The basic premise of the book is: What if you could enhance your leadership skills by playing Dungeons & Dragons. (No surprise for any long term readers of this blog). the rest of the blurb reads as follows:

Running a game of Dungeons & Dragons has surprising parallels with leading a team in the workplace. Dungeon Masters must communicate clearly, adapt to the unexpected, resolve conflict, inspire diverse personalities, and guide a group towards a shared goal. Sound familiar?

This book explores the leadership lessons hidden within the world’s most popular roleplaying game and shows how they can be applied to real-world teams and organisations. Drawing on practical examples from both the gaming table and the workplace, it reveals how D&D can help develop communication, teamwork, decision-making, resilience, creativity, and leadership.

More than just a leadership book, it also includes a simple roleplaying game system along with practical guidance for running experiential learning sessions at work, allowing organisations to develop their people through engaging, memorable experiences.

I’m hopeful that this book will help gamers view the skills they gain playing at the table differently.

Watch this space, I will be sharing more information over the next few weeks.

Welcome to Widow’s Bay: How to Turn the Show into a Fun Call of Cthulhu Adventure

Call of Cthulhu usually gives investigators a reason to poke around in places where sensible people would turn around and go home. A strange letter, missing academic or a suspicious death. An ancient book discovered in a dusty attic. But what if your investigators aren’t detectives, professors or private investigators? What if they are the local council? That was the thought I had while watching the first few episodes of Apple TV’s Widows Bay. I won’t spoil anything beyond those opening episodes, but the combination of an isolated island, strange events, secrets and an increasingly uncomfortable atmosphere immediately made me think that this would make a fantastic Call of Cthulhu adventure. Not an adaptation of the show, exactly. More a case of taking the ingredients and putting them into the cosmic-horror blender.

And what comes out is something particularly nasty.

Welcome to the Island

Using the premise of the show the investigators are all members of the local council on a remote island. This could be set anywhere, remote Scotland, off the coast of Canada or Australia. Having it local to your actual real world location can really add to the player engagement.

Then the ferry arrives.

Start in Media Res

Don’t begin the adventure with a council meeting. Avoid spending twenty minutes having the players introduce their councillors around a table while discussing the tourism budget.

Start with the ferry.

The characters are standing on the dock as the first significant group of tourists arrives on the island. There is excitement. Cameras. Children running around. The mayor is giving an enthusiastic speech about the island’s bright future.

And then there is an accident. Something falls. Someone disappears beneath the water. Screams cut through the festival atmosphere.

And when the councillors finally see what has happened, they realise that the accident is far worse than anyone can possibly know. An onlooker has been dragged beneath the water, by something indescribable.

The council has a problem. Without the tourists the economy of the island will collapse. If the visitors on the ferry see the tragedy all will be lost. A cover up is needed. Fast.

Don’t Tell Anyone

This is where the premise gets particularly fun. The investigators now have three goals:

  • Protect the public.
  • Enhance the island’s reputation by keeping the tourism campaign alive.
  • Work out what actually happened.

Of course there are plenty of juicy complications to keep the players on their toes. Obviously, the police want to investigate, while the victims relatives are calling conspiracy to anyone that will listen. A couple of tourists are posting photographs online. Meanwhile, somewhere in the background, someone is quietly removing evidence.

Initially the investigators have every reason to believe they’re dealing with an ordinary disaster. Then things start becoming wonderfully strange.

  • An old fisherman tells them they should stop.
  • A local family refuses to cooperate.
  • Someone mentions an old story about the island, something about sacrifice and witchcraft.
  • One of the investigators notices an ancient symbol carved into the dock.

Just as in episode 2 of widows Bay, the mystery deepens very quickly.

Let the Dread Build

Now’s the time for the session to take a darker turn. The first disappearance should be pretty much explainable. The second should be suspicious. Of course the third should be impossible. By this time it becomes abundantly clear that the tourists aren’t merely disappearing. They’re being taken.

Chaos erupts. The ferry is sabotaged and panicked tourists demand to leave. The council must maintain calm and order.

The Island Itself Becomes the Monster

A great way to run this adventure would make the island feel increasingly hostile as play continues. Birds disappear. Fish wash ashore. The tides become strange. Old wells start producing salt water. The sea glows at night. People begin dreaming about enormous things moving beneath the earth.

Uncomfortably, the investigators start finding the same symbol everywhere.

  • On gravestones.
  • Inside old houses.
  • Under layers of paint.
  • Carved into fishing boats.
  • Hidden in the council archives.
  • Perhaps even beneath the foundation of the council building itself.

The island has been living with this thing for centuries.

The Tourism Campaign Becomes Horrifyingly Relevant

Of course, the council has spent months trying to attract visitors. And now they have succeeded. Unfortunately, the island needs visitors.

All these tourists descending on the island isn’t simply creating a problem. It is fulfilling part of an ancient plan. One involving sacrifices of incomers. Every new tourist group brings the island closer to its ultimate ancient god -raising goal.

Hopefully this creates a wonderful final dilemma reminiscent of the mayor keeping the beach open in Jaws. Do they shut down tourism and evacuate the island? Or keep everything quiet while they attempt to stop whatever is coming?

The Final Act

Eventually, the investigators discover what the islands end game. The missing tourists haven’t been killed. They have been taken to a crumbling temple beneath the island, where something ancient and evil awaits to be woken.

Will the investigators stop this terrible calamity and at what price?

The Inspiration Blender

As you can see, from watching 3 episodes of Widows Bay we can create a compelling one-shot or even short campaign for Call of Cthulhu, or even Ten Candles. What makes this premise particularly appealing is that it doesn’t need to come from Widows Bay alone. You can throw all sorts of influences into the pot. The Wicker Man, The Shadow Over Innsmouth, Jaws, X-files, can all add to the flavour.

So next time you sit down to watch a new show, think about how it might port onto your gaming table. You might be surprised with what you come up with.

Now remember, sometimes the most terrifying thing isn’t discovering that there is an ancient god beneath your island.

It’s discovering that you invited everyone over to meet it.

The Choices That Matter: Why Meaningful Decisions Make RPGs Powerful

I’ve been thinking about how to design adventures for the CMM conference in June next year. Part of the secret that makes playing RPGs so much fun is when, as a player, you have to make a meaningful decision. Of course, this can include tricky moral dilemmas, but doesn’t need to. Knowing that your decisions at the table have consequences really elevates the experience.

Do you open the mysterious door or keep walking? Will you trust that suspicious stranger? Save the villagers or pursue the villain?

A meaningful decision is not simply a decision between two options. It is a choice where the outcome matters, there has to be something to lose, and where neither option is obviously correct.

Choices are the engine of roleplaying

A roleplaying game without meaningful choices is essentially a guided tour. The players may roll dice, fight monsters and explore interesting locations, but if their decisions don’t meaningfully affect what happens, they are passengers rather than participants.

When designing adventures create situations where players have agency. The players decide what their characters do, and the world responds accordingly.

Homlet Village is under attack by a gang of Bugbears, led by their arch nemesis Greyneck. Do the players attack the Bugbears? Perhaps they open negotiations with the dastardly Greyneck. Instead the adventurers sneak into the village to spirit the inhabitants away before the enemy break down the gates. If Greyneck has something the characters desperately need, it opens up even more possibilities.

The important thing is that the players get to decide. And the decision has consequences. This is what makes an RPG feel alive.

The power of the dilemma

The most memorable RPG decisions are rarely between good and bad. They are between good and good. Or, better yet, between bad and worse.

Imagine a party discover that the Realms ruler is actually an imposter. He killed the real King years ago. The problem is that he is a fair and just ruler and his subjects love him. They can bring this imposter to justice where he will surely be executed, potentially causing a civil war. Alternatively, they can keep quiet and let the “King” continue as is, knowing that he is a murderer.

There isn’t a perfect answer.

Now the players have something to talk about around the table. “What should we do?” The dilemma creates tension because the players care about the outcome. They debate, argue and negotiate. They make their case.

When eventually someone says: “Right. We’re doing it.” it creates an incredibly important moment. Ultimately, the story now belongs to the players.

The Prisoners Dilemma is a classic for a reason.

A choice without consequences isn’t really a choice

RPGs also demonstrate an important distinction between choice and meaningful choice.

A player might be offered three doors.

  • Behind door one is a monster.
  • Behind door two is treasure.
  • Behind door three is another monster.

Technically, the player has choices. But if the doors are essentially arbitrary, the decision has little meaning. Instead, contrast it with:

  • Door one: Save the captured villagers, but allow the villain to escape.
  • Door two: Pursue the villain, but leave the villagers to their fate.
  • Door three: Attempt to do both, knowing there is a strong chance of failing at both.

Now the choice has weight and the player has to decide what matters. Meaningful decisions like this force the players to reveal their priorities.

Meaning comes from having something at stake

Think about the stories we remember from playing RPGs. We rarely remember the encounter where the party fought six identical goblins, lost no hit points and collected 14 gold pieces. No, we remember the moment when the party had one spell slot left, the cleric was unconscious and someone had to decide whether to run or stay and save their friend good friend Vesperian.

We remember the difficult choices. And we remember them because something was at stake.

If I want to make these hour long adventures mean something then there must be something serious hanging in the balance. The players need to know that their decision, regardless of what it is, has consequences.

  • They are hunting a monster that has been persecuted by the villagers
  • A prophecy has identified the Chosen One who will save the land. The King wants to execute her, rebels hide her away. Her death will stop the ravenous horde of the dead
  • The Grand Magical Library is burning down. Doo you save the loyal librarians or magical tomes that might hold the secret of immortality

Using the meaningful decision

As i work on these adventures, I am going to make sure that each has a meaningful decision at it’s core. Then as part of the session debrief we can explore the ways that the players reached agreement (or not) around how to approach it. i really believe that this will help create a memorable experience for those signing up for the games. And that is ultimately what I want to achieve. Creating an impression of D&D that they will remember long after they have left the conference.

In addition, I’m going to be a bit more purposeful about including these in my current Mythic Bastionland campaign. Often they come about in the moment, but I feel that a few well placed meaningful decision points might be a good way to lift the campaign.

Why Every Dungeon Master Should Consider Starting In Media Res

Most of us will have begun more than one Dungeons & Dragons adventure with a familiar scene: the party meets in a tavern, a mysterious stranger offers a quest, and the characters cautiously decide whether to accept. There is nothing wrong with this approach, in fact sometimes it can be a fun boost of nostalgia. However, there is another technique that can inject immediate energy into a game from the get go: starting in media res.

What is In Media Res?

The Latin phrase in media res translates to “into the middle of things.” Rather than beginning at the start of the story, the action begins while events are already underway. The characters are not discussing whether they should embark on an adventure. They are already in the thick of it and usually in immediate danger .

Imagine opening a session with:

“The wagon lurches violently as goblin arrows rain down from the trees. One horse collapses, screaming in terror. Smoke rises from the forest ahead. What are you going to do?”

The players immediately have questions. Why are they on this wagon? Where are they going? Who is attacking them? The answers can emerge naturally through play. The story begins with excitement rather than exposition.

For Dungeon Masters running convention games, conference one-shots, introductory sessions, or the opening of a new campaign, starting in media res can be an incredibly powerful way to engage the players straight away.

What Does In Media Res Look Like in D&D?

An in media res opening drops the players directly into a meaningful situation.

Some examples include:

  • The party is halfway through a desperate escape from a collapsing dungeon, a dragon on their heels.
  • The adventurers are defending a village that is already on fire and under attack.
  • A negotiation with a crime lord has gone catastrophically wrong.
  • The heroes awaken in chains aboard a slave ship and orc slavers are ready to throw them overboard.
  • The group is hanging from a rope bridge while harpies circle overhead.
  • A heist is underway, the alarm has just sounded and the vault door is closing.

In each case, the players are immediately making decisions rather than listening to explanations. The game starts with action.

Instant Engagement

One of the challenges facing any Dungeon Master, especially in one-shots, is getting players invested quickly. Traditional openings often require a period of scene setting, introductions, and explanation before players become fully engaged. In media res skips this entirely.

Of course, people naturally pay attention when something important is happening. A sword fight, a collapsing tunnel, a chase across rooftops, or a diplomatic disaster immediately focuses attention. Players begin asking questions, making decisions, and interacting with the world.

No need to earn engagement, you start with it.

The opening of Breaking Bad, a great example of In Media Res

Perfect for One-Shots

Convention and conference games live under a constant enemy: time. If you have a four-hour session, spending the first forty-five minutes introducing characters, explaining why they are together, and persuading them to pursue the adventure can feel wasteful. If you only have one or two hours this is an even bigger loss of time. Starting in media res allows you to get to the interesting part immediately.

Let’s consider two versions of the same adventure.

Traditional Opening

The players arrive in town. After talking to a few villagers they meet the mayor. They learn about the missing blacksmith. As a group the party moves from location to location gathering clues. Finally they decide to investigate the nearby ruins.

In Media Res Opening

The players are already inside the ruins. A dark ritual has begun led by a figure wearing a deer skull on its head. Distraught, the blacksmith hangs from chains above a blood stained sacrificial altar. Hooded cultists are chanting, working themselves into a frenzy. What do they do?

While of course I have gone a little over the top with these examples, which one has the most impact? With the second one I’m already picturing the scene and I’m thinking of ways to save the Blacksmith. And I’m not even playing the game.

For conference games, where players may never have met each other before and may only have a few hours available, this can dramatically improve the experience. In this case, every minute spent adventuring is a minute well spent.

Questions Instead Answers

As a Dungeon Master it’s easy to feel like you need to explain everything before play can begin. Give the players context to what is going on. Provide hints as to who the bad guys might be.

In reality though, curiosity is often more powerful than explanation. When players find themselves in the middle of a situation, they naturally want to understand how they got there. This encourages active engagement with the story.

Rather than saying:

“You are transporting the Holy Reliquary to the capital.”

You can begin with:

“The rune covered relic case slips from the back of the wagon and tumbles towards the cliff edge.”

The players immediately understand something important is happening. Details can emerge later through conversation, flashbacks, or discoveries.

Stronger Character Introductions

Many groups spend significant time introducing characters one at a time. I admit, I always make my players do this at the beginning of each campaign or one-shot. While this can work well, it often creates an awkward period where players describe their characters while everyone else waits.

An action-focused opening allows personalities to emerge through behaviour. You learn more about a character when:

  • The paladin dives into danger to protect civilians.
  • The rogue immediately looks for an escape route.
  • The wizard casts fireball in the small room.
  • The barbarian charges the enemy leader.

Players often discover who their characters truly are by playing them rather than describing them.

Building Momentum for a New Campaign

While in media res is excellent for one-shots, it can also be highly effective when launching a long-term campaign. Campaign openings carry a lot of responsibility. They must introduce the world, establish themes, and make players care about what happens next.

Starting with action provides immediate momentum. The opening scene becomes the spark that ignites the campaign. Perhaps the party survives a shipwreck that strands them on an unknown continent. Or they witness the assassination of a king. These events create shared experiences that bond the party together from the outset. Instead of beginning with a reason to adventure, the adventure itself creates the reason.

The Secret Advantage: Shared History

One challenge in roleplaying games is answering the question:

“Why are these characters working together?”

More often than not we hand wave this away. Or, create a convoluted reason for everyone to cooperate. An in media res opening can solve this problem elegantly.

Simply begin with the assumption that the characters have already accepted the mission. The details can be filled in later. This allows the group to establish a shared history almost immediately. After surviving a goblin ambush, escaping a prison, or stealing a magical artifact together, the party already has a common story. Nothing builds camaraderie like surviving a crisis.

A Useful Technique: Flashbacks

One concern DMs often have is that players may miss important background information. Flashbacks provide a simple solution.

Once the opening action has concluded, you can briefly jump backwards in time. Paint the Picture questions can really help with this.

“Three days earlier, how did each of you end up taking this job?”

“Before the heist began, what role did your character play in the planning?”

These short scenes allow players to contribute details to the story while preserving the excitement of the opening. You get all the benefits of backstory without sacrificing momentum.

A Word of Caution

Starting in media res works best when players still have meaningful choices. Avoid opening with long sequences where outcomes are predetermined.

For example:

“You are all captured. You cant escape. Now let me explain what happens next.”

This removes agency and can frustrate players. Railroading like this can really sour the game. Instead, place the characters in a difficult situation but allow their decisions to shape the outcome. The excitement comes from uncertainty.

Players should feel like protagonists, not passengers.

Final Thoughts

Starting a game in media res is one of the simplest ways to increase energy, engagement, and momentum at the table. For one-shots and convention games, it helps you make the most of limited time by getting players into the action immediately. For campaign launches, it creates memorable shared experiences that bind characters together and establish the tone of the adventure.

The next time you prepare a game, resist the temptation to begin with a lengthy briefing or a tavern conversation.

Instead, start with something exciting happening. Then look at your players and say the three words that every Dungeon Master loves to hear:

“What do you do?”