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Why Face-to-Face D&D Really Matters

Some of you might already know that I am a huge fan of playing Dungeons & Dragons face to face around a table. The phones are away, everyone is present at the table and reacting to one another in real time. Somewhere between the terrible (but infectious) jokes, dramatic character moments and crazy in world hi-jinks something happens that is difficult to recreate online.

You become a group.

Don’t get me wrong online D&D is has its place. It allows people who live in different cities, countries or even continents to play together. As proved in the Covid pandemic it creates options for groups to keep gaming when meeting in person isn’t practical.

But when you can get everyone around the same table, there is a particular kind of magic that happens that cant be replicated online.

Having spent three years working from home, I fully understand how these face to face lessons apply to the workplace. Being fully remote loses the significant benefits of working with your teams in person.

There is more to communication than words

When you’re playing D&D face to face, communication isn’t just about what someone says. You see the beginnings of a grin when someone has an idea. Carol leans forward because they’re suddenly interested. Two players share a look when they realise they’ve had the same thought. Andrew hesitates before suggesting something. You hear the change in Marty’s voice when they’re getting excited. A huge amount of communication happens without anyone deliberately communicating it.

Online, much of that information gets lost. Cameras might be turned off or mics muted. Someone’s face might be reduced to a tiny square on a screen. If you’re playing through a virtual tabletop, there may be several windows competing for your attention.

Funnily enough the same things happen at work. Email is excellent for communicating information. Teams and Slack are great for quick questions. Video calls are incredibly useful and have their place. But none of them completely replace being in the same physical space.

Human beings communicate through much more than words. Cues created by body language are critical in gaining understanding the other person. Sometimes the most important part of a conversation is the five seconds before someone says anything.

The conversations between the conversations

One of the great things about playing D&D face to face is what happens when nobody is technically playing. When everyone arrives before the game and settles in the conversation starts flowing. Two players start discussing what happened last session. while the DM and another player have a quick conversation about a character. Someone tells a story. You end up talking about something completely unrelated to the game.

I can be guilty of thinking of these as wasted moments. I want to get on with the game. However, think of them instead as part of the social glue that holds the group together.

The same thing happens in workplaces. Think about the conversations that happen before a meeting starts. Or that quick chat while making coffee. While these interactions can seem insignificant. They aren’t. Each small interaction helps build relationships which ultimately makes collaboration easier.

A shared physical space creates shared experiences

There is something powerful about everyone experiencing the same thing at the same time. The Kraken rises from the depths. Everyone reacts. The dice clatter on the table, while the group hold their breath. A natural 20 and the table erupts. Moments like this become shared memories. And shared memories create relationships.

Workplaces have these moments too. The project that somehow came together at the last minute. That ridiculous client meeting. Celebrations after winning a major piece of work. The office Christmas party that probably shouldn’t be discussed in too much detail. These experiences become part of the team’s story. Eventually you get a group of people who don’t just work together. They have a history together and that’s a powerful thing.

Physical presence makes collaboration easier

D&D is fundamentally collaborative. Players need to listen to each other, understand what others are doing and coordinate their actions. Being physically present makes some of this easier. You can point at the map, move a miniature, describe a plan with hand movements and more easily react to what someone else is doing. There is less friction.

The same applies to some workplace activities. A complicated problem can sometimes be solved in ten minutes around a whiteboard when the same discussion might take an hour through a series of emails or Teams messages. People can build on each other’s ideas immediately. Someone draws something, another changes it, while the third person spots a problem. Suddenly the group has moved from spending hours discussing the problem to solving it. The physical environment becomes part of the collaboration.

Serendipity matters

Perhaps one of the biggest advantages of being physically together is something that is very difficult to schedule. Serendipity. You bump into someone on the way to the lab. Perhaps you overhear a conversation and discover that someone else has been working on a problem similar to yours. Maybe you mention an idea while making coffee.

Someone says:

“Actually, I’ve been thinking about that too.”

And a completely unexpected connection appears.

D&D has plenty of examples. Someone mentions a character idea while setting up. Another player has a suggestion. The DM suddenly gets an idea. An NPC becomes a central part of the campaign. A throwaway comment becomes an entire adventure. The physical table creates opportunities for those things to happen.

But this isn’t an argument against being online

There is an important caveat. Online D&D isn’t bad D&D and remote work isn’t bad work. Technology has given us extraordinary opportunities to connect with people who otherwise couldn’t participate.

For some people, remote work provides flexibility that is genuinely valuable. In a D&D group, online play might be the only reason the campaign can continue. The lesson isn’t that everything needs to happen face to face. Rather that physical interaction has unique benefits that are easy to underestimate. We should recognise those benefits rather than assuming technology can perfectly replicate them.

Bring people together for the things that benefit from being together

This is where I think the D&D analogy becomes particularly useful for workplaces. You don’t necessarily need everyone sitting in the office every day. But there are some activities where getting people together can create disproportionate value.

Of course you don’t always need an agenda. Sometimes the agenda can simply be “Let’s have lunch.” That’s not wasted time. It’s an investment in the relationships that make the rest of the work possible.

The face to face table creates belonging

There is something wonderfully democratic about a D&D table. Everyone has a seat and everyone’s character matters. The wizard might be opening a magical portal while the fighter is holding the doorway and the rogue is quietly investigating something nobody else noticed. Everyone contributes something different and yet are all part of the same story.

That sense of belonging matters in workplaces too. People don’t just want to know what their job is. They want to know where they fit and to feel connected to the people around them. Face-to-face interaction can help create that sense of belonging because relationships become more tangible.

Instead of being just a name in an email, you’re the person who sits across the table, who helped solve that problem. The person who laughed at the ridiculous thing that happened in the meeting.

The person you know.

Sometimes you just need to roll some dice

Perhaps this is why I keep coming back to the physical D&D table. It’s not because technology is incapable of delivering a good game. Rather, it’s because there is something about being physically present with other people that is difficult to replace.

You hear the dice hit the table, see their reaction before anyone says anything, laugh at the terrible plan, celebrate the natural 20. Eventually, after several hours, you pack everything away and realise you’ve spent an evening with a group of people creating something unique together.

That’s more than playing a game. It’s social connection.

And perhaps that’s the lesson D&D has for the workplace.

Technology can connect us. But connection isn’t the same thing as being connected.

Sometimes we need the video call, the email, or the flexibility of working from home. And sometimes we need to put the screens away, sit around the same table and spend some time together.

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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.

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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.

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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.

Of course, the island is beautiful. It has rugged coastlines, spectacular scenery, historic buildings and a desperate need for economic opportunities. Unfortunately, it also has a problem. Nobody comes here. The council has decided that tourism is the answer. Someone has created a shiny new website and the ferry service has been expanded. A festival of the Sun is planned. Investors are interested. The council is finally beginning to believe that the island might have a future.

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.

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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.