Time for a non-humble brag…

It’s hard to teach y’all to run great games in a step-by-step and preplanned way given that running great games comes so naturally to me. I’m rarely consciously aware of the brilliant things I do intuitively to make my games so great.

I know my players are snickering right now at the idea that I run great games. But they’re not going to comment, are they? Because roleplaying game characters are delicate and it’s really easy for them to get broken. Accidental-like.

My point is, I know I’m prone to make bad assumptions about what folks can and can’t intuit on their own and to leave out steps in my process because I’m barely aware of them. That’s why I read all your comments and Discord discussions. And why I’m always ready to change my lesson plan in response to feedback.

Today’s lesson is not about rolling initiative and resolving combat. Questions from readers and supporters like Goil and Kalidrev — thank you both; seriously — revealed to me I’d made a big-ass assumption and left something important untaught.

So today, I’m going to teach you why you want temporal anarchy in your game and how to handle it…

Everyone Doing Everything All at Once

Welcome back, True Game Masters-in-Training!

Before I teach you any more about resolving specific kinds of in-game actions, I want to bridge the gap between all the crap I’ve already taught you about pacing — like Inviting the Principal Character’s Player to Act and following the Declare-Determine-Describe Cycle — and how to string piles of actions together when an encounter’s underway and everyone’s taking action.

And remember, an encounter is a sequence of in-game events that arise whenever the players’ characters run into something with which they might interact. That includes owlbears and orcish warbands and cliffs and poison arrow traps and shopkeepers and libraries and towns.

How does a True Game Master deftly weave a bunch of players’ actions together with in-world events and nonplayer-character actions to create a smoothly flowing sequence of events?

That’s what I’m going to show you.

Chaos: The Natural State of Roleplaying Gaming

All the crap I’ve taught so far about descriptions and invitations and resolutions has probably left some of you with the distinct impression that a masterfully-run tabletop roleplaying game is a turn-based back-and-forth of such things. “Adam, this is what’s happening; what do you do? Okay, here’s the result. Now, Beth, this is what’s happening; what do you do? Okay, here’s the result. Now, Chris,…” and so on.

In combat, that’s how it be. But outside the split-second timing of combat — which is most of the time — that ain’t how it works at all. Tabletop roleplaying games aren’t sequential, turn-based affairs. Turn orders are the exception, not the rule.

A Wibbly-Wobbly, Timey-Wimey Mess

Outside of the imposed turn order of combat, the characters in tabletop roleplaying games are pretty much just doing whatever whenever. Actions happen simultaneously. They overlap. Sometimes they interrupt or override each other. And nonplayer characters and game events jump in with flagrant disregard for a proper, preset sequence of turns.

And that’s just how True Game Masters want it.

As a True Game Master, you must maintain the illusion that the players aren’t playing a game but are rather exploring an actual imaginary otherworld. Thus, unless you have no other choice, you don’t impose artificial and arbitrary constraints.

Outside the rigors of split-second combat action, the characters must be free to act whenever they wish. Characters must be free to jump into conversations when the fancy strikes them. They must be free to rifle through that chest while the rogue’s picking the lock on the door. They must be free to go shopping or craft items while the paladin and the cleric meet with the king.

But that sort of chaotic temporal anarchy is really hard to run. And it’s confusing as hell to play. And thus you — as a True Game Master — have to take the chaos of events — however and whenever they happen — and weave them into a playable game and a satisfying story.

That comes down to three things…

Putting Events in Sequence

Our brains fit everything into cause-and-effect sequences. And most story structures across cultures and throughout history are, at their core, about connecting effects with causes in a clear, comprehensible sequence. Thus, to provide a satisfying narrative experience, a True Game Master must order the in-game events in some logical sequence.

As a True Game Master who is also a mortal human being, you must also fit the game’s chaos of events into a sequence because you exist only at a single point in time and thus can only resolve one action at a time.

Keeping the World’s Clock Running

As a True Game Master, you have to keep an eye on the in-world clock. That’s partly because time has game-mechanical effects — torches burn out, spells expire, characters grow hungry and starve, etc. — and partly because the illusion of world demands it. The world must change with the passage of time or else the world doesn’t feel like a world.

Day and night are different. You can’t make them different if you don’t know when the day ends and night begins.

Knowing Where Everyone Is and What They’re Doing

As a True Game Master, you must keep track of everything that’s going on at every moment everywhere in your world. Or, at least, you’ve got to know what’s going on everywhere the player characters are. Because you must always have all the information to resolve anything that happens. That includes the actions of non-player characters and the outcomes of world events.

Order from Temporal Chaos

The point is this: your players must believe that they are unconstrained by arbitrary turn-and-timing limits as they play your game. But, to run a sensical game, you have to resolve events sequentially, track the passage of time, and know at every moment the precise state of the world around the characters. In short, you must allow everyone to do everything all at once without shattering the fabric of spacetime.

And I’mma teach you how…

Powers You Didn’t Know You Had

So, how do you maintain temporal stability without arbitrarily imposing timing-and-turn-order limits on their players’ characters’ actions? You employ three superpowers you didn’t know you had.

The Power to Not Resolve Things as They Happen

Remember the Declare-Determine-Describe Cycle I taught you? I hope so because I can’t keep rehashing old lessons every time I call back to them. Look it up if you don’t.

While you must follow the Declare-Determine-Describe Cycle every time a player declares an action, you need not follow it all at once. You’re allowed to break it up. And True Game Masters break it up all the time. In fact, they break it up almost constantly.

GM: Cabe pushes the door open, revealing a furnished study. The desk in front of the cold fireplace is covered with papers and knickknacks. A cluttered, disorganized bookshelf covers the back wall. An iron-banded wooden chest with a thick padlock sits in one corner near the door. Chris, Cabe is standing in the doorway. What does he do?
Chris: I search the chest for traps and then pick the lock.
GM: Okay… Cabe steps into the room and heads for the chest. Ardrick was right behind Cabe in the hall. Adam, as Cabe enters the room, eyes on the chest, what does Ardrick do?

The Game Master doesn’t launch into determining the outcome the moment Chris declares the action. Instead, the Game Master puts the Declare-Determine-Describe Cycle on hold between the Declare and Determine steps.

The Power to Describe Inceptions and Intentions

Not only does the Game Master above — it’s me, in case you care; you can tell by his amazing Charisma — not only does the Game Master above interrupt the Declare-Determine-Describe Cycle, but he also describes Cabe initiating his action. It’s like he — I — froze time a split-second after Cabe started doing what Chris said he was going to do and described that frozen moment in time.

You can do the same with nonplayer character actions and game events. In fact, that’s how you create space for the players to act, which I mentioned in the last lesson about Encounters.

GM: As the rumbling of the quake dies, there’s a sudden crack from the ceiling above. Flecks of dust fall. It must be a cave-in and right above Beryllia! Quick, Beth, what does she do?

Or…

GM: The orc tightens his grip on his falchion and snarls. He shifts his weight into a combat stance. He’s going to attack. Adam, Ardrick is at the head of the party; what does he do?

The Power to Leave Action Bits on the Cutting Room Floor

Nothing happens in the game until you — the Game Master — describe it. That’s important because players like to declare long, complex actions and they don’t always know what’s going to change in the next split-second. Situations change and the characters must be allowed to react within the normal bounds of humanoid perception and reaction time.

But, as a Game Master, you can’t demand your players describe only as much action as you need and it’s a waste of time to correct them every time they overdo it. So, when you redescribe an action as “the character takes a step toward the thing they’re going to do,” you make it clear that only that part of the action’s happened yet. Everything else about the action is just a plan in the character’s head.

Chris: I cross the room to the chest, search it carefully for traps, and then test the lock. I’ll pick it if I can.
GM: Cabe steps into the room, heading toward the chest. Adam, what does Ardrick do?
Adam: Ardrick keeps his sword ready, wary of danger, and steps just far enough into the room to let his companions enter. He keeps watch.
GM: Cabe heads for the chest, and Ardrick moves into the room. As he does, he spies movement on the ceiling above. A giant spider is lurking above Cabe, ready to drop. Adam?
Adam: Ardrick yells a warning to Cabe and hurries over.

Just because players declare long-ass, overcomplicated actions or sudden developments change everything, that doesn’t mean the characters are locked in to their actions. By only describing the starts of actions until you know how everything plays out, you give players the chance to pivot when shit changes.

Remember this trick. You’ll need it for the next lesson about handling the starts of combats properly.

GM: The lead orc is preparing to launch his attack. His fellows are ready to follow suit. Ardrick is ready to charge the lead orc. Beryllia is on alert, ready to cast a spell. Let’s roll initiative…
GM: Beryllia’s elven reflexes serve her well. As the orcs and Ardrick ready to charge each other, she reacts. What does she do?
Beth: I cast magic missile; all three attacks on the lead orc.
GM: The orc barely steps into his charge when the first bolt of energy strikes him in the chest. The second stops him dead. The third shatters his ribs and he falls forward, dead. Adam, the lead orc is dead, but the other two haven’t stopped their charges. What does Ardrick do?
Adam: Ardrick charges the orc on the left, attacking with his longsword.

The Declare-Determine-Describe Cycle for Multiplayer Cooperative Play

Outside of situations that demand split-second timing — like combat — True Game Masters let their players act free of timing-and-turn-based constraints, thus allowing for simultaneous actions, interruptions, and surprises. But True Game Masters resolve actions in logical, cause-and-effect sequences and keep time flowing.

But how? How does that work? Is there a process or sequence or checklist — or better yet, some kind of modified Declare-Determine-Describe Cycle — that’ll let aspiring True Game Masters like you pull this shit off?

Yes. Let me build it up for you.

Building the Action Queue

The key to this shit is a thing I call the Action Queue. And the Action Queue is what ensures that outside deliberately turn-based, split-second situations, you always know what every character’s doing. Or about to do. Or in the process of doing.

And it helps you keep the players in the loop too.

Here’s how to build an Action Queue.

Introduce the Encounter

You know how to introduce Encounters already. Set the Scene and Invite the Principle Character’s Player to Act. This is remedial shit for you now.

GM: Cabe pushes the door open, revealing a furnished study. The desk in front of the cold fireplace is covered with papers and knickknacks. A cluttered, disorganized bookshelf covers the back wall. An iron-banded wooden chest with a thick padlock sits in one corner near the door. Chris, Cabe is standing in the doorway. What does he do?

Declare…

You should know what to do next too. The Principal Character’s Player initiates the Declare-Determine-Describe Cycle by declaring an action.

Chris: I cross the room to the chest, search it carefully for traps, and then test the lock. I’ll pick it if I can.

STOP!

Here’s where you’d determine the action’s outcome and describe it, right? But you’re not gonna do that. Instead, you’re going to hit your magical Game Mastering pause button and freeze the world in place just as the principal character is taking their first step toward that action.

Imagine what everyone else would see in that frozen moment in time.

Invite the Next Principal Character’s Player to Act

Describe that frozen moment in time aloud and, in so doing, invite the next Principal Character’s Player to Act.

GM: Cabe steps into the room, heading toward the chest. Adam, what does Ardrick do?

Pause, Invite, and Build the Action Queue

You see what you’re doing right? You’re using each declared action — and the frozen moment in time at the very start of each such action — to invite each player to queue up an action. And you keep doing so until everyone’s doing something. Even if the something they’re doing is just waiting. Or just nothing.

Yes, waiting is an action. So is doing nothing. But thinking isn’t. I can’t wait to hear the feedback on this one!

Dana: “We’re not here to loot and ransack… oh nevermind.” Danae stands in the doorway waiting for her allies to finish plundering so we can get on with the mission.

Or…

Adam: Ardrick waits to see if Cabe turns up any traps.

Only when every character in the Encounter’s queued up an action do you proceed.

…Determine-Describe and Queue Another Action

Once every character’s got an action queued — even if the action is wait or pass — unfreeze the action in the game world and imagine how it’ll now unfold. Close your eyes if you have to and look into your mental holodeck. There’s Cabe walking toward the chest… Ardrick reaching the middle of the room and holding his sword ready… Beryllia approaching the bookshelf… Danae scowling in the doorway…

At some point, something’s going to need your attention. Something’s going to need a resolution.

Cabe, for instance, is gonna reach the chest. Then he’ll kneel down and start feeling it up. That’s your cue — cue, not queue — to finish the Declare-Determine-Describe Cycle with Chris.

GM: Cabe kneels down beside the iron-banded treasure chest. The oak is heavy and lacquered and a stout iron padlock with a thick haft secures the lid. He sets about examining the chest for hidden catches, wires, holes, slots, and other signs of a trap. What’s Cabe’s Trapfinding Skill, please, so I can roll a check in secret?

But now, you’ve got a problem. You’ve got a floating character with no action in the queue. You can’t have that. You’ve got to know what every character’s doing all the time, right? This is why you follow your completion of the Declare-Determine-Describe Cycle with an Invitation to Act.

GM: Cabe’s examination reveals nothing to suggest the chest might be dangerous. What does he do now, Chris?

And once the player’s got another action queued, you can let time run forward until something else needs resolving…

GM: Cabe takes out his tools and starts working on the lock. Meanwhile, Beryllia examines the bookshelf. Beth, Beryllia sees…

It’s that easy. Except it’s not. Especially if you aspire to true greatness. But I’ll get to that below.

Breaking Flow

Absent a very good reason to impose timing-and-turn-order restrictions, True Game Masters default to the Action Queue as the way to pace a tabletop roleplaying game.

But it ain’t the only way. And it doesn’t always work.

When everyone really is acting simultaneously and it’s vital to know with split-second precision who does what first — say during a pitched battle — True Game Masters impose a strong turn order based on reflexes, action speeds, perception, and all the other crap that factors into their game due juries Initiative system. But they still lead in with the Action Queue and they’re very careful about when they slow things down to bullet time turns-and-rounds.

I’ll cover that in the next lesson.

But True Game Masters also recognize the Action Queue ain’t always the best tool for the pacing job. During social interaction, for example, you absolutely don’t want a strict turn order, but you don’t want the Action Queue’s stuttering series of pauses and unfreezes breaking up the natural flow of conversation.

I’ll cover that in the future too.

True Game Masters also know players are going to interrupt the Action Queue. And they know some game’s dumbass rules include flow-breaking bullshit interrupts and reactions. And they roll with that shit. They handle it. They understand the Action Queue is an ideal, but that every game system has its breaks from perfection.

Hopefully you — as an aspiring True Game Master — recognize too how the Action Queue makes it very easy to slip nonplayer character actions and game events into the mix. Just figure out when those things come up in the queue, describe the event or action, and invite the players to act. Just keep in mind that, whenever the situation changes, players whose queued actions haven’t been resolved should be allowed to change them.

Until you — the Game Master — describe something, it hasn’t happened.

This Takes Practice

It’s easy to understand the Action Queue, but it’s tricky to get it down pat. It takes practice. But with just a tiny bit of proficiency, you’ll elevate yourself far above Mere Game Executors. Your encounters will run at a better, smoother pace. Not a faster pace, mind you, but a better one.

Good pacing trumps a fast pace every time. Remember that.

Moreover, this crap leads to more attentive, more involved players even when some characters don’t have much to do in a given encounter. And players are more likely to do more just because the Action Queue gives space for every player to jump in.

So start running every encounter with an Action Queue today. Get this shit down cold.

• After every player declares an action, describe the frozen moment in time that follows as an invitation for the next player to act.
• Never resolve any action until you know where every character is and what they’re doing.
• Never let a player queue up more than one action. Just drop the extraneous crap.
• Never let a character float without an action in the queue even if the action is just “watch and wait.”
• And remember nothing happens until you describe it.

Now, get out of here and get practicing.

Appendix A: For Aspiring Time Lords Only

Still here? Why? You got the Master’s lesson. There’s no more to learn. Get lost…

Okay… okay… you got me.

There’s more to this shit than I taught you.

Look, the Action Queue technique will help you run good encounters like a True Game Master. It’s all you need. But if you really want to chase greatness — and if you swear up, down, and sideways that you really have this Action Queue crap down cold as ice — then listen up…

And if you haven’t mastered the Action Queue, go practice for a while and then come back. This appendix will still be here.

The True Art of Time Management

We Time Lords are meticulous about our Action Queues. We carefully consider which actions to resolve first, which to resolve next, when to stick with a character through a sequence of actions, and when to bounce from character to character through the Queue. We don’t just let our holodeck world sims tell us when to handle what.

Hell, we don’t even break up the Declare-Determine-Describe Cycle in the same place — after the Declare step — every time. Sometimes we stop midway through resolving an action to do something else. Sometimes we make our players roll dice and hold the results for later.

Time Management is an art. A true art. There’s no process to learn. There’s no procedure. There are no instructions. I can’t teach you the True Art of the Time Lords. You have to experiment, intuit, and internalize. But I can tell you how to approach it. How to start fiddling with it.

At least, I can tell you how I really Manage Time.

The Action Clock

Instead of an Action Queue, I’ve got a sort-of Action Clock in my brain. A clockface marked with appropriate — but fuzzy — increments appropriate for whatever in-game action’s happening. During dungeon delving, for example, it’s marked in ten-minute or quarter-hour increments. When the party’s dicking around town, it’s marked in one- or four-hour increments. The actual segments don’t matter much.

When my players queue actions, I put them on the clock. And how I place them depends partly on roughly how long I think those actions will take. I’m not too precise though. I don’t want to be. That’s why the clock’s measured in big arcs and not seconds. Timing ain’t everything. It doesn’t matter that picking a lock takes precisely seven minutes while searching a bookshelf takes twelve minutes. What matters is they both take around ten minutes. Or whatever.

I also don’t draw an actual clockface and plot actions. That just causes trouble. The clockface is an idea and putting actions on the clock is an intuitive art.

The point isn’t so much to track time as to keep track of when I’ll resolve what to best pace my game.

Consider that running example: Ardrick’s is moving to the middle of the room to act as a lookout; Beryllia is crossing the room to check out the bookshelves; Cabe is approaching the chest to search it for traps and then loot it; and Danae is being an uptight grump in the doorway.

If I were using the Action Queue with a Running Holodeck method I described above, I’d handle things thusly…

GM: Danae stands at the door, being grumpy. Ardrick takes up a lookout position in the middle of the room. Beryllia examines the bookshelves. Here’s what she sees. Cabe searches the chest — roll Chris — it’s safe. What now? Cabe picks the lock — roll Chris — and the chest is open. Here’s what Cabe finds.
But at my table, I’d handle things like this…
GM: Beth, roll Research while I roll a Trapfinding check for Cabe. Danae watches as her party fans out into the room. Cabe kneels beside the chest and finds no traps. What now? Okay, Cabe starts picking the lock. Ardrick keeps a sharp lookout in the middle of the room as Beryllia begins examining the bookshelf. Here’s what she sees. Meanwhile, Chris, roll Lockpicking. Cabe opens the chest and finds a bunch of treasure.

I pace my game intuitively. I don’t consciously decide what to handle and when. I just handle what I handle when I handle it. But if you held me down and tortured me until I gave up all my secrets about when to resolve what and in which order, I’d probably claim that I consider five things.

First, I consider the actual in-world time the action fills. Because I’d never resolve an action that needs a half-hour before I resolved a five-minute action. That said, I recognize that world-time is fluid and vague and there’s plenty of space to bring things into and out of sync. Sure, a D&D combat entails one minute of action, but if you consider the time the party must spend catching their breath, checking for wounds, cleaning and sheathing their weapons, and ensuring their dead foes are really dead — and that’s even before looting bodies and short-resting come in — a fight can chew up five to ten minutes of world time in actual reality.

I also recognize that, while ongoing actions do deserve resolutions — I need to acknowledge to the player that their character is doing what they’re doing and describe it to make it real — I can resolve those actions whenever I want because they’re ongoing.

And doing that, by the way, helps keep all the characters engaged. This is why I resolve ongoing non-actions thusly…

GM: Adam, Ardrick keeps watch over his allies, sword ready. Things seem safe… for now…

Second, I consider how likely it is for an action to lead to follow-up actions. Cabe examining the chest? There’s going to be a Lockpicking attempt afterward. And if I know there’s a trap, there’s also going to be a Disarming attempt. Or a saving throw.

Third, I consider just how protracted an action’s resolution is likely to be. When Beryllia examines the bookshelves, I know I’m going to have to describe what she sees and I know Beth’s going to ask some questions or dig for more information. It’s going to be a whole, big thing beyond me saying, “You succeeded!”

Fourth, I consider how likely it is that an outcome will pull everyone’s attention. That someone’s action will suck everyone else away from what they’re doing. When Cabe gets the chest open and there’s a pile of treasure to examine, divvy, and loot, it’s likely some of the characters are going to wander over and get involved.

Fifth, I consider the likelihood that an outcome or event will totally wreck the encounter or send it careening in some other direction. If that chest is a mimic, its attack will spell the end of the exploration and the beginning of a battle.

But what do I do with those considerations?

First, I try to keep things dynamic. To bounce from character to character through the Action Queue as much as possible. Actions with likely follow-ups come early and I bounce away and then back for the follow-up. Actions with extended resolutions come in the middle so I can spend time with other characters before and after. Ongoing actions are a convenient place to bounce to and I can bounce to them multiple times, even if just to say, “Ardrick remains vigilant; ready to fight.”

Second, I try to avoid characters getting too committed to shit if they’re going to get distracted before they finish. I try to resolve derailing and distracting actions either right away or at the very end.

I can’t get this shit perfect every time. No one can. Sometimes, there’s no way to open with the encounter-wrecker and you have to interrupt an encounter in the middle. As with all ideals, you just keep the goals and priorities in mind and do the best you can.

That said, those are just my priorities. Just my goals. As I understand them. Because pacing is an art. An intuitive, emergent, experientially learned art. I can’t stress enough that it’s something you just get good at over time.

Fortunately, you need not be a Time Lord to be a True Game Master. The Action Queue alone will help you run really amazingly delightfully good games. And that’s why this little essay is a mere appendix.

Until you’re ready for this crap, just focus on managing the Action Queue and you’ll be fine. Better than fine. You’ll be great. I promise.

And now, seriously, get the hell out of my classroom. I want to go home.