You know what I’m sick of? I’m sick of all of you pissing and whining about your game systems’ failings. I know every RPG’s got flaws. I know D&D is a player’s paradise and a GM’s purgatory. I know s$&%’s presented badly. I know there’s not enough hooks to hang interesting games on. I know exploration feels like crap. I know.

I know none of this s$&%’s your fault. I know it’s D&D’s fault combat’s a chore and exploration feels like crap and players never think to retreat because the game makes it impossible. It’s the game. It’s not you. It’s the crappy designer’s fault.

I know. We all know.

Look, this ain’t just about D&D 5E. Every one of you is playing a game that just doesn’t do something you want. Or that does something you don’t want. And that gets in the way of what you want to do with it. And the systems and the designers suck for it.

You know what though? It doesn’t f$&%ing matter that it’s not your fault and that the designers suck. Because, at the end of the day, it’s your game. You’re the GM. You know the problem exists — whatever it is — and you have absolute, total, complete power at your table. This means you’re the one letting it wreck your game. You. It’s on you.

Yes, I know you shouldn’t have to fix the game and the designers should be better and players should be better and everyone should be better and you’re the victim and blah blah blah. But the reality is what is. Pissing and whining won’t change it. Do you want to blame? Or do you want a good game?

Anyway, today’s feature’s about teaching your players to play the game you want to run. And I don’t want to hear any bitching and griping about how you shouldn’t have to teach your players and you shouldn’t have to fix your game and how it’s the system’s fault you can’t run the game you want. Because you’re the GM. It’s on you.

Teaching the Hard Way

There’s this phrase I hear a lot. Hell, of all the phrases in all the questions and feedback I receive, I probably hear this one the most. It goes:

How do I get my players to…

How do I get my players to… whatever. Run away in battle. Work as a team. Interact with NPCs. Think outside their skill lists. Stop burning down my dungeons. Finish the question however you want. The ending doesn’t matter. Today’s all about how you get your players to.

Now, I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, “Angry, every question can’t be the one question you hear the most. Because you say that all the time. ‘The one thing I hear the most is…’ But that can’t be true of everything. That’s not how superlatives work.”

That’s a good point. But my counterpoint is simply this: shut up. It’s a rhetorical device.

So, how do you get your players to? It’s simple, really. There’s one simple way to get your players to. It’s called Tutorializing. Actually, it’s called Hard Tutorializing. And I’m gonna show you how it’s done.

But you’re definitely not going to like it.

Tutorializing; Not Teaching

Let me be clear that I ain’t talking about teaching today. This technique ain’t about showing new players how to TTRPG. I mean, I could write a whole article about that. And even share my super-secret recipe for homebrew adventures that teach the game. But I’m not doing that today.

This Tutorializing s&$%’s not about teaching. It’s about changing how your existing players play. Getting them to play the game in some new and different way. Often, it’s about giving them a specific tool or tactic they can use. Though, sometimes, it’s about showing them how to play some particular and fiddly part of the game right. For example, later on in my Town Mode series, I’ll show you how to use Hard Tutorials to teach the players how to Town Mode.

Today, though, I’m assuming you’ve got players and you want them to do a thing during gameplay. Or, at least remember a thing’s something they can do. That it’s possible and useful. And throughout this article, I’m going to use two examples of things people always want to know how to get their players to do. How do you get your players to run away from a fight? Or at least, to consider retreat a viable option. And how do you get your players to take called shots? To target a large monster’s specific bodily parts at a penalty to gain some advantage over it.

If you skipped the Long, Rambling Introduction™, you probably want to remind me that that s$&%’s not possible in the current edition du jour of D&D. Because initiative order and turn sequence and the lack of a called shot system and all that horses$&%. And I’m going to tell you that that’s a load a horses$&%. Because you’re the GM. Anything you allow is possible. If the game’s mechanics get in your way, it’s your job — it’s your duty — to shove the rules aside and make things happen.

Besides, if you actually follow the rules as written with regards to initiative order and the turn sequence, retreat, evasion, and pursuit are totally possible. Even when there’s slight tactical pace mismatches between the baddies and the PCs. But that’s another story…

This article ain’t about how to make s$&% possible in your game. You already know how to do that. This is about how to show your players what’s possible.

You Know Best

I warned you that you’re not going to like my Hard Tutorialization trick. Most GMs don’t. Because most GMs are pussies. Wishy-washy pussies who don’t think the GM’s got any right to tell the players how they should play the game. And that’s just about as dumb a notion as the idea that the system’s rules make anything impossible.

Look, you ain’t just an impartial referee. And you ain’t just the facilitator of a collaborative storytelling experience. A roleplaying game is, ipso facto, a game. A game that can redesign itself in response to the players’ actions and choices. And you’re the proxy game designer whose job it is to do the designing and redesigning.

In other words, yes, you’re there as a referee and storyteller, but you’re also there to make sure the game’s a good game. Challenging but fair. Not a cakewalk but not too frustrating. Something the players can win. And something they can lose. And something they can win or lose based on their own skills, efforts, and luck. If you ain’t doing that s$&%, you ain’t running a roleplaying game; you’re running a roleplaying experience. And you don’t need the rules for that bulls$&%.

The job of game-designer-by-proxy includes a responsibility to equip the players with the tools they need to win. To make sure winning’s within reach. If there’s a strategy that can help the players win, it’s your job — your duty — to make sure the players know it exists. And how to use it. And to make sure they remember it when they need it.

Once you’ve done that — once you’ve given the players a tool and showed them how it works and made sure they know it’s always available — then it’s on them to decide when and if to use it. And how to combine it with other tools. And how to create situations in which they can use the tool.

RPGs are open-ended. It’s on the players to come up with their own strategies. RPGs are about creative thinking, after all. About coming up with clever solutions, implementing them, and winning the day. Hell, it’s on the players to decide — to some extent — what winning the day even means. So, obviously, you ain’t gonna teach the players everything. Of course not. But when there’s a general strategy, approach, or solution to a common problem that the players never seem to think of — or can’t wrap their idiot heads around — then it’s time to step in.

The same’s true when you’re adding a specific and less-traditional kind of gameplay. Like, say, a Mode of Play. It’s on you to make sure the players know how to play. But, as I said above, I’ll get to that issue later.

The problem is there’s no hard, fast, objective way to decide what’s worth Tutorializing and what to simply accept as a thing your players won’t do. But if you find yourself saying, “why don’t my players ever…” or “how can I get my players to even consider…,” you’ve probably found something worth Tutorializing.

As a GM — as a proxy game designer — you’ve got to believe you actually do know the right way to play. The best way to play. If the players don’t want to play the right, best way, that’s fine. Maybe they’ll win some other way. Or maybe they’ll lose and learn an important lesson. That’s on them. But if your players aren’t playing the right, best way, you need to troubleshoot that s$&%. You want to know they’re choosing to play the way they are. That they’re not just playing that way because they don’t know any better.

You want to give everyone the opportunity to play your game the right, best way. And only after you’ve given the opportunity should you let them play the wrong, dumb way instead.

For the Greater Good

Even if you believe you know the right, best way to play and that it’s your job to present it, you still won’t like this Hard Tutorializing s$&%. Because Hard Tutorializing — which is really the only truly effective way to show players an option in a way they’ll remember later — means f$&%ing with agency. It means grabbing the controller from the players and playing for them.

I know that sounds bad. Really bad. Because that ain’t GMing or RPGs or agency at all. But if you do it right, you only have to do it once. One itty bitty little time. And you’ve got to accept it’s okay. Because it is. Because taking away a little bit of agency in a small, deliberate way in a minor encounter actually gives the players more agency later.

I s$&% you not.

Consider this: if the players don’t know that it’s possible to escape from battle — because the idea never occurred to them or because an incorrect interpretation and application of the rules makes it seem impossible — if the players don’t know they can run from a fight, they can never, ever choose to try. They don’t have the agency to escape a combat that turns against them. Or one they don’t think is worth finishing. Teaching players they can — and sometimes should — retreat empowers them to make that choice whenever they want to.

The problem is that it’s really hard to teach players anything. Really, really hard. You can explain s$&% all you want. You can present the rules. You can use all the subtle reminders you can think of. You can have NPCs run away to show the players that the option exists. None of it works. None of it sticks. The only way to get the players to see a possibility exists — and to remember it exists later — is to Tutorialize that s$&%. And Tutorialize it Hard.

The Hard Tutorial

Tutorializing is about empowering the players. Giving them a tool or strategy for their arsenal. It’s not just about telling them a tool exists. It’s about demonstrating the tool and the payoff and helping them recognize when the tool is useful and making sure they’ll remember the tool’s in their belt later.

There are two ways to do the Tutorial thing. There’s Soft Tutorials which provide subtle hints and suggestions. They’re great for helping the players discover advanced, optional strategies they can use to make their lives easier. And they usually leave players feeling like they figured s$&% out for themselves. They’re also really easy to miss, overlook, or forget.

And that’s why I ain’t teaching you about Soft Tutorials today. Because the tools we’re talking about today aren’t things you want the players to miss, overlook, or forget. It’s s$&% you absolutely, definitely want the players to know about. And remember. Even if your players decide never to ever use the tool you’ve given them, you want to know you gave it to them. That way, when the idiot players get their idiot PCs killed in yet another idiotic fight to the bitter, deadly end, you can sleep soundly knowing they could have escaped. They just chose not to. For some idiotic reason.

Hard Tutorials are unmissable, unskippable, pause-the-game-and-learn-this-s$&%-and-don’t-forget-it tutorials.

Hard Tutorials the Video Game Way

Hard Tutorializing is extremely effective. That’s why video games use it. They use it a lot. It’s a great way to teach a player an option exists, show them the payoff, and help them recognize when the option’s a good idea. And with a little post-tutorial nagging, it’s also a great way to get players to remember an option long after the Tutorial’s over.

Picture this: you’re playing some new side-scrolling, exploration-based platforming adventure video game. You just started. You enter a room and the door slams shut. The game’s first scary miniboss appears. Oh s$&%. The real Dark Souls starts now, huh?

You start fighting, you trade some blows, it’s going okay, and then, suddenly, the miniboss adopts the classic “I’m charging up a big attack” pose. Then, the ground in front of the boss — the ground you’re standing on — starts glowing an angry red. And then, the game freezes.

It just freezes. The game stops dead.

Then, a text box appears on the screen. “Oh no! It looks like the Piginator is charging up a big attack! Press the Circle Button to CyberDodge!”

You waggle the thumbstick, press all the other buttons, and nothing works. Only the Circle Button works. You have to CyberDodge to proceed. So you do. The game unpauses and you narrowly avoid the Plasma Baconsplosion that obviously would have totally wrecked you.

But this tutorial s$&%’s not over.

With the miniboss dead, you head through the now unlocked door. A few minutes later, there’s a gauntlet of RoboSilo Mortars. Each one sends out a little targeting laser that makes the ground glow bright red. The ground you’re standing on. And it’s the same red glow Piginator used to telegraph its Plasma Baconsplosion. So, you CyberDodge down the hall, avoiding the mortar shells.

Later, you’re trapped in a room with MX-D0N17D — the area boss — and he’s doing the same glowing-ground-charge-up deal. You’re a little slow on the dodge and get blasted. Then, a little unobtrusive subtitle pops up while your character’s recovery animation plays. “Remember: you can press the Circle Button to CyberDodge attacks.”

From that point on, it’s unlikely you’ll forget you can CyberDodge. You might, but you probably won’t. And if you do, it’s mostly on you.

That’s a Hard Tutorial. A three-lesson ploy — four lessons, really — to arm players with a tool and stick it in their brains for later. And since players are players whatever they’re playing, it works just as well in video games, board games, TTRPGs, golf, and canasta. It’s a great tool to shove up your own GMing arsenal.

Now, let me show you how it works in TTRPGs.

Lesson One: Press Circle Now!

The first Hard Tutorial lesson’s the hardest. By that, I mean it’s the most heavy-handed of the lessons. But by that, I also mean it’s the one GMs struggle with. Because it’s the one that requires you — the GM — to take away the players’ controllers and say, “we’re doing this my way.”

Let’s say it’s time to teach your players they can run from fights. So, you create a fight the players can’t actually win. An opponent they can’t hurt. And one that does heavy damage. But also one that’s easy to escape from. One that won’t chase them. Basically, a situation that’s only winnable with the strategy you want to teach.

Then, you start running the fight normally. At some point, though — well before it’s an emergency — you tell the players in some nice, narrative, in-game but also totally unambiguous way they can’t win and they need to flee or die. And then, without waiting for them to agree, you start the lesson.

It all looks something like this:

Your attack hits easily and you know that was a solid blow. But the adamantine guardian just shrugs it off. And if it hits you the way it pounded through that stone wall to enter the room, you’re paste. Your character realizes this ain’t a foe he can beat in a normal fight. Time for the better part of valor.

When you decide you’re in trouble, you can try to retreat from battle. Most enemies won’t chase you for long without a good reason. Especially if they’re hurt. And unless an enemy is much faster than you, you can wear them down just by taking evasive action. That said, you might need to use distractions or obstacles to slow an enemy down. And a character can usually hold off a couple of enemies to buy time for his allies to escape. Especially if he’s holding a choke point.

Once you declare your intention to retreat, we’ll drop the initiative order and resolve the outcome as we would any other scene. First…

See? Basically, that’s the “press Circle to Dodge right now” Tutorial, ain’t it?

Yes, I know it’s distasteful. I know it goes against every fiber of your GMing being. But, as I said, you only have to do this s$&% once. One time. And then the players have a new choice they can choose whenever they want. They can fight and flee on their own terms.

Called shots? Same thing. Start with a winged opponent. One that’s really hard to hit at range. Maybe a griffon in the Caves of Wind, where ranged attacks are all penalized. The only way to hit the griffon is to ready melee attacks as it flies by. But it does a crapton of bonus damage on flyby attacks. So the “dig in and swing as it charges past” approach is a losing strategy. Then…

This thing’s flying circles around you. Literally. You’ll need to ground it if you want to win.

When you’re fighting large monsters, you can target specific body parts. The attacks are penalized and they may not deal as much direct damage, but you can disable a creature’s special attacks, movements, or bypass its defenses that way. And sometimes, you can attack a creature’s weak point for massive damage. Sometimes, you might have to pull off a stunt to access a specific body part, so don’t be afraid to get creative.

Your character realizes he can attack the griffon’s wing as it flies past. So, make an attack roll and then…

And that’s what the first lesson in a Hard Tutorial looks like.

Doing Lesson One Well

Pulling off a good first lesson’s about three things.

First, it’s about creating a situation that’s extremely difficult to win without the strategy you’re trying to teach and one that’s easy to win by employing the strategy. I know that sounds crazily contrived. It is. But that’s okay. You want to lay this s$%& on thick. Use absurd stats — the kind you’d never use — and impose situational modifiers that make the correct solution a really, obviously good idea. And make sure the situation presents no good reason to use any other strategy.

So, you start with an adamantine guardian. Something that shrugs off all damage but lumbers slowly and can’t fit down the hallway. And you put it in an empty, ruined, dead-end room. A room the party blundered into and has no reason to stick around in.

The windy cave is a unique battlefield. And the griffon likes it because the updrafts make it easy to fly. And maybe this particular griffon has an injured wing, just begging to be hacked off. And maybe it demonstrates its powerful diving charge on a hapless cave gazelle as the party enters the cavern.

Lay it on thick. Leave no room for doubt. And don’t be afraid to cheat. Hide your rolls and fudge the results to make sure the tutorial has the right impact. If the players call you out for suddenly hiding your rolls, apologize and pretend like it was a mistake and you just forgot to roll in front of the screen. All’s fair in the first lesson of a Hard Tutorial.

Second, how you present the tactic or option is really important. Ideally, you want to present it as something the player should know about and something the character did know. After all, you’re the characters’ eyes, ears, and brains. So, if a character’s trained in combat, they should know they can run. Or snap off a wing. Even if the player’s too dumb to see it.

If you really want to sell this s$&%, make a hidden knowledge roll and present the tactic like something the character suddenly remembered.

What’s your Intelligence modifier? Okay… hold on… let me roll… okay, you just remembered that Colonel Sanders taught you all about Called Shots in Fighter College. When you’re fighting a large monster, you can target…

It’s also important when presenting this s$&% that you don’t give the player a chance to say no. Just go straight from explaining the option to asking for die rolls and resolving it. Most players won’t even notice they just got steamrolled. And if you’re cunning and clever and make sure the outcome’s a good one, they won’t fight you once the action’s resolved.

This brings me to the third key: the action’s got to work. This time. But not in such a way the players will think it’s guaranteed to always work. That’s why the adamantine guardian is particularly slow. Maybe its legs were damaged in an earthquake. And that’s why the griffon’s wing is already hurt. Basically, the players have to see how rewarding the action is. Which means it’s got to work.

Lesson Two: Looks Like Pressing Circle’s the Best Way to Handle This Too!

Sometime after the first lesson, it’s time for the second. That’s how ordinal numbers work. Lesson two is a lot less heavy-handed. Don’t worry, you’ll never take the controller away from the players again. At least, not until you want to teach some new tactic. The problem is that lesson two can be trickier to set up. Basically, lesson two’s about creating another situation where whatever you’re teaching is the rightest answer. The situation shouldn’t be impossible to handle the wrong way, but it should be punishing. And the right answer shouldn’t be an instant win button, but it should be very rewarding.

Say, for instance, sometime after the party escapes from the adamantine guardian, they enter a dead-end room. But visible in an alcove at the back of the room is a key. Or a valuable treasure. A shiny. And when someone approaches the shiny, two stone guardians smash out of hidden alcoves. They’re not as big and powerful and invulnerable as the adamantine guardian was, but the party can still grab the key and run. If they insist on fighting, they can win, but the party’s going to pay for that victory.

Likewise, after the party de-wings the griffon, maybe they encounter a giant scorpion with a stingy tail dripping with venom. Powerful venom. Of course, that tail’s probably easy to cut off with a slashing weapon. Assuming the party can flank or distract the creature so they can reach its tail or get behind it.

The point’s not just to get them to realize the option you just taught them is the right answer again — though that is important — it’s to get them to recognize the option is just part of the victory. It’s not the whole win. Before the party flees the guardians, someone better grab that shiny. Lopping off the scorpion’s tail will work, but they need a cutting weapon and a distraction. Otherwise, the scorpion just spins to face whoever’s attacking it.

The point’s also to tell the players — clearly and unambiguously — the tactic still exists. If they don’t think of it immediately, you remind them.

Those things look almost as tough as that adamantine guardian you narrowly escaped; you can probably evade them too.

Or,

That scorpion’s stinger probably carries deadly venom; you could probably cut it off with a bladed weapon, though the creature’s keeping its tail safely out of harm’s way.

Basically, you start the encounter and give the players one very quick, very tiny chance to prove they remember what you taught them. And if they don’t — immediately — you remind them that it exists and that it’s still probably the right answer before they distract themselves with other dumb ideas.

Lesson Three: Remember You Can Press Circle

If lesson two was less heavy-handed, lesson three’s almost subtle. Almost. In lesson three, you remind the players what you taught them in a situation where it’s not the best answer. It’s just a good answer. That means starting with a nice, normal encounter in which the trick you taught the players is merely helpful. It’s not required.

Teaching the players to retreat? For lesson three, build a difficult fight the players don’t have to win. A situation where defeating the enemy gets them little and costs them a bit. Teaching the players to take called shots? For lesson three, create a challenging fight with a foe that’s got a weak point. Nothing more.

Once lesson three starts, watch the players. See if they use what you taught them. When it’s appropriate, obviously. The players probably won’t run away in round one. But after a couple of PCs have taken a few hits, someone should bring up the possibility of retreating. And if they don’t, you should.

Remember, you can always try to retreat from a fight.

If the PCs ignore the creature’s soft, squishy underbelly for a round or two, point it out.

Some creatures have weak points you can exploit for massive damage.

Once you’ve gone through all three lessons, most players will remember what they learned. They might even use it. I s$&% you not. Some groups will actually overuse what they learned for a little while. That’s good. Let them. Overusing it helps cement the lesson. Don’t sabotage that s$&%.

Tutorials in the Wild

That’s it. That’s what Hard Tutorials look like. In theory. In isolation. Without a game around them. But, like any GMing tool, there are some practical considerations to considerate. How does this s$&% work in practice?

Lesson Planning

You’re probably wondering whether you should bang through these lessons one after another or whether you should space them out. And the answer is, “it depends.” The closer you can stack the lessons, the more likely they’ll stick in your players’ stupid brains. Lesson one and lesson two should be close together. Lesson three should happen a little farther out, but not much farther.

The problem is players do have bulls$&% detectors. And when they detect bulls$&% — especially in a TTRPG — they tend to rebel. What’s that mean? Generally, it means that three encounters in a row designed to force the players to play a certain way will annoy many players. And even if it doesn’t, it’ll still feel contrived as hell.

Fortunately, players’ bulls$&% detectors aren’t actually that sensitive. Certainly, they’re not as sensitive as most GMs think they are. Sticking just one encounter between the lessons is usually enough to scramble them. At a minimum, you should put one non-tutorial encounter between lessons one and two and two non-tutorial encounters between lessons two and three.

If you run a game every week and get four to six encounters out of each session, it’s best to put your first two lessons in one session — interspersed with other encounters — and then put the third lesson in the next session. You can spread the lessons out even more if you want. I’ve had success spreading them over four sessions. The first lesson comes in one session, the second one appears in the next, and then the third lesson comes two sessions later.

If you go any longer than that, though, the lessons tend not to penetrate the players’ leaden skulls.

It’s Not a Tutorial, It’s a Theme

Another way to f$&% with your players’ bulls$&% sensors is to turn your Hard Tutorial into an adventure theme. If the whole adventure’s about a specific tactic or option, it doesn’t feel so contrived anymore. And the lesson’s more likely to stick anyway. That can backfire though. When an adventure’s a tutorial, players do sometimes assume the tactic was part of the adventure. They stop using it once the adventure’s over. Because player brains are stupid.

Now, I’m not suggesting you should explicitly create an adventure about running away. I’m just saying that if lots of the challenges in a single adventure involve running away, then it feels like a natural progression of a theme. Say the whole adventure’s about plundering a temple filled with invulnerable guardians. With a few encounters with normal vermin thrown in. The players will end up practicing their retreats a lot, but it’ll feel like a natural part of the progression. And you can play with the tactic. Challenge the players to find different ways to facilitate their escape as they go deeper into the adventure.

And this s$&% also works well when paired with…

The Final Exam Boss Fight

A great way to handle the third lesson of a Hard Tutorial — either as part of a themed adventure or just as part of a standalone tutorial — is to build a boss fight in which the party can use the thing you taught them several times to win. That’s another classic video game trope. And it’s a trope because it works.

The Temple of Running the Hell Away? Maybe it ends with a juggernaut guardian chasing the players from room to room while they disable the magical runes that keep the guardians guardianing. Every time the players stop to disable a rune, it catches up. Then, they have to hold it off or escape past it to move on to the next room.

Maybe Called Shot Caverns ends with a tentacled monster that keeps its body — and its glowing red weak point — wedged in a burrow. If the party can draw it out — or disable all its tentacles — it’ll emerge.

Diminishing Occurrences and Refreshing Reminders

Even though this Hard Tutorial thing is actually a very powerful tool, it’s not all powerful. Players can forget anything. They’re amazing that way. And the less they use something, the more likely it is to fall down a memory hole. And they’re especially likely to forget s$&% they learned in a themed adventure the minute the adventure’s over. Unless they get an immediate reminder.

So, once you’ve taught your players something, make sure they get to keep using it for a while. If they try to overuse it for a couple of sessions, let them. That’s good. Do not, under any circumstances, sabotage that s$&% because you think they’re using it too much. If they still haven’t settled down after a few weeks, then it’s time to add some obstacles in front of the tactic. But not right after they learned it.

Even if they don’t overuse it, it’s best to ensure your players encounter situations where they can use their new tool every other session for a little while. Especially after a themed adventure. You can’t always do that. It’s easy enough to include a monster with a severable tail or a glowing weak point every so often but fights the players have to flee from suck if they’re overdone.

At the very least, though, you want to remind the players what you taught them whenever you think the tool’s a useful option.

Wow! Fifteen damage. That really hurt. Don’t forget, retreating’s almost always an option.

Having said that, remember that you don’t want to prompt the players every time the tactic’s useful. Otherwise, you really are f$&%ing with their agency. As time passes, your reminders need to come less and less frequently. And eventually, not at all.

And having said that, remember that your players will forget a tool exists. So if you find yourself wondering, “why don’t my players ever seem to…,” then it’s time to Hard Tutorial that s$&% all over again. Sometimes, that’s what it takes.

Because players are dumb.