In the sections that follow are the rules involved in taking your fully-defined character out into the world and doing something — Adventuring!
In addition to a set of rules, Adventuring involves a certain … attitude.
Imagining Infinite Choice
Players sometimes ask, “is there a certain way we should be going?” (which translates to something like, “which way to the dungeon that the DM has prepared and filled with monsters and loot?”).
The answer is, “No, there is no particular way. You can go wherever you want and do whatever you want.”
D&D requires a kind of suspension of disbelief with respect to the extent to which the universe has been defined. Of course all players know on an intellectual level that the DM can only prepare a very limited amount of content for a given session, and can only define in detail a very limited fraction of the universe the characters inhabit. But once the magic circle has been entered, one shouldn’t think about this. One should imagine the universe to be infinite; one should imagine that the DM actually has the entire world worked out in minute detail in a vast library full of notebooks, and that the characters can go and do wherever they want and there will always be something interesting for them to discover …
That said, players can (and should) limit their options by thinking about what course will make for the most interesting adventure, what would make for the best story (and the DM will at least provide some clues as to what this would be). Consider the idea that halfway through the Fellowship of the Ring, Frodo could have said, “fuck it,” and decided to go back to the Shire, or he could have said, “maybe instead of this wacky trip to Mordor I’ll just wander off and take a leisurely trip down the Brandywine and visit Eryn Vorn and see what’s there …” — but that wouldn’t have made for nearly as good a story. He also wouldn’t have leveled-up very fast.
The Path of Optimal Adventure
Adventurers are not normal, everyday, pedestrian individuals. An adventurer is “special.” Even first level adventurers are exceptionally formidable, compared to the townspeople they might encounter in the local tavern.
To borrow a term from Maslow, they are “self-actualized.” They have strengths and weaknesses, they have a sense of direction and purpose (all these things are part of character definition) — and (for the most part, anyway) are aware of them (“self-aware”).
Characters, mostly, know who and what they are. But what should they do?
Alignment, class and other characteristics offer some direction. Nonetheless, options and possibilities for action at any turn are infinite. In addition to a “way forward” there will be tangents — a party could at any point decide to veer off on a side path, go right, left, or off the rails. Some of these choices may go nowhere, some might go someplace interesting but not helpful in terms of a larger quest the party might be on — some are simply death traps, leading nowhere but certain doom (the latter are rare, but they do — they must — exist).
Players may direct their characters to do whatever they want (though some actions may come with XP penalty, and, of course, some may lead to certain death). This is important because there must be choice, free will, or the game is no fun.
But some choices are better than others! There is, at any given point in the session a direction that “will make for the most interesting adventure, … make for the best story” — we could call this the Path of Optimal Adventure (POA).
The POA is like “destiny” — this is a real thing in the game universe! Everything in the game universe, including characters — and all things they encounter — have a sort of teleological aspect to them.
And while there will be myriad diversions and distractions, there is a also force that leads characters to — and guides them along — the Path of Optimal Adventure: we could call this the Invisible Hand of Fate (IHF).
The Invisible Hand of Fate
There’s a grey area of “meta play” between the “real world” of human players in a session and the Magic Circle world of the characters they are manifesting. In this grey area operates the IHF. It’s manifested by both the DM as well as players, and “steers” the characters (unaware they are being guided by an invisible hand) along the POA.
It includes hints and clues dropped by the DM, and also strategizing by players and discussions among the group of players — for instance, trying to solve puzzles, to understand the universe and to chart a course (in a way that the characters, within the confines of the game world, might not be able to do).
Within the Magic Circle, a character in the game world (maybe a stout dwarf surveying the mountains, or an elf riding through the forest while carefully observing the trees for movement, or a human and her party examining a dusty map found in a ruined library) has a limited awareness of the surroundings — and, technically speaking, that’s all these characters are aware of. Consistent with this idea, the DM will usually conceal knowledge from the player that the character wouldn’t have — this makes for greater immersion in the experience: it’s more “realistic” (and more fun). But players might still have some sort of idea of the “big picture,” or, at least, where the story might be heading.
For example, the party might be exploring a dark tunnel. The DM says to the players, “ok, roll a 20.” Gorf the fighter (who is in front) rolls a 3 — ugh! And Vrimba the cleric, in back, rolls a 2 — uh oh! The characters, Gorf and Vrimba don’t actually know they both just miserably failed a saving throw — but the players do. It’s the equivalent of the sudden rise of dark, ominous and foreboding music in a movie: non-diegetic but still an important part of the story(telling).
Similarly, some characters may be of limited intelligence (INT) — but we don’t expect a player to attenuate his own intelligence or his own understanding of the narrative just because he’s, say, running a half-orc barbarian brute.
Likewise we don’t expect a player to deliberately diminish her engagement in the story and overall experience because the character she’s running is temporarily dazed.
Consider a group of players discussing a puzzle, or maybe the nature of the (game) universe — this is not the same thing as the party of characters having a chat around the camp fire. But they both affect the flow of the story.
In short, we don’t treat the player and the character as exactly the same thing. This makes for an experience that is less “realistic,” of course, and in some ways less immersive — but that’s OK! Indeed, it’s desirable. Let’s not forget:
“… of the two approaches to hobby games today, one is best defined as the realism-simulation school and the other as the game school. AD&D is assuredly an adherent of the latter school.” (Gary Gygax, AD&D Dungeon Masters Guide, 1979)
Less (realistic) is more (fun)
It all comes down to what makes for the best experience, the best story. And many good stories (or examples of good storytelling) are actually not as realistic or immersive as they could be.
Consider the example of a cinematic, say, film noir experience: As a member of the audience, you are likely identifying with the protagonist detective walking down the city street at midnight — but you may very well have knowledge that the character doesn’t have (like, that down the dark alley there’s a dangerous criminal hiding in a doorway, ready to sneak attack) — having this knowledge makes for a less realistic, less immersive experience — but it actually makes for a better experience of the story! (through generation of suspense, a more coherent narrative thread, etc.)
The Soul of the Adventurer
The player, manifesting the IHF, can be thought of in a way the as the “soul,” the spirit or the unconscious drive of the character.
This is relevant in situations where there may be multiple versions of a character (e.g., in alternate, parallel realities) — there might be more than one instance of Dingle the Mighty, but only one has a “soul” (the one actively driven, in the moment by a player).
This means that an adventurer’s “soul” is a little different, more individual (or, in Jungian terms, “individuated”) than those of monsters and NPCs (which, driven by the DM, are therefore just part of the universe’s “collective soul” — which, arguably, makes it more OK to kill them).
A Note on Sessions
If we don’t treat the player and the character as exactly the same thing, then this means, among other things, that a player may still be involved in a session (and the game, the story) — if desired — even if the player’s character is dead or disabled (one might imagine that a character’s “soul” or “spirit” lingers even after death). Of course a player may also choose to leave the session, to make the experience more “realistic” and immersive (as this would also include, when the disabled character rejoins the party, having to learn what happened from the mouths of the other characters — which could be a lot of fun).