In the first part of A Treatise on Dungeon Building: Hiding The Grail, I covered some basic dos and don’ts on dungeon-crafting for aspiring game masters and tabletop enthusiasts. The following article contains more of the same, but focuses more on the middle and later steps of the dungeon building process. Now that you’ve had some time to consider how a dungeon is created, it’s time to reconsider how it functions.
So, provided we’ve already asked ourselves: Who built this dungeon and for what purpose?, and have been able to answer this question with authority and reason, we’re ready to address the nuts and bolts of the design phase—How does this dungeon operate?
We’re going to break this subject down into its most recognizable components. All the many things found in a dungeon usually fall into one of five major categories: Tricks, Traps, Puzzles, Monsters, and Treasure.
TRICKS have the broadest definition in terms of dungeon building. By and large, they are efforts made by the dungeon itself to deceive the intruders (in this case, the party), and prevent them from reaching the treasure. They differ from traps because tricks don’t provide those fooled by them with an immediate and (often) deadly consequence. Oftentimes, tricks are bits of faulty information that lead the party astray, waste precious time, or deprive the party of valuable resources.
Examples of tricks include false keys, bad translations of vital bits of ancient text, deceptive NPCs, devices that hamper or dampen the abilities of important party members, or things in the dungeon that steal provisions, health, time, or rare magic items.
Well, these sound pretty necessary, you might be saying to yourself. You’re right, they are. In fact, a dungeon without tricks (and I’ve seen them) is downright kid stuff. But the problem with tricks is that they often represent a desire by the GM to prolong the game rather than the intent of the dungeon-maker to protect the treasure from potential raiders.
Take your typical stone-walled, subterranean dungeon for instance. After wandering for some time, checking out the real estate, the party discovers an altar with seven empty slots in its base—it seems as if seven gemstones used to be held there. The party’s resident translator (its wizard, let’s say) reads the arcane magical language on the altar. The wizard says: “I can read it! It’s in Draconic! Bring me the seven stones, and I will grant you passage through this keep. Looks like we have to find the seven stones!” Yes, Mr. Wizard. Looks like.
Now, boys and girls, is the inscription on the altar: A- An attempt by the maker of this dungeon to prevent you from obtaining his master’s treasure? or B- An attempt by the GM to give this part of the adventure a recognizable structure and significantly prolong gameplay?
If you answered A, you’re an idiot. Stop reading this article and bury yourself. The point is, the maker of this dungeon never wanted you to find the treasure. The treasure is hidden in a dungeon, not a museum. For that matter, this dungeon cost someone a lot of money to build, and your finding seven “hidden stones” shouldn’t allow you to bypass what was a likely a massive expenditure of money and skill.
There is, of course, one significant exception. If tricks are the means by which the dungeon is evaluating the infiltrators, assessing their strengths and weaknesses, then almost anything goes. This represents the intent of the dungeon to release the thing it is concealing into the right hands. I call this the Last Crusade rule.
To explain: In one of the greatest dungeon movies of all time, Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, the dungeon uses its various tricks and traps as the means by which to assess the intruders and appraise their worth. Those who possess the virtues of the treasure awaiting them in the final chamber (in the film’s case, the Holy Grail), are the ones who survive and emerge victorious. In many ways, the dungeon found in The Last Crusade is the perfection dungeon: its motives are clear, it tells a story, and it serves a purpose. It is not merely guarding the treasure (otherwise Indiana, Mr. Connery, and all their swarthy friends would have died instantly), it is waiting for an adventurer worthy of its prize.
As the game master, be sure you’re using tricks to make the party feel like the dungeon is an intelligent being. Whether the dungeon wants someone to find what’s inside of it, or it wants to keep the invaders out at all costs, tricks are the greatest tool for giving the party a sense of nemesis. I recall Sarah Whittle from Jumanji asking a frightened Alan Parrish: What do you mean the game thinks?
Your dungeon must have a mind of its own.
TRAPS are, ironically, the most recognizable facet in the world of dungeoneering. Because the nature of a dungeon is to harm the intruders, and even the simplest traps do this effectively, I have the fewest gripes with how this component has been handled by the game mastering community.
When considering which traps to place in your dungeon, try to keep the story in mind. Remember, if we’re treating our dungeon like it’s another character, we want to make sure the traps we choose are in keeping with the dungeon’s history and purpose. If your dungeon was built by dwarves, ensure that the traps reflect mechanical ingenuity and superior dwarven craftsmanship. If your dungeon was built by a necromancer, ensure that the traps aren’t all boiling oil and rolling boulders. Instead, they might be panels that let loose a horde of undead soldiers.
Also, if you know your players well enough, try to design traps that will have a particularly meaningful effect on them. You want to make every effort to make your dungeon unforgettable—a task easier achieved if the hero with a fear of water is stuck in a chamber that is quickly filling with it. Don’t think of it as a contrivance, think of it as good storytelling. Indiana Jones always ran into some snakes along the way, didn’t he?
Try not to create traps that can be easily avoided. You will find it frustrating if your elaborate set of fireball traps are defeated by the Rogue’s Evasion ability, or just a high series of reflex saves from the party. A good trap requires multiple disciplines to best, and that may include forcing your party to roll a number of different kinds of saves. However, you also don’t want to create traps that are unfair. A character shouldn’t be punished just because they’re faster and more dexterous than the rest of the party. But, instead of catching her in the same trap as her fellows, create situations where she then becomes the one who has to rescue the rest of the party. She will feel more heroic, and the party might actually begin to start appreciating the nimble, wise-cracking rogue that always seems to miss being smashed by the cave-in.
PUZZLES are terrible. This may not be a popular opinion, but dungeons would be an awful lot better without them. They are nothing more than cute wastes of time, or an attempt to emulate a popular video game trend. Sorry, guys. Dungeons and Dragons is not The Legend of Zelda.
Why would a dungeon-maker include a puzzle in his dungeon? Did he want the intruders to have a few laughs before they met their doom? Was he preparing them for the SATs? Did he think to himself: I know exactly the sort of hero I want to find my treasure. Someone who is fantastic at rearranging tiles to form a picture of a fuzzy, pink unicorn!
The point is, unless the maker of this dungeon was some kind of bizarre toymaker (and he might be—in fact, that’s not a bad hook), there really shouldn’t be a puzzle in the dungeon. It’s a waste of time, forces the players away from the story and into a nauseating mini-game scenario, and cheapens the experience of the game.
Instead of the traditional series of dungeon puzzles, there needs to be an effort on the part of the game master to make the puzzles more cerebral. And no, I’m not talking about a giant game of chess or checkers (a certain segment of a novel by J.K. Rowling still makes me cringe—now that dungeon was terrible). Instead of holding down enormous switches, searching for the right keys, or playing riddle games with a petulant sphinxes, puzzles should be character-based.
The real problem with puzzles is that once they’re solved, they leave no lasting impression. Unless your puzzle has left a mark on the party, it will go unremembered. Or worse, it will be a trite footnote in their travelogue. But characters, especially detailed NPCs, leave powerful feelings in their wake. Puzzles constructed from interactions with companions, guides, and villains are far more potent and interesting than those made up of statues and bloodthirsty doors.
Try to plant seeds of doubt within the party’s ranks. They will have a better time trying to find out why their guide keeps breaking out into nervous laughter whenever someone mentions “The Dark Lord” than they will trying to glue an ancient vase back together.
Alternately, entire dungeons can be built around the pursuit and retrieval of information, forcing the party to go from NPC to NPC. This allows the party to build meaningful emotional relationships with characters in game, rather than having them make connections with objects that will mean nothing to them once a physical puzzle has been solved.
Keep an eye out for part three of this treatise, which will include some advice about monsters and treasure, and the greater significance of dungeon scenarios in your campaign's story arc.
Photos: Magic the Gathering's "Mindbreak Trap," "The Mirror" by Chris Ortega, Dungeons and Dragons' "Spear Trap," Magic the Gathering's "Sphinx Ambassador."
