Rewarding Player Choices: 5e Proficiencies

One of the first things I do when I’m preparing to run an adventure is to take out a blank sheet of paper, and list all the character’s proficiencies, particularly skills, languages and tools. I began this DMing practice after a string of experiences as a player where my creative character building choices never got to see the light of day. I want to reward the various choices my players made at character creation, by ensuring I make opportunities for them to utilized those proficiencies in the game. Lets walk through the what, and why, then really dig into the how.

Unsung Heroes

Sometimes DMs complain that every character takes the same main proficiencies. Perception and Investigation can so easily feel dominate, while more minor and specific skills often feel forgotten. Animal Handling, Medicine, Religion, and even History can be underutilized. Even lesser seen are the vast repository of tool proficiencies in fifth edition. D&D 5e has streamlined choices in some ways— there aren’t a dozen different “knowledge” skills, for example— but the tool certainly add additional complexity. With over 20 different tool options, we easily default to a small handful: alchemist supplies, herbalism kit, thieves tools, and tinkers tools. Finally, languages can easily be forgotten, particularly the game’s so-called “exotic languages”, like Abyssal, Celestial, and Primordial. All in all, the more obscure proficiencies are often left to languish, while a handful of common ones pop up again and again.

What is the Point in Caring About This?

This particular practice began, for me, after I made a number of characters with more obscure choices. At the time, I was brand new to D&D, and didn’t have the experience to know which choices were commonly made, and what things were most likely to pop up in the game. I simply made the choices that made the most sense to the character I was building. As I played those early games, I eagerly looked for opportunities to use all my choices, abilities, and proficiencies. I quickly learned that Perception was queen, herbalism was situational, and my leatherworking and gaming sets were all-but-useless. And my languages never came up. As I created my next characters, I certainly kept that in mind. I still made choices mostly according to what made sense to my character, but I choose my proficiencies from a much smaller list. Perception, Investigation, or Arcana? Alchemist, herbalism, or thieves tools? Dwarvish, Draconic, or Elvish? Why bother taking painters supplies or potters tools if they wouldn’t come up? To me, taking those rarely seen options was, and still feels like, a wasted choice. I still create characters with this frame of reference— I still haven’t found many DMs who actively work to include opportunities for the players to use those more obscure choices in the game.

Because those choices are not actively rewarded, they are passively discouraged. And that sucks! It does not feel good to have your list of options artificially reduced, but it feels ever worse to be the new player who didn’t know there were “bad choices”, while all the experienced players know what to focus on. Being the sole character with seemingly useless abilities is unfun. I strongly believe that an important part of being a dungeon master, especially one who DMs for newer players, is ensuring their choices a don’t disappear into the void. Rewarding character choices is a vital part of DMing, and players who do not get their character choices rewarded inevitable feel disappointed. That, in and of itself is a problem, but it also creates a cascade reaction.

That sense of “unfun” is remembered, and compensated for the next time, leading to the domination of a handful of skills and tools. Why does everyone take thieves tools? Because they have seen that choice always be useful. Folks watch that decision be rewarded, desire that same reward, and choose accordingly. The same goes for dominate skills, such as perception. Everyone wants to make a perception check, often creating what is colloquially called a “skill dogpile” —when your entire table wants to make a check, all but eliminating the chance of failure, it also removes the tension that possibility creates.

There are all kinds of workarounds for this, but most come with it’s own problems. Allowing only one character to make the check, perhaps utilizing the Help action from another player, means that is the only player rewarded for that choice. And restricting checks to proficient characters only increases the reward for those few skills, making them even more must-haves. In both cases, the original problem— the lack of reward for other choices— remains.

What is a DM To Do?

The best way to address the skill, tool, and language disparity is to be intentional in correcting the bias. Literally, make yourself a cheat-sheet with all your player’s skills, tools, and languages. You can also include background features (you know, like the acolytes Shelter of the Faithful, or an urchin’s City Secrets), or some of the lesser used feats or more flavorful racial traits. Any of your players features and choices that you want to intentionally reward. Then plan your encounters around them.

“That sounds like railroading! I don’t want to prepare a particular solution in advance!” Planning encounters with your player’s special abilities in mind isn’t railroading, and it doesn’t mean you’re planning plots instead of situations. What it does mean is that you’re planning to include those elements in your situation. It can be as simple as changing the language on an inscription from elvish to celestial and tweaking the content to be more religious for a religion proficiency, or making your objects shoes for the cobblers tools and a special pack of cards for the gaming set. It’s tiny but intentional changes that will make a world of difference.

It will also do more for your game than reduce mild annoyances like skill piling, or lessen the ubiquity of dominant skills. It will also free the creativity of both yourself, as the DM, and your players. Many players will start to investigate things more deeply, because they too have a chance to solve a problem. They will start looking at forgotten areas of their character sheets, become more interested in things around them, and follow more of their character’s interests— which are generally mechanically denoted by such proficiencies. There is a deep connection between rewarding these kinds of character choices, and between exploration— but that’s a deep dive for another day!

In the meantime, I really suggest that if you don’t have a cheat sheet with your character’s proficiencies on it, make one! Pull it out when you’re prepping, and try to incorporate just a few of them into your next couple of encounters. In the beginning, you might need to prompt the players. “Sharice, doesn’t Alecia speak celestial?” or “Alex, Tilab is proficient with leatherworking tools, right?” After all, they might not be accustomed to checking those areas on their character sheets. But that will likely change over time!

On the whole, I have never once regretted making a change to an encounter to include a characters choice that hasn’t yet seen the light of day. The excitement of the druid that finally gets to use Druidic or the barbarian who finally gets to use their land vehicle proficiency is so fun, and so rewarding. I have, on the other hand, kicked myself mentally, for not making a tiny change such as that, in order to make space for those characters.

Dora The Explorer: Travel and Exploration in D&D

Note: This post first appeared on Gnome Stew Gaming Blog

As a parent of four, children’s shows of all kinds have played in the background of my home for a decade. Children’s shows strongly feature patterns, to the horror of parents but the delight of children. Why? Because in a sea of chaos, the predictability of the character’s catch-phrases or songs provides a sense of stability and structure for them. Dora the Explorer is one of my favourite “young kids” shows to have playing in the background, because it uses patterns and predictability in a way that is much less, well, annoying to parents, than many other shows.

It’s also an absolutely wonderful structure for exploration and travel. Look, I know it might sound ridiculous, but stick with me. 

Dora’s Exploration Structure

First, a quick overview of how Dora explores (for those of you who don’t have four kids and don’t have “I’m the map” singing itself in your head in the background…) In each episode, Dora gets a quest of some sort which requires her to travel to an unknown place. After getting the quest, she turns to her trusty map (que the song), which unfurls to show her the general location of the quest in the distance, and the route the get there, in three steps.

This forms the structure for Dora’s quest, and our travel and exploration. In order to get to the Mountain of Doom, she has to first cross the Very Rickety Bridge, hike through the Spooky Overgrown Forest, before ascending the Mountain of Doom. How do we get to the Mountain of Doom? Bridge. Forest. Mountain. That’s the Dora way.

There are a few clear benefits here. Three locations, or three steps, harnesses the power of three. Three is simple and easy to remember, while having enough complexity to be interesting.

We also recognize patterns of three. 

We count to three (or down from it) in races. Ready. Set Go.

We also quickly recognize three steps. Beginning. Middle. End.

We use it in storytelling. Inciting Incident. Complication or twist. Resolution.

So not only is it an easy literary device for us GMs, it’s also a pattern that your players will be able to recognize and remember.

How do we get there? Bridge. Forest. Mountain. 

Creating The Travel Plan

Returning back to our quest to reach the Mountain of Doom. Let’s say that, through the initial incident and quest hook, the players are tasked with traveling from the city to the Mountain of Doom, in order to parlay with a powerful earth elemental who resides there.

How do we create a travel plan that is interesting and challenging, also allows for exploration, but doesn’t leave the players feeling completely out of their depth and unsure how to proceed?

That all becomes possible, with Dora! (I can’t believe that is a sentence that I just wrote but hey ho there you go.) We’re going to use Dora’s 3-steps as our travel structure: Bridge. Forest. Mountain.

As a GM, you can give your players the 3 steps, right at the beginning of the quest. The wizard quest-giver says to go to the location, and suggests you talk to an old adventurer that traveled there years ago. The party finds the old adventurer, who says that in order to the mountain, they first must cross the mile wide chasm (there is a sketchy but passable bridge), then travel uphill through the fey forest, then climb the mountain pass. 

How do we get there? Sketchy Bridge. Fey Forest. Mountain of Doom.

But, you might say, isn’t that too predictable?! Where’s the exploration?! Where are the choices?! It’s too linear and railroady!

No, not at all. In fact, it is the opposite. These three steps are a simple, yet strong, foundation ready to hold the situations a GM writes, which actually encourage creative choices and drive exploration.

Create Excitement: Telling the Players

Dungeon masters can have a bad habit of withholding vital information from the players, thinking that keeping those secrets creates mystery and gives the party a reason to explore; something to discover. But D&D isn’t a novel, and your players aren’t characters who automatically do the thing they are supposed to do to drive the story forward. So treat these three landmarks as vital information, and give it directly to the players immediately.

If the party has this information upfront, it also gives them a general idea of the obstacles they might face, or the areas they might explore; just enough to wet their appetite for exploration and kick-start their imaginations into high gear. 

What if the bridge is more rotted than expected, and even more dangerous to traverse? Is there another way through, or around? Is there something at the bottom of the chasm? What lives in it? What if a Roc moved in?

And what about the fey forest? What kinds of tricksters, sentient plants, or wild magic zones might they encounter? Will there be patches that feel like the feywild, or others that like the shadowfell? Bargains with fey, or battles with undead? And what kind of OLDER ruins might they find?

Giving them three general steps right away, also allows the party to engage in a little research or make some preparations. Maybe the plant-lover wants to go find a plant-book that’s specific to that area, which they can use to study and maybe identify funky plants!

Using this three-step Dora method really gives both you AND the players something to jump off of, creatively. It’s a foundation that you can use for travel, that invites all kinds of exploration. 

Enacting the Plan: The Specifics

Now, you can take your three landmarks and make a hex map if that’s your jam. If not, you can sketch out a quick and dirty mind-map, where each landmark has a few sublocations, all of which are vaguely connected to one another. You can also run it like a basic path, where you use random tables to generate encounters, discoveries, mini-dungeons, along the way from one landmark to another. You can use NPC guides to help the players actually find the landmarks; maybe there’s only one safe path through the Fey Forest, or the mountain pass to the Mountain of Doom is nearly impossible to find.

Whatever method or variations you choose, this is your structure. The overall goal is to traverse the three landmarks to reach the final destination. And what are the landmarks?

Bridge. Forest. Mountain.

A Note on Structure

As we end here, there’s one last important idea I’d like to really drive home: the need for structure.

New DMs are constantly asking about wilderness traveling and exploration, and experienced DMs sometimes give really unhelpful advice: Random encounter tables. Lists of monsters by terrain. Non-combat challenges. Weather effects. Philosophical discussions about the exploration pillar.

None of these are bad things, and they all have their place. They are often unhelpful in these discussions though, because new DMs aren’t looking for an ingredient’s list for travel. They are asking for structure. 

A dungeon has a very clear structure: Rooms with doors, traps, monsters, and treasure.

Combat has a very clear structure: Initiative, 6 second rounds, turns, actions, bonus actions, and reactions.

Traveling and exploration do not have a clear structure. How do I run travel and exploration? What overarching recipe do I plug my ingredients into? 

Using this Dora, “I’m the map” song – as silly as it might sound – provides a vital structure for this part of the game. Take the ingredients that you find the most fun, and plug it in here.

How do we get there? Bridge. Forest. Mountain.