Encounters in TTRPGs: Stakes and Rewards

Great encounters have clear stakes and meaningful rewards. Success should change the game; failure should create new opportunities. Player agency is essential. Add in a healthy dose of variety and the gaming table will have the foundations for some truly amazing stories.

Encounter Philosophy

Players have fun when their choices matter. However, making encounters where there is only one solution or outcome removes this agency.

The unpopular “railroading” in tabletop roleplaying games (TTRPGs) doesn’t refer to a gamemaster (GM) planning encounters for a session. Instead, it’s a sequence or solution that will be followed no matter what. Players are strapped in the backseat, not sharing the wheel.

For instance, the players wish to defuse a bomb by removing the trigger mechanism. However, the GM shoots this idea down out of hand, not for being a bad idea, but because it didn’t match their planned sequence of play. The players must guess what the perfect solution is in an imaginary world they cannot see—it’s mission impossible. Alternatively, the GM lays out exactly what they have to do and the party trails along behind on a rope.

This isn’t fun.

Many suggest having multiple solutions and outcomes possible, thus keeping player agency king. On the extreme end of this spectrum, Matt Colville repeatedly pushes GMs to design problems for players. Not a preconceived solution in sight. It’s the players’ job to figure the answers out; it’s on to them to decide where the story leads next.

If this is too freewheeling, have a few solutions in mind. However, the golden rule is this: always be open to player approaches (especially the crazy ones)!

Unfortunately, it isn’t enough for players to only have agency; they also need information. Lots of information. Making well-informed decisions that lets them feel effective and in tune with the world is only possible if the GM is clear and open. Top of that list are an encounter’s dangers and payoff.

Be Direct about Risks and Rewards

Every time the player characters enter a situation, the stakes should be clear. Don’t leave miscommunication to chance. Not only does good communication boost group happiness from a lack of confusion, it also works to build correct tension levels because everyone is on the same page.

GMs shouldn’t be afraid to straight up inform players of potential outcomes. This is doubly true when the stakes are high or there’s no easy way to work it in narratively. Players who are feeling unsure, ask! Good communication is a shared responsibility.

If the bugbear escapes, he will alert the war camp to the party’s presence. Capturing or searching his body, on the other hand, will reveal the camp’s layout. If the PCs do not find the scroll in five days, Astarte will awaken. It’s the finale of this campaign, end of ze world stuff.

As an aside, sometimes failure will stick. The wonderful thing about this hobby is, even if the Big Bad wins, the table can start afresh and keep right on rolling. Perhaps in a future where Astarte is a flawed goddess with imperfect control over a broken world.

Or (tonal shift), a completely non-murderous AI with control over a complex that is absolutely not falling apart—to say otherwise is treasonous! All glory to Friend Computer!

Use NPCs and Cutscenes to Reveal Stakes

If the GM thinks they can effectively communicate the stakes in game, then great. Films, books, and TV do this all the time. Elrond is an allied NPC telling the Fellowship what will happen if they fail. Darth Vader is an enemy NPC telling Luke what will happen if he turns to the Dark Side.

No viable NPC near the party? Try cut scenes. Returning to Star Wars, the Emperor telling Vader his plans solves this exact problem. Give a (very short!) narrative revealing the key information. The best thing about the Big Bad monologuing to a NPC prisoner or underling? No pesky PCs to interrupt the reveal with an alpha strike…

Cut scenes aren’t just for the Big Bads, though. Any resident from your local hive of scum and villainy will do (neutrals and friendlies can work, too, of course). It can be as small time as two guards chatting to each other about tomorrow’s execution or a local deadbeat cop interrogating a synth.

Timing is vital. Players must have this information before they decide how to proceed. There’s no point putting the cut scene revealing the kings’ elite guard will be there too once the party’s plan is in flow if it dramatically changes the threat levels.

Real world wise, narrating cut scenes is most effective at the end of a session or just before a break. This gives the players time to stew. If everyone is comfortable burning game time on thrashing out ideas (“At dawn, we plan!”), the beginning of a session can work in a pinch.

Mid-game can lead to awkwardness. Players don’t have much time to digest the information and it is literal sit-for-story-time with the GM (remember to keep it short).

Scale and Threat Levels in Encounters

It’s all very well for the blacksmith to burst into an inn and appeal for anyone to help; it is weird for a royal to ask a group of level one adventurers to save the kingdom (especially if this keeps happening over and over). What is the rest of society doing?!

Additionally, if the stakes are always end of ze world affairs, there’s no room for the game to breathe. In his wonderful “The Dungeon Master Experience” series of articles, Chris Perkins recommended throwing basic goblins at epic-level characters.

Not only does this give a break in tension levels, fighting such low level opponents meant players could be more inventive in how they approached the encounter. Additionally, it makes the world feel more believable (fights shouldn’t always be at the party’s power level), and, be honest, it’s fun feeling truly badass once in a while.

What if cut scenes and useful NPCs (read: sources of key information) are both off the table, and events have enough room to breathe that bashing the directly informing panic button isn’t necessary yet? Then their bigger, better sibling can step in.

Foreshadowing Reveals and Dangers

Every planned reveal, by GM or player, needs foreshadowing. No one likes the rug pulled out from beneath them. Twists without enough foreshadowing are either lame, contrived, or cheap. The bigger the twist, the more foreshadowing it demands. To compound this, GMs and players are infamously immune to subtlety—layer it on. Foreshadow, foreshadow, foreshadow.

Wyverns are to a low level Dungeons & Dragons party what a sledgehammer is to a watermelon. Unfortunately, with an intelligence of 5 they can’t monologue, so that’s out.

The GM could have a cut scene of a NPC being mauled, but it’s mid-game and that would break the flow. Instead, change gears and litter the area with clues. Lots and lots of clues—the more the better.

Use all the Senses

Skulls and bones are great tip-offs. If the party don’t comment, heap more on. Hunts new and old can litter the area. Describe the size and spread of claw marks in the ground and scratches on trees. Have poisoned spines sticking out of just about anything available for analysis. Wyverns might shed their skins like other reptiles. Describe the large size of the skin and make sure the players connect the dots that it’s even bigger now.

Don’t forget sound. Distant roars, terrified screeches from prey, and calls from young to their mother, all of these can paint a picture without introducing the wyvern directly. Sound effects on platforms like Opus make great substitutes for those a bit shy of going ham in front of their friends or strangers. Opus can even play through Discord!

Of course, music is also a fantastic non-verbal cue. Switching from an ambient forest track to brooding music, near-constant music playlists to just eerie ambiance, or even complete silence for a short time—all these are powerful ye be warned signs players won’t miss.

And what of smell and touch? The poison could be acrid and make the eyes water just being close to it. How does that shed skin (or just a few loose scales) feel? Perhaps it feels hard for a regular arrow to pierce. There are lots of ways to communicate valuable information.

Go Further and Give More Information

Think about what’s missing. What usual sights or sounds are absent because they’ve been hunted down or run away? Deer, horses, fish, or large birds could all be missing. Conversely, if the wyvern has lived in the area for a while, the prey’s prey are noticeably booming.

A party might dismiss this as too small fry, though. They won’t ignore a convoy or outpost ripped apart by the beast. Show what approaches will fail like broken arrows or smashed roofs. This helps the party plan their own next move.

Creatures that only batter HP until it’s zero have just one plan of attack and the party will respond in kind. A wyvern that only takes men alive, or exclusively steals white-coloured calves raises more questions, weaves more story, and encourages more creative engagement.

Often a party’s first plan is a frontal assault (and their second, third, and fourth). Players often see adult monsters as XP and loot carriers (and their offspring as possible pets. Show me the group that would turn down the idea of trained wyvern mounts).

GMs can telegraph against approaching all encounters like this by varying the threat’s type and level (from overly easy to character sheet-tearing scary enemies). The more pieces of interesting information the players have, the more approaches they will see.

PCs walking into dangerous combat encounters should do so with their eyes open. D. Vincent Baker’s RPG Dogs in the Vineyard takes this to the extreme—players don’t roll dice until they decide to put their character on the line. Most systems don’t go this far, and so it’s up to the table going in to ensure everyone is aware of what’s at stake, especially when death is lurking.

Weighing the Risks and Rewards

The party are on the trail of an artist. They come to a maze garden filled with statues—terribly life-like statues. Some of them are in flamboyant artistic poses; many seem mid-motion. Most have fear forever etched on their faces, and a few are trying to shield their eyes. Along one hedge is a row of archery targets—each bullseye is packed with arrows.

Enter Medusa, with a twist. She is sporting a fetching headdress that shields her gaze from the party. She informs them if they bring her criminals convicted of murder, she and her sisters will give the PCs a steady supply of powerful healing potions. Additionally, if any of the criminals happen to give any useful information in their final moments, they will pass it on.

If the party do not wish to agree, Medusa understands this deal isn’t for everyone and bids them farewell. They are free to join for tea, stay and admire the sculptures, or leave as they wish. She (rightly or wrongly) see the PCs as no threat, and she hasn’t done anything obvious to provoke them.

Of course, the party can attack the gorgons—player agency is king after all. Encounters are fluid and can freely turn from social into combat and back again (“Parley?“). But the players know the stakes: if they support the gorgons, they’ll receive free magical items and possible quest clues; wiping out the gorgons will remove that opportunity, but it might offer up some powerful loot; attack and lose, and the statue collection will grow.

This may very well end the campaign, or it may put the party very much in debt to whomever pays for their restoration. There are always ways to make even total failure interesting and the story to keep rolling.

It’s worth noting, too, ignoring the gorgons is an option here. This was a setup the party did not see coming, did not have a ready plan for, and so they need an out in case the players want time to mull it over.

Fun Encounters Need Meaningful Rolls

An outcome’s rewards need to be rewarding (Captain Obvious reporting!) and failure should offer interesting paths forward. If a party passes a test, and they receive nothing for their troubles, something is wrong.

A GM hosting a Dungeons & Dragons game calls for a group Survival check in the wilds. If the party succeeds they just maintain the status quo—finding enough food to avoid starvation or rolling high enough to stay on the path. This is hardly exciting.

Worse, failing the roll is often a punishment for a situation the party were forced into. Spell slots, HP loss, and inventory can all disappear. It’s no wonder so many people think badly of travel in games.

Cutting out Unnecessary Rolls

The party walk into a dormitory with six locked chests. The rogue steps up with their lockpicks and looks at the GM. The GM ponders. Their first instinct might be to ask for six individual checks, but that leaves the other members twiddling their thumbs.

Then there is the awkward question of what does failure look like if the rogue fails one or more rolls. Simply not getting loot is pretty boring, especially if there are some tasty goodies in there the GM wishes the party to have. And allowing repeated rolls until success stumbles home reduces the excitement further. All rolls should be meaningful, especially failure.

Roll for interesting consequences; don’t roll because something is difficult.

Instead, the GM could ask for one check to cover all six chests. This let’s the rogue use their skills, but stops the other players from switching off.

Failure isn’t being unable to crack open the chests; it’s the party losing a valuable chunk of time while the villain makes good their escape; or, it’s a wandering patrol inbound and the sitation escalates into a fight.

Both success and failure should change the situation and move the story on.

Keep Rolls in Combat Meaningful

In crunchier systems like D&D, fights can take a fair while. Players waiting five minutes for their turn only for it to be over in a flash because of a fluffed roll isn’t fun.

What if the GM changes that miss into chipping off the NPC’s Armour Class by a point? Or the enemy could shift 5 feet to dodge the attack, giving up the high ground.

Don’t step on the toes of abilities the PCs already have, but everything else is fair game. The GM decides everything, including what failure looks like. If there is nothing on the line, and success is possible, consider letting the party auto-succeed. If it’s impossible, “No, but” can step in—keep it fun; keep it meaningful.

As an aside, don’t stress about making combat too easy. Dialling up the difficulty is as easy as throwing more bodies at the party in a second wave. Plus, there will always be times when the dice just curbstomp the party. It will happen. Don’t stop moving; the situation never stops changing.

Setup to Succeed

The base for a great encounter are clear stakes with meaningful consequences. The party should be aware of what’s on the line before they act. Succeeding shouldn’t maintain the status quo; it should keep the players wanting to do more. Failure should open up interesting pathways narratively, mechanically, or both! Above all, player agency never stops being king.

Good luck!