Dungeons & Dragons - A Writer's Perspective

ROLEPLAYING VS DICE ROLLING, THE VALUE OF STORYTELLING AS A DUNGEON MASTER, AND WHAT IT MEANS AS A WRITER.

This topic has come up a lot on social media recently. As a former hardcore pen & paper roleplayer, and current author, I figured I might have a unique perspective that will at least be an entertaining read, if not help some of you with your games, or your approach to novels. Now, I’ve covered some of my thoughts in previous blog entries. You can go hunt them down and read those first if you’d prefer, but it totally isn’t necessary. Without further ado, let’s get into it… after all, this is going to be fairly long.

Why now?

With the popularity of Stranger Things, many people around the world are being exposed to Dungeons & Dragons for the first time. They get to watch kids on screen have a blast playing a game they have no understanding of, and for some that piques their interest. So they jump online, or talk to friends, and try to gain an understanding of this strange game they hadn’t known or taken seriously in their past.

Some of them grew up in the eighties, and were right there watching in real time as news outlets did precisely what happened in Season 4; claim that D&D was satanic, and that kids across the nation were joining evil cults. They didn’t just make that up for the Netflix series. It was very real. Most of the fear of D&D seemed to come from the USA’s ‘bible belt’, primarily from religious leaders who didn’t spend any time trying to understand what they were denouncing.

Regardless of how it happened, or who was involved, there were a great many children of the eighties who were forbidden to play these kind of games by our parents. Some of us went on to try them anyway, in secret. Others waited until they reached adulthood, and were brought into game sessions by friends or colleagues. The rest never looked back at these games, and ultimately paid them no mind until Stranger Things came along and reminded them of their existence.

What is Dungeons & Dragons?

It is a game you play in your mind, using your imagination, in cooperation with a group of friends. During said games, you try to think like a made up character. You pretend you are them, and try to speak like they would, or decide what to do based on how they see the world. Statistics are tracked for characters, and monsters, to help quantify everyone’s capabilities, and the consequences of their actions. Dice are rolled to account for random chance, and those rolls are sometimes modified by the abilities of the character taking the action in order to impart a sense of realism.

Those are the basics of any good Roleplaying system; a gaming system where you play a Role, by pretending. Think of it like acting, but in your mind, where you verbally describe what’s going on… and everyone around the room, or table, is doing the same thing. There are many, many game systems that provide their own set of rules to govern this Roleplaying scenario. Some are set on fictional worlds, others right here on Earth. Some systems are quite complex, while others are exceedingly simplified. Some are horror, or sci-fi, others are fantasy. Some are even designed to be played in a single sitting, at a party, alongside adult beverages.

What those games all have in common—aside from the fact that they’re Roleplaying games in general—is that they all spawned from a common source: Dungeons & Dragons. It was the first wide-spread pen & paper roleplaying game, and was the creation of Gary Gygax (with some help from his friends). You’ll see his name mentioned more and more as you fall down the D&D research rabbit hole. While some might not agree with every design decision he ever made, you have to at least give the man the credit he deserves for creating an entire genre of gaming.

As for D&D specifically, how you play and what you do within the game depends greatly upon the Dungeon Master, the game Edition, and whether or not you’re playing through a published Module, or a ‘Homebrew’ game session.

What is a Dungeon Master?

That is a title given to the person who controls everything that the rest of the gaming group is fighting against or interacting with. In some games this person is called a Game Master, and I’m sure there are other terms in use as well. All variations of the title are relatively interchangeable, and each group usually resigns itself to using one of them out of general preference, for no particular reason at all. I’ve played in groups where I was called a DM, and others a GM, both within the same gaming system. And while DM was a term coined specifically for D&D, I’ve seen it used by players of countless game systems (which is usually how you can tell who has played real D&D before).

The DM is in charge of running the entire game world. They handle the maps, if any are used, and at the very least they pick the fictional world that plays host to the adventure. They pick the Module, if they’re using one, or the write/control the Homebrew campaign you play through. They play the Non-Player Characters you encounter, and the monsters. They manage the politics of a region you pass through, and keep track of what you’ve done and what you need to do. They, basically, provide the conflicts that make your experience as a player more interesting.

When your character walks into a tavern and orders an ale, the DM plays the bartender you order from. The DM knows the layout of the tavern you’re standing in. The DM knows whether or not a group of bandits is waiting to ambush you outside when you finally exit. Finally, the DM controls those bandits in the combat that follows, rolling dice for them, and keeping track of who’s alive, who’s dead, and whether the bandits decide to run for their lives.

What is a Module?

It’s a published, pre-written campaign that roleplayers can game through, under the guidance of a DM. The more detailed ones will spell out every interaction, every possible option the players have, and even their chances of success and failure. They usually include little snippets of a story, or even a fully fledged, thoroughly written plot.

For many hardcore roleplayers, Modules are an easy way to break in a group; to test the waters, and see which players vibe with one another, or to help a DM learn the craft. They can be a good way for players to learn the game, or to experience a game setting they don’t commonly play in. However, any more than that will usually turn a hardcore, avid player away. Most old timers want substance, and unique storytelling. Modules can’t often offer that.

What is a Game/Campaign Setting?

A fictional world, in short. They usually come with their own set of rules, magic system, lore, maps, and everything else you could imagine. Some are extremely detailed, and have countless fictional works to help you expand your knowledge of them (such as Forgotten Realms, and Greyhawk). Others are less extensive, and leave a little more freedom for the DM to make the world their own.

Before I go much further, let me point out that Vecna (named in Stranger Things) was a real NPC/Villain in D&D. He existed primarily in the Greyhawk campaign setting, but was also mentioned in the standard source material and core D&D rules compendiums. Everyone knew who he was, even if they didn’t play in Greyhawk, and never went up against him. I can’t think of a single player that wanted to hear his name when a DM was describing a surprise foe appearing in a dark room. He was feared, and he was discussed with awe.

What about Editions?

I have played Dungeons & Dragons, Advanced Dungeons & Dragons, Advanced Dungeons & Dragons 2nd Edition, and Advanced Dungeons & Dragons 5th Edition, plus a smattering of others in small doses. Admittedly my 5th edition experience is brief, but that’s mainly because I simply didn’t like it. You can find a plethora of information online that breaks these editions down in great detail. So, let’s break them down based on my recollections, and I’ll leave the extended research up to you, if you wish to pursue it.

Dungeons & Dragons - Ah, the days where Elf and Dwarf were actually a predefined class/race combination, and balance between classes was an afterthought. The game was brilliant for its time, but going back after you started with AD&D or AD&D 2 felt like more of a novelty, and less like an enjoyable game. The source books were handy, though, because everything they detailed could be upscaled to newer editions without much trouble. It certainly laid the groundwork for greatness.

Advanced Dungeons & Dragons (AD&D) - This is where everything really started taking shape. No, the game wasn’t perfect yet. Some of the rules were a little more harsh, and play felt a little more saturated with keeping track of things and managing the rules. But all in all, it was great game edition. Note, this is the version of D&D that the kids in Stranger Things play. If you want real, guttural, in your face Dungeons & Dragons in pure unapologetic fashion, this is where you should start. Commonly referred to as ‘1st Edition’, this edition was a mainstay for many purists for decades. It still has rabid fans, even if they’re mostly in their 50’s today.

Advanced Dungeons & Dragons 2nd Edition (AD&D2) - This is, in my opinion, when D&D hit its peak. No, it was not perfect. No game edition will ever be perfect. The rules were a bit more difficult to understand at first, for the novice. Some of them didn’t even seem to make sense at first glance (looking at you, THAC0). At the end of the day, though, it was a very well fleshed out system with real consequences that very often, and quite easily, resulted in character deaths, and many upset players. Some people find it fun or rewarding to play a game system full of safety nets so they don’t lose their character. Back in the day, we would have laughed at such nonsense. The risk of death made every decision matter. Loss of a character made an impact on a party, and created very memorable moments. You simply don’t get that with most modern game systems. AD&D2 is without a doubt my favorite game system of all time. To this day I can still tell you which page the Saving Throw chart was on (101, if you’re curious).

Advanced Dungeons & Dragons 3, 3.5, 4… I didn’t play them. See, AD&D2 was the end of the TSR era of Dungeons & Dragons, right before they were purchased by Wizards of the Coast (WoTC). For a lot of us, that’s when D&D died. They made their money with fast-paced, easily-adopted card games and walked into the TSR purchase spewing promises to the gaming community. What they ended up doing was piling on unnecessary, over the top features (3rd Edition), overcomplicating the rules (3.5), and completely changing everything in the worst ways possible (4th). They lost many of their fans, drew some new ones in, but ultimately lost a majority of those as well. Coupled with the fact that many AD&D and AD&D2 players either decided to just stick with what they had, or had grown up and moved on to focus on their real life (me, for example), and the end result was three editions that just didn’t perform well, and went a long way toward destroying what little market share D&D had left. Not to mention the emergence of online RPG gaming such as EverQuest, World of Warcraft, and the like… which, by the way, all drew inspiration from AD&D.

Advanced Dungeons & Dragons 5th Edition - This, in my opinion, is what happens when someone sits down with AD&D2 and AD&D3.5, and says, “hey, I know… let’s mash these two together then water everything down so it plays like a video game! eh? eh?” There are some bright spots to the system, sure. It’s easier to adopt, some of the class/race combinations are intriguing, class parity is a little closer in some regards than it ever was… I get it. But at the end of the day, no character has to die. Combat is the rule of the day, and everything else is devalued by the ruleset. And since there don’t have to be any permanent consequences to any actions, every new player seemingly dives in swords blazing as if they’re sitting behind a keyboard playing WoW, secure in the knowledge that they’ll just respawn if they die and try again. There’s no weight to anything, and as a result the whole game system lacks substance. Why play it at all, when you can just recreate the experience with an MMORPG?

Now that’s not saying AD&D5 can’t be played with substance. Sure, a DM can absolutely pick up that edition and host quality, epic fantasy tales that reward their players for ingenuity and creativity, rather than how well they roll a die. I’d posit that it’s substantially more difficult to pull off in 5e than it is in 2e, though, and everyone I’ve talked to that has run both agrees.

Crafting an Epic Adventure

No matter which edition you’re playing, it’s the off-the-wall events, or truly epic stories that people are going to remember. Players will regale each other for years about the time their gnomish companion scored a critical hit on an ogre’s genitalia, only to have it fall atop them and crush them to death. They’ll speak in awe about the time they were forced to walk into hell and fend off denizens of the lower planes to save a princess, because some idiot cavalier in their company decided to play with a Deck of Many Things. What they’re not going to do is sit around telling stories about the four bandits they killed outside of town, or the nine goblins they encountered in a random cave, when a DM feels the need to throw a random encounter at them several times per game session, just to fill their time.

Assuming you aren’t being spoon-fed plot by a module, the best thing you can create as a DM is real conflict. High level, ‘oh holy crap’ releasing conflict. The ancient witch that wants to destroy the world, the vampire undermining an entire kingdom, the demon planting thoughts in a party member while they sleep. Let’s face it, roleplaying your way through a peaceful world is boring. There’s only so many times you can say, “oh look, a flower,” and be excited by it. However, the same can be said about having back to back combat for combat’s sake. There need to be stakes, an underlying purpose, something to lose, something to deduce or prevent; some overarching plot they can’t yet see, that tickles their minds and leaves them wanting to know more.

Unless you’re running a module as high quality and absolutely treacherous as The Tomb of Annihilation, or the Curse of Strahd (both big-name, modern modules with a large production budget, and great writing), you’re usually going to inspire more memories with a well run Homebrew campaign. If you’ve got the skills, my best recommendation is to:

• Pick a Campaign Setting (bonus points for creating your own world)
• Create/Select a terrifying villain (someone powerful the group can’t just run straight to confront)
• Identify what that being’s goal is (something absolutely terrible the players would want to prevent)

And that’s it. There’s no requirement to start with much else. From there, you’ve got an idea. The more you try to plan ahead, the more your players can disrupt those plans and derail your campaign… but they can’t derail your campaign if it was never put on rails in the first place. Therein lies the trick, and also the challenge. Your players fly seat-of-the-pants in reaction to the things you throw at them. So, fly seat-of-the-pants right back at them. As they take actions and make decision, sit back and consider whether their antagonist would appreciate what they’ve done, or if they’d even know what just happened. If they’d know, and wouldn’t like it, have them retaliate. It really is as simple as that. Once you know how a villain thinks, this effort becomes second nature. To make it more fun and complex for you, and thereby much harder to unravel by your players, add layers; minor villains, subplots, even heroes or citizens that disagree and get in their way.

There’s nothing saying your world can’t be filled with complex characters that think for themselves, have their own agenda, and might take issue with your players. While it wouldn’t be realistic to think that everyone they meet is against them, it’s just as unrealistic to think every single citizen, nobleman or soldier they encounter is on their side. Character backgrounds can also help in this regard, giving each player their own subplot, and personal challenges they need to overcome.

It’s so much easier to craft an epic story when you’re fully engaged, and thinking on your feet. If you’re always ready to respond to player weirdness, they can’t throw you for a loop and ruin the campaign. There are so many modules out there that have no way to recover if the players just say, “nah, I don’t wanna.” There are too many DM’s who struggle and fail because their players went East, even though every NPC in town told them repeatedly to go West (because the DM had only planned for them to go West, he had no content to the East).

I’m not saying these are super easy skills, but they can be developed.

Example: Ruining a Planned Campaign, as a Player

I didn’t often get the chance to experience D&D as a pure player. My friends held me in high regard for my storytelling abilities, and they absolutely loved gaming on Ayrelon (called Terrahs at that time). Therefore, more often than not if game manuals and dice were involved, I was the DM. That was fine, in all honestly, but I did sometimes pine for the opportunity to just sit back and roleplay one character.

Well, this one campaign was an example of the other reason I didn’t get a chance to be a player very often. See, my sister was renting a room from an older couple, and they were very hardcore D&D and AD&D players. I primarily played AD&D2, so when she invited me to join them I got fairly excited by the prospect. My girlfriend and I jumped at the chance, since my recent campaign had ended and our other friends wanted a break for a few months. I mean, we gamed incessantly, so I can’t really blame them for being exhausted.

So, the first day comes along and we drive over to their house. It was an existing campaign, so the DM had us show up an hour early to create characters. I knew right away that he didn’t understand who he was dealing with, because he let us min-max our dice rolls (manipulate the rolls in a way to get the maximum results possible from our characters’ stat sheets). Some DM’s did that, others didn’t. I occasionally did. However, I always put limits on what could be done, and I held that against the character until they proved themselves as more than just a stat sheet. This DM had very few limits.

I rolled my stats, and was quite happy with the results. He asked twice if I wanted to change my stat placement, and I declined. His concern was justified, since he could see I’d placed my two 18’s (max for most characters in any stat) into Dexterity and Charisma. One lets you dodge, and pull off feats of agility. The other lets you succeed in your interactions with others, convincing them to do things, or winning arguments.

That’s when he asked what class I planned to play. I told him I’d chosen to be an Assassin. You could see his face grow red in an instant. He tried to hide it, but it was obvious he was second-guessing his invite. He then went into detail, for the first time, about the other characters being played in the group. One of them was a Paladin.

For the uninitiated among you, a Paladin is a holy knight. Think… Jedi, but in a medieval setting. In 1st Edition, anything coming close to a Paladin had to be played perfectly. They had to always abide by the law, always do the most good thing whenever an option presented itself… they were exhausting to play correctly, and quite difficult to keep access to their class. See, Paladins, when they screw up, have their Paladinhood stripped from them by their deity, and to a player that is often considered worse than death. Here I was suggesting that I was going to play, effectively, the opposite of a Paladin. It was going to cause problems. I knew it, and he knew it.

The difference is, he presumed the problems would be on my end. He had no idea what was coming.

The rest of the group showed up, and he introduced our characters by having us encounter them in a tavern. I never caught the name of the world, or the town. I’m sure it was a module, but I never bothered to find out. He slipped me a note saying that my character had a contract to kill a specific nobleman. My target was supposed to be traveling along a specific road, and my handler had heard rumor this particular group of travelers was setting out on that road soon.

So, I talked my way into the group with relative ease. Again, 18 Charisma. I told them I was a scout, and the next morning we set off. Acting the role, I scouted ahead. We encountered a few small bands of minor enemies (goblins, a few orc) and our group worked wonderfully together, easily dispatching them.

We get further down the road and someone on guard at night thought they heard something. The Paladin wakes up and decides to cast Detect Evil. I had told the DM before I even joined the group that my character would always try to stand behind the Paladin, never in front of him. My character even explained this preference to the group, joking that he didn’t want to get cleaved by the Paladin’s big, shiny sword.

So when he started to cast his spell, I slid the DM a note asking if I could roll a Dexterity check to get out of the way, since it was abrupt. He allowed it, and said to add my initiative modifier to indicate response reflex. I did so, and rolled a critical success. Deftly diving behind the Paladin to ‘get out of his way’, I narrowly avoided my evil nature being detected, and the DM grimaced.

The party went on a few more days, traveling the long, quiet road, surrounded by forrest on both sides. I offered to stay on watch each night, and the party gladly accepted. “Wow, a scout that actually does his job without being asked!”

Finally the night I’d been waiting for came. I detected someone camping in the forest ahead of us, enough distance away that it wasn’t likely they’d seen our camp. I snuck close enough with my 18 Dexterity that I could identify the man in camp as my contract. Well, rather than put myself in danger, I snuck back toward my own group, and paused behind a stand of trees and thick underbrush… where I proceeded to bash my own face into a tree, rupture my nose, bust my lip, and give myself a very swollen black eye. I then cut my sleeve and a tiny bit of my forearm with my dagger, wiped my dagger clean on the grass and stumbled into our camp like I’d just had my ass kicked.

The Paladin woke up first, always on alert. He jumped to his feet and was instantly at my side, begging to know who’d hurt me. I told him a quick story about an evil man and his guards down the road, and how I’d narrowly escaped their attack by slipping into the shadows. I thanked my training as a scout for narrowly saving my life, and asked for a flask of water to help wash the blood out of my mouth.

He stormed off in search of my assailant… and coldly murdered all three of them, ignoring the protests of the ‘liars’, and choosing to believe the word of his companion, blindly.

My contract was a success.

The DM growled and slid a note to the other player. His Paladin lost his Paladinhood.

The campaign was cancelled, as that player read the note and nearly flipped the table in anger before storming out.

This is what happens when a player thinks on their feet, and adapts to the story and circumstances. A DM can do these things too, so why not flex those skills, and spice things up?

Example 2: Preventing Demonic Invasion… or Not

I ran a lot of campaigns back in the day. The one that my old players bring up the most in conversation, though, went a little something like this next example. This won’t be exact because my memory isn’t perfect. I’m sure my girlfriend’s (now wife’s) notes for this campaign are somewhere in our house, but it would take a long time to find them, and even longer to read through them.

The story was set on the world Ayrelon, of course. You should expect that from me by now. The time was somewhere in the 3rd Era of Man, long after the conclusion of A Destiny of Blood & Magic. The Nation of Arkhania was peaceful, and prosperous. The Keepers of Ayrelon had kept the lands free from tyranny and the influence of the Circle of Nine for decades. Nothing seemed out of place.

However, strange sigils were showing up all over the land, only noticed by the most trained eyes. Disappearances were growing in number, but hadn’t yet reached a point where anyone important would take note. Something was wrong, and it was going unnoticed, or being brushed under the rug. The one man who could see what might be coming had cried wolf too many times for the Keepers to take him seriously, and he’d made a pact with the gods themselves not to meddle in the affairs of mortals.

That is how I set the stage. Sound intriguing? My players thought so. They all wanted to jump right in and get going. They hadn’t even created characters yet. I wanted to do something different, so I gave them all a plan.

1. Create a character concept for something you’ve never played before
2. Then create a second one, that will come in later
3. Write up a full back story, at least 3,000 words long, for each of them
4. Tell me their motivations & desires, what gets them up in the morning, and why would they care what’s happening to Ayrelon?
5. When everyone is done with that, I’ll start you each solo, in individual roleplay sessions, until your characters arrive at the same place

So that’s what we did. My gf/wife came up with a character named Darkstorm, the adopted daughter to the world’s most feared assassin… not that any of the other characters knew that little tidbit. She had another named Cassandra, who was 1st edition Cavalier, upgraded to 2nd Edition. My friend Tim made a knight named Oblix who talked in abrupt sentences, and quietly sought glory. He also created a druid, that I can’t for the life of me remember the name of. Robbie created a wood elven archer named Lehthanis, who’s father had abandoned his mother before his birth. I can’t remember his second character’s name. His wife Jenny created a rogue, and a multi-class wizard that I can’t remember.

I roleplayed one on one with each of them over the next few weeks. We started simple, in their home town, or while they were traveling somewhere, and I slowly planted events in their path that would steer them toward the small town of Menshe. Once they arrived in town, I cut them off and we paused until the full group was together.

By that time, every character knew something was wrong. Each of their journeys to Menshe had been unique, and gave them stories to share from day one. Through sharing their tales, they were able to start piecing together that something horrific was building, and that they might be the only ones taking the matter seriously. So they started investigating… completely of their own accord, I sent no NPC or encounter of any kind their way to encourage it.

They revisited several of the sites their characters had been through on the way to Menshe, and dug up more clues, even finding a few small, hidden dungeons with ancient writings, etc. They eventually came to the conclusion that a powerful being they’d never heard the name of was manipulating events, causing incursions into their plane from another world, and sending agents into Arkhania to erode the Nation’s stability, and undermine the support network for the Keepers of Ayrelon.

They sought advice from old sages across the land, and in their journeys, stumbled upon the secret tower of the man who was sworn to inaction. He laid it all on the table, and revealed just how disastrous the situation could become if they didn’t act quickly.

So they set off, but not in the direction he desired, and definitely against the advice of their quieter-than-normal DM. They found an underground passage they believed was being used by the villain’s agents to cross in and out of Arkhanian territory. Oblix charged headlong down a seemingly endless subterranean hall, even though they’d specifically been warned by two sages to avoid the place at all costs. Warnings unheeded, they ended up running smack into one of the villain’s generals, a Crimson Knight. Horribly powerful, the knight laughed the group off and told them they weren’t ready to face what was coming. He insisted they should turn around, and go back home; spend time with their loved ones. He couldn’t be bothered to waste his time fighting them, for they were so far beneath him.

That was me, giving them a clue and a chance to escape. They didn’t listen

Oblix being Oblix, he ran straight for the demonic-looking man. The knight looked at him and smiled, then merely lifted a single hand in his direction. With one word, he cast a spell that serves as a pretty big clue to anyone experienced with AD&D that you’ve royally fucked up: Power Word Kill.

As Oblix fell instantly dead mere feet before reaching the knight, the rest of the group got the message and tucked tail and ran. To say this caused a rift between the characters would be an understatement. They were simultaneously unified in purpose, hell-bent on success. But at the same time, none of them could believe that nobody else tried to help Oblix.

Meanwhile, the entire time the campaign had been going, from session 2 onward, I had been routinely pulling two players aside. Lehthanis was plagued by nightmares, and I leaned into that more and more as the campaign went on. Darkstorm was conflicted in her purpose, as her self motivations were all about coin, and gaining the power and status that could rival her adoptive mother. I planted little seeds that kept her involved, and similar seeds that made Lehthanis question what he knew of himself, of his mother, of his supposed father, and of his friends.

The further we got from the Oblix incident, the more Darkstorm and Lehthanis withdrew from the group, and grew closer to one another. Then eventually, just as they learned the true name of the villain behind the whole thing, and were terrified at the prospect of trying to find a way to do battle with him, those seeds sprouted forth. Darkstorm planted the last bit of fertilizer at the forefront of Lehthanis’s mind, suggesting they should leave and maybe help their villainous foe. Lehthanis tried to meditate on her suggestion, only to be confronted by the very man they feared… the man then admitted to being his father.

Lehthanis woke and gave Darkstorm a nod. They laid waste to the rest of the party. Very few survived the attack, and by then they’d all gathered NPC followers. Their party of more than twenty was cut down to just three, and those three packed up and fled as soon as the sun rose.

Sometimes it’s not about overcoming some great villain. Sometimes it’s about the failure, and just how dramatic an event they all experienced. That campaign lasted almost 6 months. They were very attached to those characters. Some of them were so strong in our minds, and get revived so often when we reminisce, that their names will be re-used as new characters in future novels. Now, thanks to this article, those of you that read my blog and my writings will know where they came from.

Crafting Epic Adventures to Hone Your Writing

I would seriously recommend to all potential fantasy and science fiction authors that you should spend some time running campaigns to hone your craft. The skills I learned in those days are invaluable to me as I write novels today. The world I created, and used for my campaigns, is now the world in which I base my fiction. I trained myself to only need to know a few things to create a deep story.

• Who is my villain
• What are they after
• What motivates them
• Who are my potential protagonists
• What part of the world do they live in when the story starts

Once I have that, I can Roleplay my way from scene 1 until the end, playing my characters against each other until I reach that final climax.

I can’t say this would work for everyone. Either way, it works for me and I can guarantee you one thing, at the very least… the process is fun as hell.