Roll the Dice and See

Today we’re going to talk about dice. Again. And the imaginary space. Again.

See, when I visited this topic before, I don’t think I fully explained the options involved in the choice the designer should make intentionally. Namely, when a character attempts an action and then rolls the dice, what does the dice roll really tell us?

The differences are quite subtle (or, to the casual player, nonexistent), but they’re actually greater than they might seem at first. The two main ways involve one of the following:

1. The dice determine how the world works, the answer revealed when the character interacts with the world through their actions.

2. The dice indicate how well the character performs in their stated action and nothing more or less.

Approach #1 assumes that it’s a wild world out there with lots of moving pieces. The character tries something, and maybe it works, and maybe it doesn’t. It might very well be out of the character’s control. A success might mean that conditions are in the character’s favor rather than that the character does a good job at their task.

For example, if a character goes to the library to learn some important information regarding an investigation, the GM might ask for a roll. The roll indicates failure, and so while it might be that the character didn’t look in the right books, it’s just as likely that the dice are suggesting that the library didn’t have that information. In the latter situation, presumably the character never had any chance of success in the end. They didn’t fail—the library didn’t have what they wanted. No one could have succeeded. It’s not the character’s fault—it’s the damn library.

The same character goes to speak with the local chief of police to ask them questions about the investigation. The GM has already decided that the police, unbeknownst to the player, have no useful information to offer. However, the player rolls extraordinarily well—a maximum success. The GM wants to honor that roll, and so they decide that it turns out the police chief does have some useful knowledge that they’ll share, and it will aid the character. The dice, in this case, literally overruled the GM. They determined what the chief knows (which, in fact, the GM had already determined—the dice changed what the chief knows, likely altering the overall narrative).

Now the investigator walks up to a woman in the local grocery store and asks her questions about the investigation. Rolling well might indicate that she’s in a particularly talkative mood, that she knows more than it should seem, or even that she’s secretly in love with the character and has admired them from afar. A poor roll could suggest that she doesn’t know anything, or just that she’s in a bad mood.

The dice are shaping the world.

Something similar will happen if the game in question has rules for “fumbles.” If the player rolls a fumble (not just a failure), the GM is likely encouraged to interpret this as something unexpected happening. The stairs the character stands on are slick, and our character slips and falls. This is less about a clumsy character and more about the slippery ground. The dice dictated something about the environment.

Taken to the extreme, a character could attempt to look for their lost keys in the bedroom and find them with a successful roll, even though they lost them out in the street. (Or, conversely, they could fail spectacularly looking out in the street, and the GM determines that the roll means they’re actually in the house.)

In approach #2, where the dice indicate how well the character performs, when the investigator goes to the library, talks to the police chief, or speaks to the woman in the store and the dice roll simply indicates how carefully or intelligently the investigator spent their time in the library, how persuasive they were in the police station, or how charming they were in the grocery store. The GM determines if success was even achievable. No die roll allows the PC to achieve something impossible, like getting information from someone who has none to give.

Approach #1 is probably a little easier on the GM, for the dice are taking the burden of deciding what’s possible. The player opens Schrödinger’s Box, and the dice determine if the cat is alive or dead. No one knew before they opened it.

However, #1 leads to more uneven stories, and puts players in a world that’s a bit difficult to navigate because it is less predictable. Neither player nor GM knows entirely what’s happening or how things work until the dice stop rolling.

Conversely, approach #2 is less random, but probably less dramatic. Rolling that nat 20 doesn’t help you if the task you’re attempting is impossible. If you fumble, it’s because you goofed, regardless of the context. From a certain point of view, it grants some player agency and GM narrative power, perhaps, but the predictability of it probably dulls a bit of the over-the-top fun.

Part of the irony is that some players likely believe that they’re playing a game using approach #2, but it’s actually #1. What’s perhaps worse is when GMs and designers think the game is #2, but it’s actually #1, mostly because they don’t notice the difference.

But does it really matter? I think it does. It all comes down to the question that I have raised here before (certainly one I’ve discussed elsewhere in essays and books), which asks where the power at the table truly lies. Is it the GM, the players, or the game rules (and thus the dice) themselves? If the PC attempts something impossible, but rolls a critical success, does the roll overrule the narrative? Does the result of a dice roll depend solely on the character attempting the action? Is it a little of both? I don’t think the answer is as important as those involved—particularly the designers—knowing what the answer is.

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