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  Learn strategies and tools for creating SOLITAIRES and other interactive 
  single-player adventures for the world’s greatest roleplaying game  
   
   
  
  WRAITH WRIGHT’S 
   
   
  CREDITS 
  Design and Writing: Randall Right of Wraith Wright Productions 
  Illustration: Cover by Bruno Balixa 
  Production and Publication: Randall Right 
  Quality and Development Consultation:  
  This product is dedicated to Paul Bimler, who introduced some of the first commercially-
  viable single-player adventures to the Dungeon Masters Guild. Paul fosters an online 
  community of fellow enthusiasts, and his products continue to push the envelope, 
  expanding the reach of interactive adventure and showing us what is possible. 
   
  On the Cover: Bruno Balixa’s Iced Cave 
    
   
  DUNGEONS & DRAGONS, D&D, Wizards of the Coast, Forgotten Realms, the dragon ampersand, Player’s Handbook, 
  Monster Manual, Dungeon Master’s Guide, D&D Adventurers League, all other Wizards of the Coast product names, 
  and their respective logos are trademarks of Wizards of the Coast in the USA and other countries. All characters and 
  their distinctive likenesses are property of Wizards of the Coast. This material is protected under the copyright laws 
  of the United States of America. Any reproduction or unauthorized use of the material or artwork contained herein 
  is prohibited without the express written permission of Wizards of the Coast. ©2016-2017 Wizards of the Coast LLC, 
  PO Box 707, Renton, WA 98057-0707, USA. Manufactured by Hasbro SA, Rue Emile-Boéchat 31, 2800 Delémont, CH. 
  Represented by Hasbro Europe, 4 The Square, Stockley Park, Uxbridge, Middlesex, UB11 1ET, UK. 
   
  The Comprehensive Manual titles, Solitaires titles, Wraith Wright anvil, and other related titles and branding are 
  trademarks of Wraith Wright Productions. All other original material in this work is copyright Wraith Wright 
  Productions 2019 and published under the Community Content Agreement for Dungeon Masters Guild.
  
  CONTENTS | 2 
   ......................................................... 4 
  INTERACTIVE HISTORY ................................................... 4 
  PRODUCT CONTENTS ............................................... 6 
  GLOSSARY ................................................................... 6 
   ......................................................... 10 
  STORY PROMPTS ................................................... 10 
  Placing a Protagonist .................................... 10 
  Bound the Prompt ......................................... 13 
  OUTLINES ................................................................ 14 
  Add Chapters ................................................... 14 
  Adventure as Outline .................................... 17 
  SCENES ..................................................................... 17 
  Create Scenes ................................................... 17 
  SCAFFOLDS .............................................................. 22 
  Central Scaffold ............................................... 22 
  Cut to Parts ....................................................... 24 
  Add Structure .................................................. 25 
  Final Arrangement ........................................ 26 
   ................................................ 29 
  PAGE PLANNING .................................................... 29 
  Text Parts .......................................................... 29 
  STORY ROUTING .................................................... 34 
  Mapping Modes .............................................. 35 
  Basic Structures .............................................. 37 
  Track Configurations .................................... 40 
  DIAGRAMING .......................................................... 43 
  Analogue Methods ......................................... 43 
  Data Flow Software ....................................... 44 
   ............................................. 47 
  GATE NOTATION ................................................... 47 
  Presenting Gates ............................................ 47 
  BASIC GATES .................................................... 49 
  Event Gates ....................................................... 50 
  Roll Gates........................................................... 52 
  FEATURE GATES .................................................... 54 
  Gate Keys ........................................................... 54 
  Key Checklists ................................................. 55 
   
   ................................................................... 63 
  USING COMBATS .................................................... 63 
  Emphasizing Conflict .................................... 63 
  Pacing .................................................................. 64 
  COMBAT NOTATION .............................................. 64 
  Option 1: Traditional Sets ............................ 65 
  Option 2: Narrative Sets .............................. 68 
  Notation Efficiencies ..................................... 70 
  COMBAT-ADJACENT TEXT PARTS ..................... 71 
  Pre-Combat Phases ........................................ 71 
  Mid-Combat Events ....................................... 74 
  Post-Combat Outcomes ............................... 75 
  BALANCING COMBAT ............................................. 79 
  Antagonists ....................................................... 79 
  Supporting Characters ................................. 81 
  Stage and Scene ............................................... 82 
  .................................................................... 84 
  TEXT PARTS ............................................................ 84 
  Narrative Text .................................................. 84 
  Instructive Text ............................................... 87 
  Options ............................................................... 87 
  METAKNOWLEDGE ................................................ 89 
  Controlling Signals ......................................... 89 
  THE PROTAGONIST ............................................... 91 
  Illusory Control ............................................... 91 
  Identity ............................................................... 91 
  Belongings ......................................................... 94 
  ..................................................... 98 
  SEEDING REWARDS ............................................... 98 
  Character Levels ............................................. 98 
  Treasure ............................................................. 99 
  Other Rewards.............................................. 103 
  PLAYBOOKS .......................................................... 104 
  Adventure Statement ................................. 104 
  Game Rules .................................................... 106 
  Story Elements ............................................. 108 
  QUALITY CONTROL ............................................ 108 
  Your Testers .................................................. 109 
  Three-Phase Testing .................................. 110 
  
  3 | SOLO CREATOR’S GUIDEBOOK 
   
   
  
   
  INTRODUCTION | 4 
  CHAPTER ZERO 
  I shall be telling this with a sigh 
  Somewhere ages and ages hence: 
  Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— 
  I took the one less traveled by, 
  And that has made all the difference. 
  - Robert Frost 
  HIS BOOK IS FOR WRITERS, DESIGNERS, AND 
  publishers who wish to create 
  interactive DUNGEONS & DRAGONS 
  adventures designed for use by a single 
  player. This book is the product of our research 
  and in-house notes for best practices related to 
  adventures of this sort. At Wraith Wright 
  Productions, we want to make great interactive 
  single-player adventures, and we want you to 
  make them too! 
  Single-player interactive adventures are not new. 
  This form of storytelling gained exceptional 
  prominence in the early 1980s, following the rise 
  of DUNGEONS & DRAGONS. Interactive adventures in 
  that period allowed players to choose between 
  several options at the end of each page or block of 
  text. Instead of reading linearly, players would 
  read one segment of the book, decide something 
  related to further progression, and leaf through 
  the book to find the segment corresponding to 
  that choice. Such books had multiple endings, 
  often granting varying degrees of “success,” and 
  thus varying degrees of reader satisfaction. 
  The best interactive adventures went beyond 
  simple decision-making. They provided character 
  sheets and inventory tracking, combat rules, and 
  other roleplaying game elements to complete the 
  experience. These “character-based” stories 
  predicated outcomes on more than mere reader 
  choices, often requiring specific character 
  elements or random outcomes to determine or 
  influence the reader’s course. 
  Although its popularity waned in the 1990s, 
  interactive storytelling has enjoyed a recent 
  resurgence with the development of computer 
  applications and electronic documents. The 
  transitioning or hyperlinking functions of these 
  mediums allow players to navigate interactive 
  stories without having to flip through the pages 
  of physical books. The modern landscape 
  presents a host of tools for players and writers, 
  laying the groundwork for interactive adventures 
  to eclipse even their former prominence. 
  Single-player interactive adventures have 
  featured the DUNGEONS & DRAGONS intellectual 
  property quite a few times. 
  The Endless Quest series of books was 
  primarily based on the DUNGEONS & DRAGONS 
  Roleplaying Game, although it did not employ the 
  game’s standard rules. They instead appeared in 
  the same mold as the other interactive stories of 
  their time. Dozens of these books were published 
  in the 1980s and 1990s. The Endless Quest 
  product line was revived in 2018 with another 
  four books. 
  The two “MSOLO” adventures published in 
  1983 were nearly identical in structure, except 
  that they called themselves “modules” and 
  downplayed the lack of normal D&D rules. 
  Success or failure was still down to reader 
  
  5 | SOLO CREATOR’S GUIDEBOOK 
  choices, not dice rolls or character sheets. As 
  contemporary critics noted, these modules had 
  even fewer roleplaying game elements than some 
  interactive story books of the time. 
  The DUNGEONS & DRAGONS Roleplaying Game has 
  no character-based single-player adventures in 
  its 5th Edition product line. There are no 
  interactive adventures that allow players to 
  utilize D&D character sheets, maps, and dice to 
  approximate the roleplaying game’s experience. 
  The best contemporary offerings are third-
  party products, many of which are available 
  through the Dungeon Master’s Guild. The Solo 
  Creator’s Guidebook exists to support and 
  instruct authors in the creation of even more of 
  these products. 
  This book describes a robust method for creating 
  single-player interactive adventures, something 
  called the SOLITAIRE system. This system will help 
  you build a complete product, starting with a 
  simple story idea and walking through successive 
  stages of development.  
  SOLITAIRES have several consistent components 
  that distinguish them from other adventures. 
  The end product of the SOLITAIRES system will 
  take the form of a recognizable aesthetic. The 
  more closely a user adheres to the process, the 
  more recognizable the end result will be as 
  coming from this system. The recognizable 
  aesthetic includes mechanisms, layouts, 
  typography, and other tools that create and fulfil 
  a consistent player expectation. 
  The SOLITAIRES system is more than just a 
  creation method. The system expects products to 
  adhere to benchmarks of modulatory, allowing 
  players to string together adventures in the order 
  they choose. 
  Modularity is achieved by starting and stopping 
  each adventure at accessible points in the story, 
  not at cliffhangers or with events that force the 
  player to play one creator’s adventures together. 
  Modularity is also supported with guidelines for 
  treasure distribution that prevent characters 
  from exceeding power levels that other creators’ 
  works cannot anticipate and thus be unable to 
  balance their challenges against. 
  The consistency in design, and the modularity in 
  use, allow SOLITAIRES to share a market presence 
  as part of a larger whole. Each product exists in a 
  collaborative product line that much larger than a 
  single creator could build. A shared market, the 
  Dungeon Masters Guild, is the third benchmark of 
  SOLITAIRES. By making the whole product line 
  available in this space, SOLITAIRES maximize 
  access to their expanded market offerings, 
  putting all its options at the consumers’ 
  fingertips. The collaborative rules of the Dungeon 
  Master’s Guild also ensure that SOLITAIRES 
  cooperate on even footing. 
  If you are a publisher of interactive, single-player 
  adventures on the Dungeon Masters Guild, join 
  our Facebook group to discuss revisions and 
  improvements to the SOLITAIRES core mechanics, 
  and to get community feedback and support on 
  the development of your own products.  
  Find us at: 
   
  https://www.facebook.com/groups/17364
  86813059261/ 
   
  The principles in this book were built on broad 
  research, performed across multiple mediums for 
  interactive stories. They rely on tried-and-true 
  methods and address many pitfalls common to 
  the genre. Because there is more to making 
  single-player adventures than writing within the 
  SOLITAIRES system, you might wish to use this 
  
   
  INTRODUCTION | 6 
  book to make your own type of products. 
  Hopefully, the wealth of tips and tricks in this 
  book can serve as an effective jump-start to your 
  own writing and design processes. 
  This product is organized into six chapters. A 
  sample set of player rules is packaged with this 
  product as a separate document. 
  Here is a summary of each chapter in this book. 
  The first chapter provides a formulaic method for 
  designing your story. It walks you through a 
  process beginning with a single idea prompt, 
  moving to a multi-level outline, then expanding to 
  a readable set of scaffolds that can be arranged 
  into an interactive adventure. By the time you 
  finish this chapter, you will have a bare-bones 
  adventure written in shorthand, one that is ready 
  for testing, restructuring, and enhancement with 
  the metastructure tools. 
  The second chapter explains methods for making 
  your story interactive. It starts with typography, 
  suggestions for the appearance and formatting of 
  various components of the text. It then examines 
  techniques to route players through different 
  parts of your story while empowering players to 
  use their character sheets along the way. 
  This chapter addresses challenge gates, the 
  primary mechanism that distinguishes character-
  based adventures from simple interactive stories. 
  It talks about efficient notation for gates, types of 
  gates, and how to anticipate gates that players 
  want to see based on their character sheets’ “gate 
  keys.” 
  Distinct from gates, combats are complex 
  scenarios that can tell their own stories. Each 
  combat can have its own heroes and villains, with 
  rising and falling action to emphasize drama. This 
  chapter talks about how to place and notate 
  combat, and how to balance it in the unique 
  environment created by having a one-person 
  adventuring party. 
  This chapter provides tips for writing. It begins 
  with advice for how to replace your scaffolds with 
  fully fleshed-out narrative prose. These are the 
  descriptive tools that bring your world to life and 
  draw the player into it. This chapter also delves 
  into some of the tropes and traps of storytelling 
  in the DUNGEONS & DRAGONS paradigm. 
  This chapter talks about the placement of 
  treasure, the creation of playbooks and consistent 
  game rules, and several methods for testing your 
  product. 
  The following terms will find frequent use in the 
  pages of this book. 
  • Adventure. A modular story, with threats and 
  challenges, designed for exploration and play 
  with the DUNGEONS & DRAGONS roleplaying 
  game. 
  • Adventure Path. A series of related adventures 
  designed for a campaign and intended for play 
  in a prescribed order. An adventure path 
  typically shares an overarching plotline, of 
  which each adventure provides episodic 
  segments. 
  • Branch. Part of a tree metaphor used to 
  describe the metastructure of interactive 
  stories, a branch is a major decision path 
  navigated across multiple text parts. 
  • Binding. In adventure mapping, a binding ends 
  a branch by routing the player onto another, 
  
  7 | SOLO CREATOR’S GUIDEBOOK 
  parallel branch. Multiple parallel branches often 
  bind together into a single branch. 
  • Bottleneck. In adventure mapping, a bottleneck 
  is a text part that the player must pass through, 
  typically moving in one direction; the player 
  cannot return to prior text parts through 
  recursive prompts. Bottlenecks can refer to the 
  trunk of a story or chapter, or to text parts that 
  bind multiple branches together, even those a 
  player can bypass on other branches. 
  • Campaign. A series of adventures put together 
  to form an ongoing, episodic experience for a 
  single character. Campaigns can be a single 
  adventure path, a set of products designed for 
  use as such. They can also be ad hoc 
  combinations, even adventures not designed for 
  use together. 
  • End. An end is a text part from which there are 
  no prompts leading the player to further text 
  parts.  
  • End, Dead. A dead end concludes the adventure 
  negatively. It can be reached by bad player 
  choices (decision ends) or by unfortunate die 
  rolls (dice ends). 
  • End, Live. Opposite to dead ends, these text 
  parts conclude a chapter or story positively. At 
  the end of a chapter, they direct the player to 
  the next chapter. At the end of a story, they 
  direct the player to the adventure summary or 
  to the next story. 
  • Gate. A requirement or prerequisite necessary 
  for selecting an option from a set. A gate 
  demands that the character have an item, 
  feature, or specific roll result to use that 
  prompt. Without it, the player must select 
  another of the available options. 
  • Identifier (Unique Identifier). Each text part 
  has a unique title called an identifier, typically a 
  number but sometimes a codeword or a mix of 
  letters and numbers. 
  • Leaf. Part of a tree metaphor used to describe 
  the metastructure of interactive stories, leaves 
  are discrete text parts or small collections of 
  text parts accessed from a branch. Leaves 
  represent a minor diversion and eventually 
  return the player to the same branch to 
  continue the story. 
  • Locational Mapping. This is a mapping 
  technique typically used to describe a 
  geographical region, like a building or a 
  dungeon that has separate rooms, wherein the 
  player may navigate back and forth, repeatedly 
  accessing the same text parts. 
  • Mapping. The process and form of linking text 
  parts to one another to structure a story or a 
  portion of a story. This term may also apply to 
  the act of diagraming text parts. 
  • Metaknowledge. Information a player can infer 
  from the structural tools of your adventure, 
  something the character would not know. 
  Careless wording in prompts or instructive text 
  can convey metaknowledge. 
  • Metastructure. The conceptual mechanisms 
  and instructions that move the player between 
  segments of text, creating an interactive 
  experience. Metastructure is conceived of 
  separately from story structure. 
  • Option. Options are provided in sets of two or 
  more. They exist where a player has a choice of 
  how to proceed. Each option contains its own 
  prompt. 
  • Playbook. A set of information that assists the 
  player in navigating the adventure without a 
  Dungeon Master. A playbook might be just a 
  few paragraphs in the book’s introduction, or a 
  complete chapter of rules at the beginning. It 
  might also be an entirely-separate document 
  that accompanies an adventure or an adventure 
  path. 
  
   
  INTRODUCTION | 8 
  • Rule (New Rule). A pre-stated method of 
  interacting with metastructure, created to help 
  players navigate the adventure or to apply 
  special restrictions. Player rules are only 
  preferable to natural language instructions 
  when they address complex or repeatedly-
  appearing scenarios. 
  • Prompt. A prompt identifies a new text part for 
  the player to go to. A prompt names the 
  identifier of the target text part and typically 
  includes a hyperlink directly to it. Prompts 
  appear inside instructive text or options. 
  • Prompt, Future. A prompt the player must 
  make note of for later use. Future prompts often 
  lead to isolated text parts (or to appendices) 
  that do not redirect players back to their 
  current text parts. 
  • Prompt, Recursive. A prompt that directs a 
  player to a previously-read text part. Recursive 
  prompts are usually found in locational 
  mapping structures, as opposed to tree 
  mapping. 
  • Story Structure. The story-based form of your 
  adventure, which parallels the forms used in 
  other mediums of storytelling. Story structure 
  contemplates the separation of acts, rising and 
  falling action, inciting events, and a climax. 
  • Text, Instructive. This text addresses the 
  player rather than the character. It may call for 
  the player to alter the character sheet or guide 
  the player through resolving a challenge of 
  some sort. 
  • Text, Narrative. This is descriptive prose, 
  typically written in second-person form. 
  Narrative text describes the protagonist’s 
  surroundings and activities, as well as the 
  activities of supporting characters. It often 
  resolves or answers a decision the player made 
  to get to that text part, and it leads the player 
  through the story to the next decision point. 
  • Text Part (Part). This is a discrete collection of 
  text that describes locations and activities. It 
  has a unique identifier and can be comprised of 
  narrative text, instructive text, options, and 
  other components. 
  • Tree Mapping. A metaphorical mapping 
  technique used to organize text parts into 
  trunks, branches, and leaves. Tree mapping is 
  best employed where the story is 
  unidirectional. 
  • Trunk. Part of a tree metaphor used to describe 
  story structure, a trunk is the beginning of a 
  story or a chapter. Trunks are often large, 
  containing far more narrative text than other 
  text parts because they introduce a coming 
  chapter or story. 
  • Veneer. In locational mapping, when a text part 
  constitutes a location that can be visited 
  multiple times, a veneer is a separate text part 
  for that location containing information 
  relevant only to a first-time visit. All later visits 
  route into a text part that reflects important 
  events or features completed on the first visit. 
   
  
  9 | SOLO CREATOR’S GUIDEBOOK 
   
   
  
   
  CORE DESIGN | 10 
  CHAPTER ONE 
  “There is nothing to writing. All you do is 
  sit down at a typewriter and bleed.”  
  - Ernest Hemingway 
  T BEGINS WITH AN IDEA. IN A TRADITIONAL TALE, 
  the idea is usually a single concept or 
  tagline. This is called a “prompt” or “seed.” 
  Adventure writing is no different, except 
  that the idea is probably something adventurous! 
  Adventures are prompted by monsters, treasures, 
  heroism, exploration, discovery, or any of the 
  exciting and fertile ideas in which DUNGEONS & 
  DRAGONS thrives. 
   
  CORE DESIGN SUMMARY 
  This chapter covers the following topics. 
   
  • Story Prompts. How to plant a seed that will 
  grow into an adventure. 
  • Outlines. Designing the major events and 
  plotlines from beginning to end. 
  • Scenes. Conceptualizing whole scenes as 
  waypoints and drivers of your story. 
  • Scaffolds. Preliminary adventure-writing in 
  easy shorthand. 
  Your story is built on an idea, one which you will 
  expand and polish, build an outline for, and detail 
  with narrative prose. In a traditional tale, the 
  initial idea is a simple notion or a question. 
  The best concepts include a nugget of drama or 
  conflict. When choosing your story prompt, pick 
  something that really excites. If it doesn’t move 
  you, it won’t excite players. 
   
  EXAMPLE 
   
  Prompt: A group of goblins scrape up 
  some gold to hire an adventurer, 
  hoping to evict the monster that has 
  stolen their home cave. 
   
  Once you have your story prompt in hand, 
  polish it by considering a few parameters and 
  limitations. It might need narrowing into a more 
  manageable form, or expansion, giving it room to 
  grow. Whatever refinement you add, the process 
  of polishing your idea must necessarily 
  contemplate several important factors. 
  Your story is not yours alone. It also belongs to 
  the player. Standard story-writing requires the 
  development of a protagonist, but in interactive 
  games, that element is provided by the player. 
  Someone else selects your hero, a character with 
  dimensions that span a dramatic range of 
  possibilities. 
  In order to fit the protagonist into your story, 
  and fit your story around the protagonist, you 
  must have an acceptable range of protagonist 
  concepts in mind and write consistent for those 
  concepts throughout the story. 
  The story you are writing takes place in a 
  campaign setting. This codifies the character’s 
  local environs, the nearby people, and the 
  features unique to the game’s world. These will 
  have a significant impact on your protagonist. 
  
  11 | SOLO CREATOR’S GUIDEBOOK 
  You can write your story for a generic fantasy 
  world, or you can write it for one of the published 
  settings. 
  At the time of this book’s writing, published 
  campaign settings in the current edition of 
  DUNGEONS & DRAGONS include only Eberron, the 
  Forgotten Realms, Ravenloft, and Ravnica. 
  When writing for one of these settings, it is 
  important to know the world well. You must 
  match and reflect the world’s features in your 
  story, and you must remain aware of the world’s 
  inherent expectations. 
  Eberron stories aspire to a pulpy, noire feel. 
  The setting has magical features that are 
  functionally reminiscent of post-World War I 
  technology. A player in this campaign setting 
  expects to encounter the themes of post-war 
  recovery, political intrigue, and exploration of the 
  type you might see in an Indiana Jones movie. 
  Similarly, players expect that stories written 
  for the Forgotten Realms are detail-rich 
  explorations of the features therein, complete 
  with meddling from the various gods. Nearly 
  every corner of the world has already-established 
  lore, and players expect to see their favorite and 
  well-known features and non-player characters 
  represented. 
  To write in Ravenloft, your story cannot fail to 
  include elements of gothic horror. A simple 
  dungeon crawl or monster hunt will not do; 
  players expect Ravenloft to contemplate notions 
  of terror, mystery, and dark villains. These 
  archfoes embody the humanity-challenging 
  archetypes of classical monster fiction. 
  Nothing is normal in the city-plane of Ravnica, 
  and nothing there will perfectly resemble the 
  DUNGEONS & DRAGONS of more-traditional worlds. 
  Players expect these adventures to be fantastical, 
  the people and the monsters to be unique, and 
  the politics to be decidedly guild-related. 
  For other worlds, take some time to identify 
  the setting’s core themes and expected 
  experiences. Failure to meet the expectations of a 
  setting can be a failure to inhabit the stated 
  world, making it hard for players to feel 
  immersed in it. 
  If you cannot identify the elements of a pre-
  made setting, try putting the adventure in a 
  generic setting, one that the player can adapt to 
  any world. 
  A generic campaign setting assumes features 
  common to most game worlds and avoids rare 
  elements that don’t exist in the majority of 
  campaigns. Without a designated setting, the 
  player is free to place the game into whatever 
  context or setting is desired. 
  While avoiding a setting makes the story more 
  compatible with those of other writers, using a 
  generic setting is not entirely advantageous. A 
  writer is sometimes constrained by what must be 
  left out of the world, not just the elements that 
  must be included. Some common features are 
  absent in some worlds or, more likely, appear 
  differently with different backgrounds, 
  motivations, or applications. 
  A writer must be mindful of the character of a  
  character, particularly its distinct mental and 
  moral traits. You will also need some insight into 
  its capabilities. Without acknowledging that you 
  anticipate a certain kind of character, you may 
  have to compose a story in such a broad form that 
  it fails to feel compelling and immersive. 
  Character expectations in this vein are 
  necessarily minor. Players want to build their 
  own characters with as little guidance as possible. 
  However, some characters simply don’t fit as 
  protagonists in some stories. It is therefore 
  permissible to define the player’s character from 
  the outset, at least in some small ways, in order to 
  write a better story. 
  When you contemplate the protagonist, think 
  of its along two axes, its motivations and its 
  
   
  CORE DESIGN | 12 
  capabilities. In imagining these, keep in mind the 
  instructions you will give to the player at the 
  product’s outset, and how you will describe the 
  characters that are appropriate to the adventure. 
  Some characters aren’t well-motivated to pursue 
  some stories. In fact, some combinations are so 
  incongruous as to make for a poor player 
  experience. Motivation is therefore the most 
  important aspect of the character to select for, 
  and the most important limitation to convey to 
  the player.  
  For example, a story that mostly involves 
  intrigue and political dealings is going to play 
  poorly if the character lacks subtlety and charm. 
  The tactless barbarian, uninterested in city life or 
  courtly affairs, will repeatedly fail to find 
  immersion during your story since it lacks the 
  motivation to pursue the hooks your story will 
  offer. The story will feel forced and incongruous, 
  or it will end before it truly begins. 
  To avoid such conflicts, it can be tempting to try 
  to write for all character personalities and 
  motivations. This is not recommended. Your story 
  will quickly bloat with extraneous branches, each 
  with no other purpose than to bring every 
  character type along with the course the player 
  has already chosen, that of playing through the 
  adventure. Instead, acknowledge your 
  protagonist’s motivations up front and write for 
  them throughout the story. 
  You must also consider the capabilities that your 
  unknown protagonist might have so you can set 
  appropriate challenges and manage the scope of 
  the adventure. 
  Challenges. Players want to make their own 
  choices as to the race and class they prefer, carry 
  the equipment that seems right to them, and 
  focus on the skills and feats they find useful. They 
  do not want their chosen character excluded 
  based on how the character sheet was written. 
  You therefore cannot easily write for particular 
  racial traits or class features when composing 
  challenges for your protagonist. 
  Levels warrant separate consideration. Players 
  never seem to balk at this important definer of 
  their capabilities; they accept as a given that 
  every adventure has level restrictions. A 
  character’s level is simply a temporary state of 
  being, not something that constrains player 
  choices. 
  Usefully, levels strongly define the nature of a 
  character’s capabilities. And capabilities are 
  necessary to consider when writing. A story 
  based on travel becomes a non-story if the 
  character can simply teleport to the destination. 
  A travel story should therefore not be written for 
  characters of a level where long-distance 
  teleportation is an option. 
  Selecting your protagonist’s character level 
  particularly helps you write your adventure 
  because, if you keep it in mind, it will constrain 
  your scope. The level-based tiers of play in 
  DUNGEONS & DRAGONS are designed to reduce 
  epical creep, the tendency to quickly escalate the 
  importance of events until they reach epic 
  proportions. 
  For example, the scope of a low-level 
  character’s adventures should cover a small area 
  and achieve interesting-but-minor outcomes. 
  Your protagonist should not be saving a large city 
  from dire threats at 1st level; in this tier, the 
  protagonist is no more powerful than the city’s 
  lowliest guards and no cleverer than the city’s 
  humblest bureaucrats. 
  A character in the local heroes tier (levels 1-4) 
  might explore tombs and crypts, face low-level 
  threats, and decide the fate of a village. 
  Upon reaching the heroes of the realm tier 
  (levels 5-10), that character will have found a 
  more important place in the story, venturing into 
  dangerous wilds, confronting terrifying beasts, 
  and vanquishing threats to entire regions. 
  
  13 | SOLO CREATOR’S GUIDEBOOK 
  Achieving the masters of the realm tier (levels 
  11-16) brings the character into contention with 
  epic foes and thrusts it into uncharted regions or 
  planar quests that change the fate of nations or 
  whole continents. This character is a political 
  force, or at least someone recognized by the 
  relevant governments. The character is likely to 
  rule over a stronghold, guild, or martial order and 
  have minions or apprentices. 
  At the masters of the world tier (levels 17-20), 
  the character is a legend that can influence events 
  on a planetary scale and beyond. Such a character 
  explores other worlds and fights forces that can 
  threaten the existence of all things. 
  When designing your adventure, do not allow 
  its scope to eclipse these expectations. 
  Unreasonably-important adventures make 
  players wonder why their characters are the ones 
  facing them. They also limit the direction you can 
  go with future stories. It can be a let-down going 
  from world-saving hijinks in one adventure, to 
  merely plucking kittens out of trees in the next. 
  Using a premade character solves a lot of 
  challenges you will face when writing for your 
  protagonist. You can dictate the character’s 
  motivations and perfectly “anticipate” each of its 
  capabilities. You won’t have to worry about 
  feature gates at all; you already know what the 
  character can do so you don’t have to study lists 
  of class features in order to be ready for anything. 
  The downsides of using a premade character 
  are several. Primarily, writing for a premade 
  character is much closer to writing an interactive 
  novel than a single-player game of DUNGEONS & 
  DRAGONS. The feel of the adventure is very 
  different. Creating, developing, and personalizing 
  a character are large parts of what makes an 
  interactive adventure enjoyable, and the primary 
  reason players want to use the DUNGEONS & 
  DRAGONS rules. Players want to play their own 
  characters, not one of your characters. 
   
  EXAMPLE (SETTING AND CHARACTER) 
   
  Prompt: A group of goblins scrape up some 
  gold to hire an adventurer, hoping to evict the 
  monster that has stolen their home cave. 
  Campaign Setting: Generic (any) 
  Character (3rd or 4th level): Anyone 
  willing to work for goblins, either for 
  their gold or because of sympathy. The 
  best characters have a mix of 
  capabilities. 
  With your story idea polished and revised, and 
  your protagonists and campaign setting 
  envisioned, it is time to give initial inklings of 
  structure to your prompt. Begin this process by 
  assigning a start and an end to your story prompt. 
  Your story’s start describes an event or 
  encounter that kicks off the story. In adventure-
  writing, this is called a “hook.”) It should be 
  intriguing or exciting, and it should be something 
  that strongly motivates the protagonist to 
  participate in the story. 
  When your protagonist’s call to action appears, 
  the player should become aware (fully or 
  partially) of what is at stake in the adventure, and 
  that knowledge should naturally lead to 
  engagement with the adventure’s goals. This task 
  is not as easy as it may sound. 
  Unfortunately, that which motivates one 
  character might dissuade another entirely! Hooks 
  are usually tailored to player characters, but your 
  antagonist is mostly unknown to you. Instead, 
  you must present a generic call to action that is as 
  broadly-applicable as your story can support. 
  Make a concrete decision about how the story 
  concludes. The ending is usually easy to define; 
  
   
  CORE DESIGN | 14 
  you probably already have an idea of where the 
  story is going. However, keep in mind that your 
  story can (and probably should) have multiple 
  endings. You don’t need to worry about alternate 
  endings at this point, but your story will be more 
  interactive if you preserve the potential to have 
  more than one “right” conclusion. 
   
  EXAMPLE (START AND END) 
   
  Prompt: A group of goblins scrape up some 
  gold to hire an adventurer, hoping to evict the 
  monster that has stolen their home cave. 
  Campaign Setting: Generic (any) 
  Character (3rd or 4th level): Anyone willing 
  to work for goblins, either for their gold or 
  because of sympathy. The best characters 
  have a mix of capabilities. 
  Start: While travelling, the protagonist is 
  flagged down by a Small-sized creature in 
  a dress wearing a pot helm. The goblin 
  thinks this disguise will get her close 
  enough to talk without being attacked on 
  sight. 
  End: The protagonist reclaims the goblins’ 
  home and resolves their conflict with the 
  nearby halflings. 
  Your outline puts events in order and helps you 
  build an expanding structure to advance your 
  narrative. This method uses chapter summaries 
  as a skeleton to support your larger outline. 
  This method of outlining begins by adding a list of 
  chapters between the start and end of your 
  bounded story, with a short summary of each. 
  In traditional story-writing, it is common to 
  divide the narrative into structured parts. The 
  three-act structure is an old one, described in 
  Aristotle’s literary treatise, Poetics. Similarly, 
  Gustav Freytag’s 19th-century pyramidal model 
  proposed five stages of rising and falling action. 
  These classical structures are used to set a 
  meaningful pace and to create and resolve 
  tension in an entertaining way. 
  The SOLITAIRES method uses similar pacing 
  tools, expanding the act structure of traditional 
  story-writing into four adventure chapters. The 
  four-chapter method particularly supports the 
  session-measuring tools that SOLITAIRES use to 
  moderate character advancement and play time. 
  This method doesn’t suit everyone; some 
  writers prefer not to use chapters for various 
  reasons. Even without chapters, it is important to 
  be mindful of the elements each chapter in this 
  method should provide and strive to include 
  those elements where your story calls for them. 
  The first chapter lays the scene and provides an 
  event that incites the adventure. By the end of the 
  chapter, the character will have passed the point 
  of no return, crossing a threshold that means 
  commitment to the action. 
  You already have a start point for the 
  adventure, which you can lay in the first chapter. 
  If your starting point (and anything leadup to it) 
  are not yet sufficiently-interesting, you will need 
  to imagine some new events to expand the 
  chapter. References or clues to events that will 
  appear in the final chapter are ideal for this 
  purpose. 
  A normal story would also use this chapter to 
  introduce the protagonist and the setting. Your 
  interactive adventure will necessarily have no 
  description of the protagonist, since that is 
  provided by the player. But you can write 
  elements that support the type of character your 
  adventure calls for. 
  
  15 | SOLO CREATOR’S GUIDEBOOK 
  For the setting, players will assume some 
  generic fantasy tropes belonging to most generic 
  campaign worlds. If using a premade, published 
  campaign setting, there will be more assumptions 
  about the world. Regardless, add to this chapter 
  some observations or events that ground the 
  story. In a generic setting, these can be everyday 
  events that “humanize” the protagonist or make 
  its baseline experiences relatable. For published 
  campaign settings, a few references to the 
  setting’s unique features can transport the reader 
  to that world. 
  The second act of the three-act structure is 
  usually half the story’s length. For this format, we 
  instead divide it into two parts, the second and 
  third chapters. 
  The second chapter is where the player first 
  struggles against the overall threat, conflict, or 
  challenge of the story. While the first act 
  introduced what is at stake, the second chapter 
  takes the player into a direct conflict, the first of 
  several. Perhaps the main antagonist realizes the 
  character is on the case and sends minions to 
  interfere. 
  This chapter is best described as “reactionary.” 
  Events happen and the character responds. It is a 
  chance to meet supporting characters and 
  features of the story. At the end of chapter two, 
  the protagonist also has a more-complete 
  understanding of what is at stake. 
  Midpoint. Traditional storytelling models also 
  call for a dramatic event or setback at the 
  “midpoint” of the story. In this structure, you can 
  place such an event at the end of chapter two. 
  An example event is a twist that threatens or 
  rolls back some of the character’s progress, or 
  something that drives up the stakes. Perhaps the 
  second part of the antagonist’s plan unfolds, or 
  another mysterious murder occurs. Perhaps the 
  antagonists reveal that they know what the 
  protagonist is up to or the player learns that the 
  protagonist was acting upon a misunderstanding 
  of the threat. Perhaps the counted-on solution to 
  the problem proves itself unviable or the 
  character’s allies are lost. 
  Whatever the case, the midpoint changes a 
  protagonist’s approach to the overall conflict, 
  sharpening the upcoming climax. 
  The third chapter gives the character a chance to 
  react to the midpoint event. Whatever the 
  setback, the character starts clawing back from it. 
  In this chapter, the story tends to shift from 
  reactionary to proactive. The prior chapters drew 
  the protagonist along, but now the protagonist 
  begins driving the narrative. In terms of 
  interactive adventures, the options in the text 
  parts change their temperament. They go from 
  asking the protagonist’s reaction to events to 
  asking for the methods of engagement or for 
  further-reaching strategies. 
  The concluding chapter does two things. It wraps 
  up the overall conflict and it lays out the 
  aftermath of the adventure. 
  The final conflict is often preceded by a low 
  point. The main antagonist reveals how strong it 
  truly is, perhaps showing itself to be a demon for 
  the first time or literally drawing back the curtain 
  to reveal a powerful bodyguard. The low point 
  can also be a morale-affecting setback; perhaps 
  discovering that an ally was secretly working 
  against the protagonist the whole time. Whatever 
  the case, the protagonist finds out that the final 
  confrontation will not be as easy as anticipated. 
  In the DUNGEONS & DRAGONS Roleplaying Game, 
  the final conflict is universally a “boss fight.” A 
  different sort of conflict is possible but that 
  constitutes a very risky design choice. Although 
  the game purports to use three “pillars” of player 
  experience, these are not equally important; 
  combat defines most of the characters’ features 
  and encompasses most of the game’s dice rolling. 
  The final fight must be the story’s grandest, 
  largest, and deadliest combat with the most 
  
   
  CORE DESIGN | 16 
  interesting terrain or circumstances. It can occur 
  in phases or use whatever other dramatic tools 
  are needed to make it the most memorable 
  combat of the adventure. Anything else defies 
  player expectations for the climax, the literal 
  definition of “anticlimactic.” If an earlier fight is 
  more exciting, you must correct that disparity! 
  The second part of this chapter is the 
  aftermath. The villain is defeated, at least for now, 
  but you must also deliver on any promises made 
  in the earlier chapters. You must wrap up loose 
  ends and resolve minor plots or conflicts. If your 
  player is invested in your story, it is because you 
  provided an interesting hook and made the 
  player care about the things that were at stake. 
  Do not leave unexplored the resolution for any of 
  those elements. Players want to receive accolades 
  and otherwise experience the fruits of victory. 
  Finally, if the story calls for it, chapter four is a 
  place where you can drop leads to your next 
  adventure. Perhaps the villain escapes to fight 
  another day or reveals that he himself is but a 
  minion for a larger monster or more-insidious 
  threat. Be careful with these leads; you want to 
  foreshadow the next adventure, not overshadow 
  the current one. “To be continued” should not feel 
  like the player hasn’t resolved the main arc of this 
  adventure’s story or ruin its sense of conclusion 
  and completeness. Nor should a revelation force 
  the protagonist into immediate action. 
   
  EXAMPLE (CHAPTER PROMPTS) 
   
  Prompt: A group of goblins scrape up some gold to hire an adventurer, hoping to evict the monster that 
  has stolen their home cave. 
  Campaign Setting: Generic (any) 
  Character (3rd or 4th level): Anyone willing to work for goblins, either for their gold or because of 
  sympathy. The best characters have a mix of capabilities. 
  Start: While travelling, the protagonist is flagged down by a Small-sized creature in a dress wearing a pot 
  helm. The goblin thinks this disguise will get her close enough to talk without being attacked on sight. 
  Chapter 1: The protagonist is approached with a sympathetic story, offered pay (much of which 
  is in the caves), and introduced to some goblin characters. 
  Chapter 2: The protagonist must rescue four missing goblins from various predicaments to “put 
  the band back together” before heading to the goblin caves. Each goblin rescued helps in the 
  effort by providing something unique. 
  Chapter 3: The protagonist plumbs the depths of the goblin caves, destroys the foes lurking 
  there, and resolves some construction problems with the caves. 
  Chapter 4: A new threat arises; warriors from the nearby halfling village come to threaten the 
  goblins. The protagonist has to talk through and resolve the accusations the halflings make, 
  exploring each goblin’s past to uncover the truth. Finally, the protagonist will have to duel the 
  halfling leader to convince the more recalcitrant members of that warband to back down. This 
  halfling is the one who lead that now-evicted monster to the goblin caves! 
  End: The protagonist reclaims the goblins’ home and resolves their conflict with the nearby halflings. 
   
  
  17 | SOLO CREATOR’S GUIDEBOOK 
  The four-chapter model of SOLITAIRES calls for 
  each chapter to provide about one hour of play. 
  This structure ensures that normal adventures 
  are worth four checkpoints for character 
  advancement purposes. (See chapter 6.) This 
  method invokes the shared campaigns rules of 
  Xanathar’s Guide to Everything. 
  SOLITAIRES use the four-chapter structure as an 
  interchangeable module in a more free-form 
  story. Where other single-player adventures tend 
  to want the player to move exclusively to the 
  successive adventures in their own product lines, 
  SOLITAIRES envision an environment of 
  adventures that are interchangeable, allowing the 
  player to move between the products of different 
  creators. This goal requires the writer to be a bit 
  subtler with any hooks that point at the other 
  adventures, making them less pressing or 
  demanding. 
  If your adventure anticipates a later, related 
  adventure, try to achieve your foreshadowing 
  without an immediate call to action. Perhaps 
  there are intervening clues that need to appear 
  before the next leg of that journey can begin. 
  Leave room for the character to make use of 
  downtime actions and to explore other 
  adventures. Don’t leave players with timed 
  deadlines or drop them in isolated locales right 
  beside your next adventure. 
  In place of a traditional outline, you might try 
  writing out a traditional adventure and using that 
  as your model for a single-player version. In this 
  case, your adventure notes, along with your first 
  playtest with a player, forms the basis of your 
  outline and “core” path through the adventure. 
  Using this technique helps you foresee the 
  important forks in the story, the places where 
  players are able and likely to make important 
  decisions that will change the course of the 
  adventure. In the end, you will probably have to 
  translate these notes and experiences into the 
  forms previously described in this product but 
  using one of your adventures as the basis for an 
  interactive story can make the work stronger. 
  Creating a standard adventure for your outline, 
  even if it is a simple one, has the added benefit of 
  being something you can include as an appendix 
  to your product. Sometimes people want to run 
  your interactive adventures as standard 
  adventures, and such an appendix can be a big 
  help in that effort. 
  Each chapter should contain a number of scenes. 
  The notion of a scene is hard to define or 
  constrain. Think of a scene as including all the 
  action that takes place onstage between set 
  changes. In storytelling, a scene represents a 
  location or ongoing activity connected by a 
  unifying purpose, regardless of time or space. 
  For example, a scene could be an ambush in the 
  wilderness, the exploration of a dungeon, a visit 
  to the duke’s court, a chase across miles of 
  countryside, or an investigation that spans an 
  entire city and takes weeks to conclude. You may 
  conceptualize a scene as everything needed to 
  convey an important piece of the story, or to 
  stage an event or a series of closely-connected 
  events. 
  In many areas of your story, a scene can be 
  thought of as modular. Some player decisions or 
  powers may turn events so dramatically that an 
  alternate scene is called for. When you write 
  scenes, you will probably already have alternate 
  scenes in mind and be anticipating the decisions 
  that can lead to them or bypass them. The classic 
  example is a fight scene that the protagonist may 
  avoid with some fast-talking. 
  The process for creating scenes reflects the 
  process for creating chapters, only on a more 
  granular level. 
  
   
  CORE DESIGN | 18 
  To define scenes, start with the chapter 
  description you already have. Contemplate the 
  goals of the chapter—what should occur and 
  why—then decide the order and manner of laying 
  that out through different scenes. Add scenes that 
  include exposition and events that will create 
  those desired outcomes. 
   
  THE PILLARS OF PLAY 
  Remember that DUNGEONS & DRAGONS pre-
  scribes three pillars of play: combat, 
  exploration, and social interaction. When 
  picking scenes, be sure to cover at least some 
  aspects of each pillar. 
  If you find that your adventure focuses 
  mostly on a single pillar, forecast that in your 
  adventure’s description. You want players to 
  know ahead of time what to expect and what 
  kind of character is best-suited to your 
  adventure. 
   
  In normal story-writing, scenes should each exist 
  for a specific purpose that advances the story or 
  exposes its secrets to the reader. Sometimes the 
  purpose is simply to set the pace of the 
  adventure. This is mostly true for adventure-
  writing too. 
  For each of your scenes, be sure to note its 
  purpose as you conceptualize it. If you find that a 
  scene has no purpose, change the scene or change 
  the story to give the scene purpose. 
  A scene’s purpose generally falls into one of three 
  categories, milestones, exposition, or 
  consequences. 
  In most cases, the scene advances the story by 
  providing one of the series of connected events 
  that leads to the story’s end. For example, the 
  protagonist observes enemy forces moving into a 
  mountain village, threatening the border with the 
  neighboring nation. This milestone escalates 
  tension between the nations, a conflict to be 
  resolved at the story’s end. 
  A scene’s purpose can also be expository. 
  Exposition reveals motivations or past events 
  that are driving the current narrative. For 
  example, reading the queen’s diary and 
  discovering that her sister was assassinated can 
  explain why the queen’s armies are on the march. 
  Particularly important in interactive 
  adventures, a scene can also reveal consequences 
  of prior decisions. The purpose is therefore 
  immersion—reinforcing the idea that the 
  character is experiencing an interactive 
  environment with actual consequences—or it is a 
  fulfillment of past promises. 
   
  EXAMPLE (SINGLE CHAPTER) 
   
  Chapter 2: Protagonist must rescue four 
  missing goblins from various predicaments to 
  “put the band back together” before heading 
  to the goblin caves. Each goblin rescued helps 
  in the effort by providing something unique. 
  Scene 1: Stribly has become lost in a 
  nearby forest area. The protagonist 
  must utilize outdoorsy skills and 
  features to find and rescue him. 
  Scene 2: Gantonis was captured by guards 
  at a town by the river and the 
  protagonist must convince the folk to let 
  Gantonis go. 
  Scene 3: Hirva abandoned the quest to 
  find help and joined some “mean” 
  goblins in a neighboring band. The 
  protagonist must fight to make these 
  goblins release Hirva. 
  Scene 4: Dritch sought to steal an artifact 
  of power from an abandoned wizard 
  tower and now it controls his mind. The 
  protagonist must overcome some 
  magical hazards to free Dritch. 
  
  19 | SOLO CREATOR’S GUIDEBOOK 
  Even action scenes contribute to the story and 
  can have a higher purpose to them. For example, 
  an ambush by the Cardinal’s guards might reveal 
  nothing new. However, it reminds the protagonist 
  (and the player) that foes are close by and that 
  the mission is pressing. 
  For the most part, defining purpose should be 
  easy, even when the scene you want doesn’t 
  immediately suggest its own purpose. In an 
  adventure, a scene’s purpose might simply be to 
  fulfill game expectations or tropes, reminding the 
  player that this is a roleplaying game rather than 
  a novel. 
  Like purpose, the pace of a novel relates almost 
  entirely to the development of its own story. The 
  pace of events creates a timeline of rising and 
  falling action that heightens tension and drama. 
  The high points of action are called upbeats and 
  the low points are called downbeats. 
  When you place scenes, whether upbeats or 
  downbeats, pay careful attention to their order. 
  Several upbeats in a row can set the stage for a 
  disappointingly-long series of downbeats. Better 
  to intersperse the highs and lows to regulate 
  expectations and give the player (as well as the 
  character) a chance to recover from the action. 
  Adventurers expect to encounter pacing in a non-
  traditional way. The mechanics of the DUNGEONS & 
  DRAGONS Roleplaying Game are such that many 
  character features are exhaustible resources that 
  must be used or saved with care and strategy. 
  The classic example is spell slots, but other 
  features (including hit points) are also reduced as 
  the adventuring day progresses. In story terms, 
  adventurers expect to encounter an unknown 
  number of consecutive upbeats, challenges that 
  tax their resources, before having a downbeat in 
  which to recover their power. 
  The pace of scenes in an adventure is therefore 
  different from a novel’s expected pace. When 
  your adventure includes all the scenes it needs to 
  meet its story purposes, you will probably find 
  that its pacing is insufficient to meet player 
  expectations. This is where the needs of your 
  pacing can defy the dictates of purpose, allowing 
  for additional scenes that may or may not be 
  related to the overall quest. 
  Random encounter tables are a classic feature 
  of DUNGEONS & DRAGONS adventures and a classic 
  example of how a scene can help structure your 
  pacing without contributing to the overall 
  advancement of the story. The purpose of such 
  scenes is to challenge the character, particularly 
  in the context of its exhaustible resources. It also 
  reminds players that they are just small 
  components of a larger world, and that not 
  everything they encounter is about them or their 
  quests. 
  Likewise, players also expect scenes where 
  they haggle with merchants, banter with gate 
  guards, and rest at strategic times. These tropes 
  of roleplaying games give the player a chance to 
  spend wisely, pack efficiently, or plan safely. As 
  downbeats, they also act as counterpoints to the 
  highs and, in some cases, prepare the adventurer 
  to better manage those highs. 
  In addition to mixing upbeats and downbeats, it is 
  important to vary the nature of upbeats so that 
  the experience is does not become monotonous. 
  This means using and mixing the three pillars of 
  the DUNGEONS & DRAGONS experience. 
  For pacing purposes, your combats are always 
  upbeats, in part because they have potential 
  lethality, but also because they might exhaust 
  some character resources.  
  Social interactions are downbeats unless you 
  anticipate that they might affect character 
  resources in some manner. For example, a 
  negotiation where the player must expend spell 
  slots or healing potions to help a group of 
  
   
  CORE DESIGN | 20 
  travelers is a downbeat for story purposes, but an 
  upbeat for adventuring purposes since character 
  resources may be spent. 
  Exploration can go either way, depending on 
  the presence of environmental hazards. 
  Ironically, getting lost—perhaps the worst 
  danger of pure exploration scenes—is a 
  downbeat because being lost is boring. It is also a 
  downbeat because being lost expends only 
  rations and the lack of action gives the 
  protagonist a chance to recover character 
  resources. 
  Mixing these types is not always easy. As a 
  general rule, follow a long narrative sequence 
  with action. A long sequence is a trunk text part 
  or a lengthy piece of exposition (a wall of 150 or 
  more words). Placing immediate action after 
  exposition is a standard tool in story-writing. It is 
  no less important in adventure writing, but an 
  adventure calls for an extended tempo of upbeats. 
  A quick battle (combat), followed by a chase 
  through back alleys (exploration), followed by 
  another fight (combat), then a harrowing 
  negotiation as the city guards try to figure out 
  who to arrest (social interaction). Afterward, the 
  protagonist gets a downbeat, resting at an inn or 
  in the city jail. 
  This mixed order of scene types serves both 
  the story’s expectation of upbeats and 
  downbeats, and the game’s expectation of an 
  extended adventuring day punctuated by rests. 
  Because of the exhaustible nature of a character’s 
  resources, you must consider whether any given 
  lull is sufficient to provide a short rest or a long 
  rest and specifically identify it as such. 
  Players will almost always seek to rest if 
  possible and may interpret any lull in the action 
  to be a rest-taking opportunity if you are not 
  explicit. Alternately, your lack of explicit 
  treatment of resting may result in a failure to rest 
  when you intend one. 
  Being proactive about noting rest 
  opportunities preserves an important tool for you 
  to maintain control of the pacing. If you want to 
  restrict resting so that your protagonist’s 
  resources remain thinned, increasing the tension 
  of further encounters, you cannot do so simply by 
  failing to note an opportunity to rest. Because 
  players want to immediately recover any and all 
  expended resources, even innocuous moments 
  between scenes may be interpreted as a short 
  rest possibility. Therefore, you must use tension 
  to color even your moments of transition 
  between scenes. 
  The methods to maintain tension and disrupt 
  resting potential between scenes are the same 
  methods that Dungeon Masters use in their 
  regular games. Either make the location unsafe or 
  inhospitable or provide some time-based 
  pressure that requires immediate transition into 
  the next scene. This can be as simple as 
  reminding the player that the antagonist is still 
  active and may achieve even a minor goal if the 
  action is not pressed. 
  Properly applying this tension prevents you 
  from losing control of the resting sequence. If you 
  describe rest-appropriate transitions between 
  your scenes without giving the chance to rest or 
  an explanation as to why a rest is not possible, 
  expect players to take matters into their own 
  hands and calculate a rest anyway, thinking you 
  have simply forgotten or worse, thinking you are 
  not writing rationally. 
  When rests are possible, be proactive in 
  declaring them or offering them. If your sequence 
  has an extended lull or series of downbeat scenes, 
  like several days of travel, announce up front that 
  the character gains the advantage of a long rest 
  prior to describing those days. Answer that 
  question right away. Don’t distract players with 
  the unresolved notion of whether a rest is 
  possible when you want their focus to be on your 
  upcoming narrative. 
  
  21 | SOLO CREATOR’S GUIDEBOOK 
  A typical chapter should contain between three 
  and five scenes, depending on the size of the 
  scenes. 
  However, a chapter can have as few as one 
  scene, particularly in a location-based sequence. 
  A large “dungeon” or similar area is one such 
  example. Dungeons tend to have their own self-
  contained collections of upbeats and downbeats, 
  conflicts and apex events, and a sufficiently-
  complex purpose that can fill an entire chapter. 
  There is probably only one version of your final 
  scene, no matter what routes the character takes 
  to get through the final chapter. That scene 
  probably has a climactic battle, plus elements of 
  exposition and resolution for your story. This 
  method is formulaic, but it works well. 
  You already decided how the adventure should 
  end when you were polishing your story prompt. 
  Translate that notion into a scene by determining 
  what events lead to or create that ending. 
  The final scene is the most important one to 
  conceptualize. Your other scenes will all point to 
  the final scene and, without know where you are 
  going, it can be easy to get lost or to have your 
  story change course during writing. 
  Changing course like that can devastate your 
  production timeline. In a novel, evolving the story 
  as you write only affects a single chain of events, 
  mostly relating to future writing. But in an 
  interactive adventure, alterations that affect the 
  final scene probably also affect other branches, 
  potentially invalidating (or requiring updates to) 
  a lot more of your material. Knowing your final 
  scene helps you stay on course and prevents 
  expansive revisions. 
  Thinking through your final scene also helps 
  you constrain other scenes and avoid epical 
  creep. It can be dreadfully easy to escalate the 
  importance of events in a story if you are making 
  it up as you write. Eventually, lowly starting 
  characters are saving the country or performing 
  other events that would grant the importance and 
  fame that are rightly reserved for much higher-
  level characters. Since your final scene is the 
  story’s climax, knowing its parameters ahead of 
  time can remind you to write within the 
  expectations of the four tiers of play. 
  Through its interactive nature, your story 
  represents an accumulation of player decisions. If 
  your story has only a binary outcome, success or 
  failure, those decisions lose meaning and nuance. 
  Although you probably have only one final 
  scene, try to give it variables that will reflect the 
  major decisions made in the course of getting to 
  it. Additionally, try to make your story answer 
  more than one question. For example, while the 
  battle in the final scene represents an apex event 
  of your story, other events orbiting the final scene 
  can create a more complex, multifaceted 
  outcome. This can be as simple and interrelated 
  as the classic adventure formulation of “defeat 
  the monster and rescue the villagers” (one or the 
  other is only a partial victory), or it can be more 
  complex, like resolving the different problems of 
  each of several opposing factions and soothing 
  the tensions between them. 
  The final scene should contain, or appear in 
  proximity to, a final battle. This is the most 
  difficult battle in the adventure, but it should be 
  more than that. The final battle represents the 
  peak of the adventure’s combat difficulty, but it 
  also represents or foreshadows the resolution of 
  your story. For a satisfying climax, the final battle 
  should therefore resolve something essential. 
  The final combat resolution is so important to 
  your story arc that the battle should never seem 
  like an accidental encounter. Everything is 
  building to this. Nor should it be something that 
  the protagonist can simply avoid. For example, 
  the final battle should finish off the archnemesis, 
  
   
  CORE DESIGN | 22 
  defeat her trusted lieutenant, or stop a major 
  portion of her plans. And in doing so, it should 
  measurably prevent the spread of evil. 
  If you create a final scene that has the potential 
  to bypass the final battle (or reduce its difficulty), 
  allow this only as the culmination a series of 
  correct choices made throughout the adventure. 
  Optimally, these choices are gated to favor less 
  combat-viable characters, allowing traits and 
  features that enhance exploration or social 
  interaction to play into the final confrontation. 
  The final scene is the one where players expect to 
  find the greatest expository payoff. They learn 
  who the murderer is, discover the depth of the 
  conspiracy, or unravel the villain’s mysterious 
  plot. 
  Although some writers like to leave a few 
  questions unanswered and mysterious, this can 
  be a frustrating experience for players. Likewise, 
  while you might think a story thread is trivial, 
  your players might not. They will be interested in 
  different plot elements to different degrees, and a 
  point you leave hanging may be exactly what a 
  player is watching to see concluded. Unless you 
  have a particular purpose for it, try to make sure 
  the player gets the answers to all the mysteries, 
  motivations, and other questions your story 
  presents. If you have not done so by the final 
  scene, make sure to do so in it or immediately 
  after. 
  To make sure you meet this expectation, you 
  should continually return to the notes about your 
  final scene to list any mysteries you write along 
  the way. Let this serve as a checklist. If 
  information is revealed elsewhere in the story, 
  you can cross off these notes; they exist only to 
  remind you what you have yet to reveal by the 
  time you get to fully writing the final scene. 
  Particularly if earlier information is gated such 
  that some players will miss it, use the final scene 
  to reveal everything to everyone. 
  With your finished outline in hand, it is time to 
  create scaffolds. A scaffold is a chapter of your 
  story written in notes, incomplete sentences, and 
  shorthand. It walks the character to and through 
  every scene in the chapter, listing chronologically 
  each action or event that occurs. 
  Scaffolding helps lay out your story in a way 
  that facilitates adding metastructure and that 
  controls the story’s expansion. The process 
  represents a middle ground between outlining 
  and writing. Scaffolds are easier to create and 
  recreate than full, narrative prose, something that 
  will save you time during the inevitable periods 
  of rearranging and rewriting that come with 
  creating interactive stories. 
  Your first scaffold for each chapter represents a 
  single (usually “ideal”) playthrough. You will later 
  break this scaffold into parts, allowing you to add 
  options that will change the route the player 
  takes through the story. 
  The first step to creating a central scaffold is to 
  write out the chapter’s actions and events in 
  shorthand. Put yourself in the protagonist’s shoes 
  and note what you experience and how you react 
  to it. 
  This step is easy to describe, but it can be a 
  lengthy process. Don’t be afraid to make bad 
  character choices as you go and don’t worry too 
  much about changes you will make later. 
  Particularly if your story ideas start evolving as 
  you write, be aware that this central scaffold 
  doesn’t have to provide exposition or resolution 
  for everything you envision. 
  As you write your central scaffold, make notes for 
  each fork you anticipate as you encounter such 
  opportunities. It is important to be aware of 
  
  23 | SOLO CREATOR’S GUIDEBOOK 
  possible branches and alternate scenes. This 
  knowledge can affect the scope of your scaffold 
  and prepare you to write alternate routes in the 
  future. 
  Do not fail to provide forks where obvious and 
  essential actions could be taken. If an obvious and 
  important forking point appears, with no option 
  to pursue a different course, the player will feel 
  railroaded. This is particularly frustrating when 
  the provided options seem like bad choices or are 
  incongruous to the character’s motivations. 
  On the same subject, ignoring a character’s 
  features can ring just as discordant as ignoring its 
  good judgment. You must be aware of racial 
  traits, class features, and other effects that could 
  create forks in the narrative and add those where 
  appropriate. Chapter 3 provides a list of “gate 
  keys” for you to review periodically. These effects 
  are the sort that can create important but 
  sometimes unanticipated forks in your story. 
  Spotting forks in your central scaffold may 
  sound easy, but you will find that you often miss 
  some important ones. Therefore, in addition to 
  the forks you identify initially, prepare to 
  incorporate forks identified by your playtesters. 
  (And be sure to ask playtesters to specifically 
  identify where they would want to make 
  important choices that weren’t offered to them.) 
  Writing interactive adventures requires careful 
  attention to player agency. This doesn’t mean 
  giving the player every option you can imagine at 
  every point along the way. Instead, agency 
  requires both the ability to choose, and some 
  meaningfulness in the choices made. 
  “Meaningful” in this context doesn’t necessarily 
  mean “big” or “dramatic.” Small choices can have 
  meaning and be felt by the player; some small 
  choices can be more character-defining than 
  larger ones. However, beware of choices that 
  exist only to express fashion sense, character 
  attitude, or other defining points that will not 
  affect the adventure. While you want to the 
  player to be able to roleplay these things, it’s a 
  good idea to combine them with outcomes that 
  have at least a small impact on the course of the 
  story. 
  Forks exist to support branches, not leaves. A 
  branch is a major route of character activity. 
  Branches lead to alternate scenes or express 
  significantly different modes of experiencing 
  scenes. 
  Forks are not concerned with mere leaves. A 
  leaf is a small addition to an object or scene, or a 
  minor variance in how the character interacts 
  with or perceives events. A player that reads a 
  leaf text part has not made a significant change in 
  routing through the story. Leaves are therefore 
  left for later construction. 
  Carefully consider the number of forks you 
  provide as you go. Every time you create a fork, a 
  branch will appear to route the player away from 
  your central scaffold. In some cases, that branch 
  will not rejoin the central scaffold until the end of 
  the chapter. The length of each branch therefore 
  represents a measure of additional story you will 
  have to write, parallel with the central scaffold. 
  Each of these branches can themselves have 
  forks, multiplying the amount of effort your story 
  requires to produce and reducing the percentage 
  of your story that the player will experience. The 
  more of your text that is route-specific, the more 
  of your writing that goes unseen and 
  unappreciated by the reader. 
  In addition to the added logistics of creating so 
  many branches, extraneous forks can also 
  overwhelm a player with choices. Imagine trying 
  to find your way through a maze of rooms, and 
  each room has a dozen paths leading away from 
  it. Since your player is experiencing the maze by 
  reading text rather than actually encountering it 
  with the five senses, disorientation is heightened 
  and the ability to judge potential outcomes for 
  
   
  CORE DESIGN | 24 
  each choice is reduced. It is better for you and for 
  the player to keep your number of forks in check. 
  For interactive adventures, forks should 
  normally provide no more than three decision-
  based options. Additional feature gates that fork 
  into alternate branches usually won’t contribute 
  to overwhelming the player with choice but 
  beware that they still create additional writing 
  requirements. 
  Limiting yourself to three branches at a fork is 
  also a useful way to set up control points for later 
  adjustment. If your story ends up playing too 
  quickly, despite your high word count, it means 
  you have too many branches and should prune 
  some of them. Cutting a few branches can give 
  you time to write a longer adventure, rather than 
  one with more optional routes. Because you are 
  probably producing in an electronic medium, too-
  large page counts aren’t really a worry. However, 
  pruning entire branches can reduce the amount 
  of prose you must write to polish those scaffolded 
  text parts. Fewer branches means you can afford 
  to develop longer stories. 
  When you reach this stage, your central scaffold 
  is a single list of actions and events interspersed 
  with notes about potential forks. Begin this step 
  by inserting blank lines of space after each fork 
  note, cutting the scaffold into separate pieces of 
  text. 
  These pieces are your first “text parts” and you 
  will need to do some organizing to keep track of 
  them. 
  To each text part, add a unique identifier in the 
  space immediately above it. This is not the 
  identifier that the text part will have when your 
  product is concluded, meaning it is acceptable—
  even useful—to apply any identification system 
  that makes sense to you. 
  The best system is one that conveys 
  information to you about the text part, and that 
  keeps its separate from other text parts and other 
  branches of text parts. Here’s a useful example: 
  ▷ PART 01-002: FOREST ENTRANCE 
  This example is hyphenated to track both the 
  branch and the part within the branch. 
  Alternately (or additionally), hyphenated 
  numbers can serve to identify chapters. 
  The “Part 01” identifies the branch 
  numerically. In this case, every text part in the 
  newly-separated scaffold starts with “Part 01.” 
  Additional branches will start their text parts 
  “Part 02,” and so on. Following that, the “-001” is 
  the part’s number in the branch. 
  Finally, “forest entrance” is a short phrase that 
  identifies the content of the text part. Although it 
  seems like very little information, the amount of 
  work you will do with your text parts in the next 
  step means you will soon be able to instantly 
  recognize each part by their title word or phrase. 
  To facilitate later steps, make sure your 
  identifiers are exactly the same everywhere they 
  are used. For example, don’t prompt to “forest 
  floor” and then label that text part “forestfloor.” 
  The different spelling will prove troublesome 
  when revising your identifiers and prompts later. 
  Likewise, make sure your current naming 
  convention for text parts is nothing like the 
  system you will use in the final product, lest you 
  create confusion when renumbering text parts in 
  the final step. 
  A prompt is an instruction to the reader to go to a 
  particular text part. Adding these prompts now 
  will keep your newly-separated text parts from 
  losing cohesion. 
  Your text parts end with forks because that is 
  where you cut the scaffold to separate parts. Turn 
  each fork into a prompt with a new-numbered 
  scaffold for you to write later. 
  
  25 | SOLO CREATOR’S GUIDEBOOK 
  Once forks are converted, look for the original 
  linking action or activity, the one that would keep 
  the player on the original scaffolded branch. Turn 
  that into a prompt too, directing the player to the 
  next text part. 
   
  ORIGINAL SCAFFOLD (VERSION 1) 
   
  You walk toward the river bank 
  You hear your pursuers closing in behind 
  You steal a small boat to cross 
  Fork: You swim across the river 
  You reach the other bank, dodging arrows 
  You run into the trees 
   
   
  CUT INTO PARTS (VERSION 2) 
   
  Part 01-007: river crossing 
  You walk toward the river bank 
  You hear your pursuers closing in behind 
  You steal a small boat to cross 
  Fork: You swim across the river 
   
  Part 01-008: far bank 
  You reach the other bank, dodging arrows 
  You run into the trees 
   
   
  WITH PROMPTS ADDED (VERSION 3) 
   
  Part 01-007: river crossing 
  You walk toward the river bank 
  You hear your pursuers closing in behind 
  You steal a small boat to cross 
  Fork: You swim across the river 
  • To steal a boat for crossing, go to Part 01-
  008: far bank. 
  • To swim the river, go to Scaffold 02. 
   
  Part 01-008: far bank 
  You reach the other bank, dodging arrows 
  You run into the trees 
   
   
  When your prompts point to new branches, 
  don’t lose track of the new scaffolds you will have 
  to write. Mark these distinctly, perhaps 
  highlighting them or noting them with a brightly-
  colored font. Alternately, keep a list of unwritten 
  scaffolds to check off later. 
  With your central scaffold complete and cut into 
  text parts, and with your forks identified and 
  fleshed out, build the remaining branches of your 
  story by expanding the scaffolds. 
  Each fork is the starting point for an additional 
  scaffold. These secondary scaffolds extend from 
  their initiating forks until you terminate them, 
  binding each one onto another scaffold or dead-
  ending it. 
  This process works just as it did for your 
  central scaffold. Write the action out in 
  shorthand, noting any forks that may appear 
  along the way. Then cut the scaffold into text 
  parts and polish up the new forks as usual. 
  Repeat the process until all forks are fully 
  scaffolded and every route through your story is 
  fleshed out. 
  The length of your additional scaffolds, and the 
  number of text parts used, will vary based on 
  your adventure’s mapping structure, and the 
  length and the depth to which you intend to write 
  the adventure. 
  At this stage of the process, it is important not to 
  over-write your text parts. They exist in 
  shorthand form for good reason. 
  As you study the coming chapters, you will 
  learn the tools for making your adventure truly 
  interactive. Once you absorb the information in 
  the coming chapters, you are likely to reform the 
  scaffolds significantly. Moreover, you are likely to 
  alter many of the forks and interactions the 
  
   
  CORE DESIGN | 26 
  protagonist can experience after playtesting the 
  adventure.  
  These revisions are easier to do with shorthand 
  scaffolds than with fully-written text parts. 
  Waiting till the end of the process to flesh out the 
  prose will prevent a lot of wasted work. 
  When all scaffolds have been fully created—when 
  every text part is written—the resulting 
  collection of text parts will naturally appear in a 
  vaguely-chronological order. As a final scaffolding 
  step, this order should be altered to avoid 
  imposing unwanted clues upon your players. 
  Without purposeful rearrangement, 
  metaknowledge will be present at some forks. 
  Where the decision in one text part directs the 
  player to the very next text part, it will be hard 
  for the player to avoid glancing down and seeing 
  the result of the decision about to be made. 
  Therefore, no text part should be left to appear on 
  the same page as any text part that prompts to it. 
  The first text part of an adventure or chapter 
  should appear first. Likewise, the last text part of 
  an adventure or chapter should appear last. But 
  each part between should appear somewhat 
  randomly, and somewhat distant from any 
  prompts that lead to it. 
  If your adventure is structured with chapters, 
  as suggested in this book, keep all of the text 
  parts for each chapter within the relevant 
  chapter. The chapter arrangement is important to 
  reflect the pacing of the story. In addition to 
  providing you with the normal story-writing 
  tools of rising action and denouement, it signals 
  to the player where the protagonist is in the 
  course of the adventure.  
  Knowing when the final chapter is at hand can 
  also prevent the anticlimax of a surprise ending. 
  Because text parts are not chronological in any 
  configuration and are probably quite random in 
  their order of appearance, you will have no other 
  tools than the narrative itself to prepare the 
  player for the conclusion. 
  Once your text parts are placed in their final 
  arrangement, alter their unique identifiers to 
  reflect the new order and strip them of 
  metaknowledge. As you take this step, be aware 
  that you may have to repeat it in its entirety if 
  you add or remove text parts during revision. 
  The publication version of each text part’s unique 
  identifier should be a number. Ideally, it will be a 
  compound or hyphenated number with a simple 
  prefix. 
  Although giving each text part a title name was 
  helpful during the creation process, it can convey 
  unwanted metaknowledge to the player. For 
  example, if the choice to climb a cliff prompts the 
  player to a text part named “Splat,” the player 
  may be discouraged from trying that option. Even 
  the less-dramatic names can betray more 
  information than you intend. 
  Because you are trying to keep identifiers unique, 
  the best practice is to use a hyphenated or 
  compound number for each identifier. 
  A compound number helps you and the player 
  to keep track of text parts by chapter. Even if you 
  are not using chapters, use a “neutral” word 
  prefix for each identifier. For example, use 
  something like “Part 03-001” or “Text 214.” This 
  makes your text parts truly-unique and allows 
  the players to find them by using the search 
  function of their document-reading programs. 
  Players will have to search the document like this 
  when accessing future prompts or encountering 
  broken hyperlinks, when the document-reading 
  program crashes, or when coming back to the 
  adventure (reopening the document) after taking 
  a break. Using a prefix expedites such searching. 
  For example, a prefix or compound number 
  allows the player to search for “Part 12” rather 
  
  27 | SOLO CREATOR’S GUIDEBOOK 
  than just “12.” The latter will provide too many 
  results. It will show page numbers (like page 
  112), other text parts (part 312), street 
  addresses (No. 12 Rue Deville), treasure awards 
  (like 121 copper pieces), and more. The prefix 
  gives your players truly-unique identifiers to 
  search for. 
  Once your text parts are arranged, renumber 
  them one at a time. Use the find-and-replace 
  function of your word processing program 
  instead of manually changing each text part. 
  For example, when a text part titled “103-15 
  forest floor” is your seventh text part, don’t just 
  change the name to “Part 7.” Instead use the find-
  and-replace function to replace all instances of 
  “103-15 forest floor” with “Part 7.” This will 
  rename not only the text part’s title, but all the 
  prompts that direct the player to it. 
   
  CHAPTER END NOTE: REVERSE-ENGINEERING ILLUSTRATIONS 
  The steps in this chapter can take your initial story idea and build it organically into a fully-structured 
  single-player adventure. However, this process ignores a reality faced by most amateur creators, the 
  inability to budget for the right art assets. 
  Illustration, particularly cartography, is very expensive. This is rightly so. Good pieces are made by 
  professionals who have invested significant time into learning their craft. They deserve to be 
  compensated for their hard work, and they are unlikely to work for royalties stemming from an amateur 
  (or semi-professional) product. This often means that adventure creators must simply work with the 
  limited body of art that is free to use commercially. 
  Chief among these free assets are the art packs provided by Wizards of the Coast for use on the 
  Dungeon Masters Guild. However, you may notice that these packs rarely illustrate the people, places, 
  and creatures that populate your adventure. Moreover, the best pieces in these art packs have already 
  been used ad nauseam, such that their inclusion is more distracting or off-putting for regular Guild 
  consumers than it is illustrative. This reality does not make those assets useless. 
  If your production budget does not allow you to commission sufficient art assets for your project, go 
  through the available free assets before you begin creating. Pick out a bunch of little-used pieces that can 
  do well in the right context. Then create that context. Use these pieces as inspiration for your adventure, 
  from the initial story seed, to the placement of events, scenes, social interactions, and combat 
  encounters. Interesting and unique monster illustrations can particularly help you set milestones that 
  you can later drive your scaffolds toward, even if they only represent “random” encounters. If you find 
  enough illustrations of one type of creature, these could represent the major, recurring threat your 
  protagonist will face. Similarly, if you find compelling pictures of people or places, build your adventure 
  to use them, rather than trying to get art that matches the people and places you might envision on your 
  own. 
  Cartography options are fewer, so take care creating scenes that require maps. For any project, first 
  check the many maps that Dyson Logos generously provides free for commercial use. The options and 
  license can be found here: https://dysonlogos.blog/maps/commercial-maps/ 
   
   
  
   
  METASTRUCTURE | 28 
   
   
  
  29 | SOLO CREATOR’S GUIDEBOOK 
  CHAPTER TWO 
  “Style and structure are the essence 
  of a book; great ideas are hogwash.” 
  - Vladimir Nabokov 
  ETASTRUCTURE REFERS NOT TO THE 
  narrative structure of the book; it 
  has nothing to do with the story’s 
  plot, theme, or resolution. Neither is 
  it the outline or the organization of the book’s 
  content. 
  Metastructure is instead the collected elements 
  that facilitate the “interactive” portion of your 
  product. These include symbols and formatting 
  that signal the player to apply special rules not 
  found in other adventure types. These elements 
  also contemplate the tools that connect 
  interactive elements in ways both visible and 
  invisible to the player. 
   
  METASTRUCTURE SUMMARY 
  This chapter covers the following topics. 
   
  • Page Planning. How to organize text 
  within the adventure, using consistent 
  rules to meet player expectations. 
  • Story Routing. Designing the routes 
  through the story that players will use. 
  • Diagraming. How to keep track of text 
  parts and link them together, with extra 
  software or without. 
  This section presents a methodology for 
  consistent format, style, and layout of interactive 
  adventures. In doing so, it merely describes how 
  text might appear on the page; it does not refer to 
  what the text will say. 
  In a novel, all text is linear and unidirectional. It 
  flows unbroken from the beginning to the end. 
  The reader cannot choose how the story unfolds 
  and has no control over its events. Only by 
  breaking up a story can the reader interact, 
  becoming a “player. 
  A player can select discrete portions of the 
  narrative from which to build a unique story. The 
  “text part” is therefore the quintessential 
  component of an interactive adventure. Having 
  strong, consistent parameters for the 
  presentation and function of text parts builds a 
  reliable and useful foundation for the rest of the 
  project. 
  You have already created text parts in the 
  previous chapter, breaking your scaffolds into 
  digestible portions partitioned by sets of options. 
  This segment walks you through formatting and 
  arranging those text parts for optimal 
  presentation. 
  Create consistent components for your text parts 
  and tell your reader about them in your 
  adventure’s playbook. Your player must know 
  how to consume the media you are presenting 
  and shouldn’t have to struggle to figure things out 
  nor wrestle with inconsistencies. 
  The following components have worked well in 
  the production of Wraith Wright’s SOLITAIRES, but 
  do not feel limited to use any or all of these. 
   
  
   
  METASTRUCTURE | 30 
  EXAMPLE ANATOMY OF A TEXT PART 
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
  Each text part comes with an identifier, a number, 
  name, or title that identifies the text part. The 
  identifier is the reference point that players use 
  to navigate to the text part, so it must be unique. 
  If the identifier is duplicated, players won’t be 
  able to differentiate the parts from one another. 
  Part Names. Assigning codenames to each text 
  part is a useful mechanism when writing. As you 
  build out the various text parts, a code name can 
  give you an instant summary to help you 
  remember the results you have assigned to each 
  option without having to go to those options to 
  refresh your memory. 
  However, code names have drawbacks when 
  used as text part identifiers in your final product.  
  First, even if you alter code names before 
  publication, it can be difficult not to forecast the 
  results of a player choice by using any codename. 
  You won’t name a text part “poisoned” when it is 
  prompted to by the option for tasting a potion. 
  That forecasted knowledge (“metaknowledge”) is 
  undesirable to players. It is hard to make the code 
  name meaningful without it also being revealing. 
  Neither can you make codewords random, lest 
  they confuse and distract the player. 
  The second problem with codewords is their 
  organization. You can arrange the text parts 
  alphabetically by identifier, but at that point, you 
  might as well just use numbers. If you’re revising 
  in order to remove any forecasting, you are also 
  revising those names in the prompts. It doesn’t 
   
  » Interval 2 
  Fortunately, the passageway is now 
  relatively clear. Unfortunately, you are 
  sure the noise of falling rubble was heard 
  in other parts of the mine.  
  After the dust settles, you examine the 
  makeshift trap. 
  You may add 1 Interval Point to 
  extricate the rope and take it with you: 
  - Hempen rope, 100-foot (20 lb.) 
   
  The northward passage bends in an arc, 
  eventually pointing southward, back in 
  the direction from which it came. 
  • To leave by the western end of the 
  arced passage, go to Part 020. 
  • To leave by the eastern end of the arced 
  passage, go to Part 301. 
   
  This identifier is unique, a title used nowhere 
  elsewhere in the book. 
   
  An interval adds time-tracking points and 
  signals that a short rest or other activity is 
  possible at this point. 
   
  Narrative text describes events and features of 
  the scene. 
   
  Instructive text tells the player how to apply 
  rules. Bold text reminds the player to write a 
  note of some kind. 
   
  An item listing signals to the player that an item 
  can be taken. It is bolded (as something the 
  player should write down) and predicated by a 
  dash. 
   
  Options give the player two or more choices of 
  how to proceed. Bullet points distinguish them 
  from instructive text. 
   
  Prompts tell the player to “go to” new text parts 
  and typically include hyperlinks. 
   
  
  31 | SOLO CREATOR’S GUIDEBOOK 
  really save effort or potential errors unless your 
  names are vague from the beginning. 
  Part Numbers. Using numbers as identifiers 
  has some advantages. Although numbers won’t 
  help you remember the content of text parts as 
  you compose and arrange an adventure, they are 
  more useful for your players. 
  Numbering allows players to navigate to text 
  parts more reliably. In an ideal scenario, all text 
  parts are hyperlinked correctly, and every 
  transition to a text part can take place through a 
  hyperlink. In reality, hyperlinking sometimes 
  fails. Document-reading programs crash, or they 
  get closed accidentally or between sessions of 
  play. Whatever the reason, players aren’t always 
  going to be able to use hyperlinks to get to the 
  text parts they need. 
  Using numbers allows players to scroll through 
  their electronic document to the right place to 
  find the desired text part. Even faster, players can 
  use the find function of their document-reading 
  program (Control + F in most PDF readers) to 
  jump instantly to the desired number. However, 
  for this latter use, all your numbered identifiers 
  must be unique. 
  Unique in this sense means sequentially-
  unique. There will be a thousand uses of the 
  number 1 in your document; from page numbers 
  to text parts to various digits in the number of 
  coins found, to enemy hit points, and other 
  things. A player wishing to use the find function 
  of their reader to jump to your first text part will 
  be unable to do so unless you use multiple-digit 
  numbering. For example, a search for “001” is 
  only going to return a single result, taking the 
  player directly to that text part. 
  To maintain this beneficial element, try not to 
  repeat the number elsewhere. No three-digit 
  number sequence should include a series that 
  overlaps the number of text parts in your 
  adventure. For example, if the player finds 114 
  copper pieces, that number will create a search 
  duplicate of your 114th text part; a search for 
  “114” will produce multiple results. You might 
  prefer to write “11 silver and 4 copper” or to 
  simply spell out the numbers that appear in 
  narrative text. Even better, use a neutral 
  predicating word with your numbered identifier, 
  so the player can search for “Part 114.” 
  Suggested Formatting. Identifiers should be 
  used as titles for each text part. Titles should 
  stand out, drawing the eye quickly to the start of 
  each text part, because players will be scanning 
  the pages to find them. To best accomplish this, 
  use larger fonts, distinct fonts, or colors that 
  stand out from the page. Humans filter for color 
  very quickly at a glance, making strong, 
  consistent colors the most effective method for 
  drawing the eye. 
  Here is an example using larger and different 
  font from the rest of the text on this page. 
  ▷ PART 03-102 
  This format is easy to notice and can override 
  the distraction of other text on your page. Your 
  eye was probably drawn to this example line of 
  text the moment you opened this page, even 
  before your read any of the other text here. 
  Intervals identify text parts where players can 
  exercise a set of exploration options and add 
  time-keeping “Interval Points” to an ongoing tally. 
  This element of a text part is specific to certain 
  SOLITAIRES, but other adventures use similar 
  mechanisms. 
  Most text parts don’t have intervals or interval 
  markers. Intervals are used only when the 
  immediate scenario calls for timekeeping. 
  Something is at stake and the character is racing 
  against the clock. Intervals and Interval Points 
  are discussed in greater detail in the Solo Players 
  Guide. 
  Suggested Formatting. Like instructive text, 
  intervals should be formatted to set them apart 
  from the other text. Wraith Wright’s SOLITAIRES 
  indent, bold, and use an alternate font. They also 
  
   
  METASTRUCTURE | 32 
  use a horizontal double-chevron to predicate 
  intervals like this: 
  » Interval 0 
  Wraith Wright’s SOLITAIRES system also gives a 
  number with each interval, an indicator of the 
  number of Interval Points the player should note 
  just for having moved to this text part from the 
  last one. 
  The bulk of your text parts should be narrative 
  text. This is the normally-formatted descriptive 
  text for events and features of the player’s 
  environment. 
  Narrative text usually begins by resolving 
  whatever choice led the player to that text part, 
  revealing the outcome of that decision. If the 
  prompt resulted from moving to a new area, it 
  probably describes the new area. If it resulted 
  from asking a question of a non-player character, 
  it probably reveals the response. 
  Narrative text also drives the story by leading 
  the reader to the next set of options. It begins by 
  resolving the prior prompt, describes what comes 
  next, and continues the story up until the player 
  must again choose between prompts for new text 
  parts. 
  Narrative text is typically first-person prose. It 
  refers to the reader (“you”) as the character, and 
  it uses present tense for immediacy, to draw the 
  player into the narrative. (For flashbacks, past 
  tense can be used to reinforce separation from 
  current events.) 
  Instructive text is set apart from narrative text. It 
  addresses the player, rather than the character, 
  and provides instructions for how to apply rules, 
  when to modify notes or the character sheet, or 
  where to go when prompts aren’t optional. 
  Instructive text uses natural language to direct 
  you through certain steps for moderating systems 
  or events. As a usual player rule, instructive text 
  must be resolved as it is encountered, before 
  reading further into the text part. 
  Because instructive text shifts focus from the 
  character to the player, drawing the player out of 
  the immersive portion of your writing, place it 
  carefully. Whenever possible, avoid placing 
  instructive text in the midst of narrative text, 
  reserving it for after the narrative text is done. 
  Suggested Formatting. Instructive text should 
  be heavily-emphasized through alternate 
  formatting. Try an indented block of text, an 
  alternate font, and italicization. For example: 
  If you previously encountered the Silver Circus 
  caravan, go to Part 331. Otherwise, choose 
  from the options below. 
  A prompt is an instruction to “go to” a new text 
  part. Prompts can appear in instructive text, as 
  illustrated above, or can appear in a set of 
  options. 
  Gates. Many prompts include a gate, a 
  prerequisite to be met for the prompt to be 
  followed. In the example above, the prompt “go to 
  Part 331” has an event gate; the player must first 
  have encountered the Silver Circus caravan. 
  Some gates open options to the player, while 
  others force the player along a certain route. A 
  mandatory prompt appears in instructive text 
  and does not give the player the choice to do 
  anything other than follow it if the gate’s 
  prerequisite was met. 
  Gates are further described in a later chapter. 
  Recursive Prompts. Some prompts will direct 
  the player back to a previous text part. These 
  alter the flow of your story from the default of 
  unidirectionality. 
  In tree mapping, these recursive prompts are 
  typical of “leaves,” short diversions from the 
  adventure, typically used to reveal extra 
  information in response to examining something 
  or knowing the right language. Alternately, they 
  can be nodes, opportunities to explore something 
  
  33 | SOLO CREATOR’S GUIDEBOOK 
  in short depth before returning to the same point 
  in the story and carrying forward from there. 
  Recursive prompts most commonly occur in 
  locational mapping, where the character can 
  move back and forth between text parts that 
  represent areas like rooms of a dungeon, forest 
  clearings, or the like. 
  Future Prompts. Future prompts give the 
  player a unique identifier to check at a later time. 
  They might not include hyperlinks because they 
  anticipate that the player will not use the prompt 
  immediately. 
  The archetypical example of a future prompt is 
  for a magic item, which requires time to 
  investigate. If there is currently no time available, 
  a future prompt, to be noted in the play journal, 
  will guide the player to the magic item’s details 
  when there is time enough for an investigation. 
  Here’s an example. 
  You can add 12 Interval Points to spend an 
  hour investigating this magic item. Alternately, 
  you can discover its secrets immediately with an 
  identify spell (or by adding 2 Interval Points 
  and casting identify as a ritual). When you 
  investigate the item, now or later, go to Part 
  341. Note your current text part before you do 
  so; there will be no prompt to return to your 
  current place in the adventure! 
   
  Future prompts are often encoded, preventing 
  a nosey player from checking the corresponding 
  text part ahead of time. Encoded future prompts 
  give only part of the information needed to access 
  them, one of two or more clues that only reveal 
  the text part’s unique identifier when combined. 
  Encoding is particularly useful when you provide 
  multiple versions of the same clue and want the 
  player to find different text parts based on those 
  different findings. 
  Suggested Formatting. Prompts exist as part 
  of instructive text or options, which are 
  themselves formatted to stand out from the rest 
  of the text part. 
  Within prompts, it is a good idea to differently-
  format the identifier for the text part the player 
  should go to. This draws the eye to that crucial 
  element of the prompt, the unique identifier, and 
  reminds players that the text includes a 
  hyperlink. 
  Although players will be able to navigate to text 
  parts manually, they should not have to. Every 
  prompt should be coded as a hyperlink. 
  Item listings use a formatting change to signal 
  that a character can (or should) take one or more 
  items, and that the player should note them on 
  the character sheet. Calling these out is important 
  because stories tend to gloss over items that 
  appear in the narrative flow. Players might 
  otherwise not know which items are “real” 
  (important enough to be noted), and which exist 
  as pure flavor. 
  For example, when paying for a coach ride, the 
  coach driver hands the character a receipt. 
  Should the player make a note of this receipt? 
  Will it have a chance to come up again in the 
  story? Will receipts be checked when riders 
  return to the coach after each waystation stop? 
  Or was the receipt just a flavor element in the 
  story, not worth writing down? Making items 
  stand out from the surrounding text part using 
  consistent formats answers these questions. 
  Formatting Suggestion. Item listings should 
  stand out from narrative text. This is important 
  because items are likely to appear within 
  narrative text or between segments of narrative 
  text. You should therefore make such items 
  particularly noticeable. Wraith Wright’s 
  SOLITAIRES use a predicate dash but otherwise 
  format items in the same way as instructive text. 
  They also announce the weight of items in 
  pounds, since players should be tracking that. 
  Optionally, item formatting could be as simple 
  as using bold text for the item the first time it is 
  named within the narrative text. In this case, it 
  will be up to the player to figure out the item’s 
  
   
  METASTRUCTURE | 34 
  weight if it matters, or you could insert that 
  information into the narrative text using brackets 
  or parentheses. 
  Options appear in sets of two or more, each of 
  which contains a prompt. When options appear, 
  the player must select from among them, going to 
  the text part prompted by that choice. Because 
  the prompts in some options are gated, a player 
  may have no real choice as to which of them to 
  use. 
  When composing options, make sure that there 
  is always at least one that contains an ungated 
  prompt or otherwise ensure that the character 
  will necessarily qualify for at least one of the 
  options. 
  Formatting Suggestion. Options should be 
  formatted identically to or similarly to instructive 
  text. They should use natural language to identify 
  that their choices are optional to the player. 
  Wraith Wright’s SOLITAIRES use bullet points to 
  identify option sets. This helps the player 
  recognize options and distinguish them from 
  instructive text. 
  Text parts cannot be presented linearly; you 
  cannot write them so that each text part prompts 
  the reader to the very next part. That would 
  mandate the reading of all text and thus not be an 
  interactive adventure. Nor would such an 
  organization be desirable if it was possible. 
  It is likely you are producing work in an 
  electronic format. Therefore, hyperlinking and 
  text-searching functions mean that no text part is 
  any more cumbersome to navigate to than any 
  other. There is no compelling reason to place 
  linked text parts in sight of one another. 
  In fact, linked text parts should be placed 
  purposefully apart, at least on separate pages 
  from prompts that lead to them. Otherwise, a 
  player reading a part might notice the related text 
  part on the same page before selecting an option 
  and get a glance at the option’s outcome. For 
  example, if a set of options includes one choice 
  that directs the player to the very next text part, 
  the player might be unable to avoid glancing 
  down noticing a dead end. 
   An interactive adventure can be written as a 
  single collection of all text parts, or it can be 
  organized into chapters. 
  Collecting text parts into chapters helps the 
  player understand the pace of the adventure and 
  anticipate their progress within it. However, 
  collecting text parts into chapters should be done 
  with the placement guidelines in mind; linked 
  parts should still not appear consecutively or on 
  the same page. 
  Very large or recurring text parts can be placed in 
  appendices. These final chapters of your product 
  are the type that can be referenced from multiple 
  locations in the product or can be noted for later 
  reference whenever players want to refresh their 
  memories. Alternately, they can appear in a 
  playbook. 
  Likewise, combats tend to require full-page 
  writeups that are cumbersome to insert among 
  normal text parts. A set of combat writeups 
  makes for the most likely appendix seen in a 
  single-player adventure. 
  Important lore pieces also qualify, like the 
  description of the character’s home city or the 
  history of an important magic item or faction. 
  Putting such things in an appendix that can be 
  referenced at any time simulates the character 
  knowing that information intimately or otherwise 
  being able to remember it better than the player 
  can. 
  This section examines methodologies for linking 
  text parts and routing players toward your 
  
  35 | SOLO CREATOR’S GUIDEBOOK 
  story’s conclusion. It draws upon the techniques 
  and terminology used to deconstruct traditional 
  choice-based storybooks, with a focus on the 
  tools most useful to writing character-based 
  interactive adventures. 
  Mapping refers to the organization of your text 
  parts, regardless of whether you build a map to 
  illustrate that organization. 
  As a default, this product assumes that you will 
  use tree mapping for the majority of your 
  adventure, and locational mapping when 
  exploring areas that allow movement back and 
  forth, revisiting previously-explored locations. 
  This product suggests tree mapping as the default 
  methodology for organizing the connection of 
  text parts. Tree mapping uses a plant metaphor to 
  describe the way text parts are connected. 
  Tree mapping is ideal for describing a flow of 
  events rather than just movement between 
  physical locations. The player’s route through 
  these text parts is essentially unidirectional. The 
  character progresses in one direction through 
  time and through spaces in the story. The 
  recurrence of any text parts is rare. 
  A trunk is a text part that occurs at the start of the 
  adventure, or the start of each of its chapters. A 
  trunk is generally large, including a lot of 
  narrative text, because it introduces and sets the 
  scene for the entire adventure or for an entire 
  chapter. In many cases, a trunk will provide an 
  overview of the prior chapter or of relevant 
  events from prior adventures. 
  A trunk is almost always a bottleneck. Unless a 
  trunk starts a chapter that has alternate entry 
  points from the previous chapter, every player 
  will have to route through that trunk during play. 
  This portion of the tree metaphor facilitates 
  player choices. Whenever a player reaches a 
  decision point along a trunk or branch, a fork 
  occurs. From this fork, multiple branches can 
  sprout, taking the player in whatever directions 
  their choices allow. 
  Branches terminate at ends or bindings and 
  can themselves have forks supporting ancillary 
  branches. Ends conclude the story, either 
  positively (at live ends) or negatively (at dead 
  ends). Bindings reduce the number of possible 
  forward paths by tying the player into a parallel 
  branch. Conversely, forks split the story into 
  parallel branches, expanding the possible routes 
  going forward. 
  A leaf is a minor detour off of a branch, one that 
  does not lead anywhere else. Leaves rejoin their 
  branches quickly, either with a recurring prompt 
  that returns the reader to the same text part the 
  leaf forked off of, or to a text part immediately 
  following that. 
  A leaf typically exists to provide a piece of 
  gated information while keeping the player on 
  the same route. For example, a character 
  encounters a room with an alter and several exits. 
  The character can examine the alter by accessing 
  a leaf. The leaf’s narrative text provides details 
  about the alter then its instructive text directs the 
  player back to the text part that introduced the 
  room and the alter. 
  The defining component of the leaf is that it is 
  essentially recurrent, with no other outlet. 
  Regardless of the number of text parts or the 
  complexity of their configuration, a leaf always 
  returns the player to the same part of the story 
  from whence it came. A leaf can therefore take 
  the track structure of a node (see Track 
  Configurations, below). However, not all leaves 
  are nodes since some are only a single text part 
  deep, and not all nodes are leaves since some 
  have other outlets. 
  
   
  METASTRUCTURE | 36 
  Locational mapping typically describes literal 
  locations, such as the rooms of a ruined castle or 
  chambers in an old sewer network. It is 
  characterized by the ability to revisit text parts, 
  moving back and forth between them like 
  walking between linked areas. 
  Tree mapping can flow smoothly into locational 
  mapping and vice versa. To transition into 
  locational mapping, a text part needs merely to 
  include a recursive prompt that allows a player to 
  revisit a prior text part. 
  It is just as easy to leave locational mapping. 
  While exploring collected text parts multi-
  directionally, any text part can route the player 
  back into a tree mapping structure by having no 
  recursive prompts in it or down the route from it. 
  The shift to unidirectional routing means that 
  going to an “exiting” text part gives the player no 
  option to return to the text parts of the locational 
  mapping. 
  The primary feature of locational mapping is the 
  player’s ability to move back and forth between 
  the location-representing text parts. This multi-
  directionality usually allows travel between parts 
  in any order, any number of times. 
  Areas that can recur must be described without 
  reference to the player’s entry point when there 
  are multiple approaches. One-time events that 
  occur at these locations must be carefully 
  moderated through the use of veneers so that the 
  character is not constantly stepping in the same 
  bear trap, rolling to interpret the same clue, or 
  otherwise processing location-based events that 
  should occur only once. 
  Location-based text parts can benefit from 
  veneers, a mechanism to manage one-time 
  events. A “veneer” is a text part that describe an 
  area for the player’s first visit. Thereafter 
  consecutive visits to the same location are 
  handled in “base area” text parts. 
  For example, a character enters a clearing in a 
  forest and encounters two giant ants. The text 
  part managing this first visit, including the 
  combat, is a veneer. Later, the character revisits 
  that clearing and does not have to fight the giant 
  ants again because all links to that location now 
  direct the player to a base area text part. 
  Veneers are applied in one of two ways. As a 
  player transitions from a tree-mapping route into 
  a location-mapped set of text parts, the player is 
  prompted to the veneer. This is possible since 
  there are no opportunities to have accessed the 
  location previously in the story. For example, the 
  option to enter a tomb (through its only 
  entrance), directs the player straight to a veneer 
  dealing with the tomb guardian. When the 
  entryway is resolved, and the player moves on, 
  any directional option that would return to the 
  entryway links to the base area text  part; there 
  are no references to the veneer since the player 
  had to pass through it already. 
  However, text parts that qualify for that 
  treatment are uncommon. Instead, veneers are 
  usually associated with an event gate, one that 
  asks whether the player has visited that location 
  before. Such an event gate can exist among 
  options that prompt into the location. The more 
  common configuration places the gate within the 
  base area; upon reaching that location, 
  instructive text prompts the character into the 
  veneer if this is the first visit. Players that have 
  already visited the location simply continue 
  reading the base area text part. 
  For veneers’ event gates to work, each location 
  must be described with sufficient specificity such 
  that players can easily identify locations they 
  have previously visited. In a series of 
  indistinguishable locations, the player will not 
  remember which have been previously visited. 
  
  37 | SOLO CREATOR’S GUIDEBOOK 
  Unlike tree mapping, locational mapping has a 
  difficult time accounting for the passage of time. 
  Because players can re-experience a text part 
  repeatedly, events that note changes to the 
  weather or the time of day should not be a part of 
  the narrative text; you don’t want the sun to rise 
  every time the character walks past a particular 
  window. 
  Time passage in locational mapping is better 
  implemented with a time-tracking point system 
  like the Interval Points described in this product. 
  As players visit location-based text parts, pre-set 
  events happen, like the setting of the sun, which 
  then requires the character to use torches or 
  darkvision to navigate. 
  Using time-tracking methods like this 
  heightens the player’s sense of dramatic tension 
  and prevents too much resting. When characters 
  have unlimited time, they will rest enough to be 
  fully recovered before every fight, which 
  degrades the challenge and thus the excitement 
  of the game. 
  This rare form of locational mapping routes the 
  player through its areas in a set pattern that 
  repeats. Although routing is unidirectional, a 
  player can pass through these text parts 
  repeatedly, escaping only by making different 
  choices along the way or by having experienced 
  different events. Escape options tend to be gated 
  such that the player cannot escape the loop 
  without passing through it several times. 
  Looping locational mapping can be applied to 
  several scenarios, not all of them literally 
  location-based. Time-loop scenarios probably 
  come to mind, but also consider using looping 
  direction structures to simulate repeated 
  searching of an area to find and interpret clues, or 
  for training montages. 
  The individual text parts in single player 
  interactive adventures appear in a variety of 
  configurations. Understanding these can help you 
  use them to good effect. 
  Bottlenecks are text parts that the character must 
  go through. No matter how far-afield the 
  character wanders through various options, each 
  bottleneck must always get routed through in the 
  course of the story. 
  Every adventure has at least one bottleneck, its 
  first text part. Most have a bottleneck at the end 
  of the adventure too, the final text part, unless 
  there are multiple live ends. Additional to these, 
  most stories can benefit from bottlenecks 
  throughout. 
  The primary benefit of bottlenecks is to pare 
  down the number of options that must be written 
  for. Unless the writer bottlenecks routes, tying 
  them together, interactive adventures can 
  eventually branch into an infinite number of text 
  parts. Binding multiple branches together, 
  eventually creating a bottleneck, brings the 
  writer back to a controlled baseline from which 
  to begin expanding the options once more. 
  The Solo Creator’s Guidebook suggests a 
  structure of chapters. Chapter force bottlenecks 
  to appear at expected points, dividing story 
  
   
  METASTRUCTURE | 38 
  progress into increments. Without this 
  constraint, it is too easy to write two or three 
  separate adventure tracks; if the main path 
  branches in the first chapter, not to rejoin until 
  the very end of the story, you have written a 
  product that the player will only experience half 
  of. It’s great for replay-ability, if the player next 
  time chooses the other route, but it probably 
  should have been broken into two stories. 
  Event Placement. Bottlenecks facilitate one-
  time occurrences. They present opportunities to 
  change the scene, the passage of time, or a 
  companion’s exposition. 
  Bottleneck events are particularly useful for 
  introducing new characters to the story. Placing 
  introductions at bottlenecks helps you avoid 
  referring to the character prior to the 
  introduction.  
  Bottlenecks serve one-time events because they 
  are assumed to be unidirectional; the player 
  cannot go backward in the narrative or loop 
  around to reexperience them. If you write a 
  bottleneck that is multidirectional, as in location-
  based mapping, be sure to exclude events like 
  this. Because you might move events around 
  during editing, it can be useful to note everything 
  associated with a particular bottleneck on a 
  diagram of text parts. 
  Tree Bottlenecks. Most tree mapping is 
  unidirectional already. No backtracking takes the 
  player to “prior” text parts. However, the ever-
  branching nature of tree mapping makes 
  bottlenecks crucial for other reasons. 
  A bottleneck can occur in tree mapping if all the 
  branches eventually bind into one another; the 
  options are narrowed with each binding, until 
  eventually the player must experience a single 
  particular text part. 
  Locational Bottlenecks. Bottlenecks in 
  locational mapping are often dramatic events that 
  pull the character out of that location, preventing 
  a return to the adventure’s previous choice-of-
  directions structure. 
  Locational bottlenecks occur typically at a 
  resolution point; the character has, through 
  stealth and strength of arms, penetrated the 
  villain’s lair and made it to the secret laboratory 
  where the villain awaits. Although the lair was 
  explorable through locational mapping, the 
  character cannot leave the island fortress without 
  eventually coming to this laboratory, and once 
  here, the character does not have the option to go 
  back to exploration. The protagonist will have to 
  fight the villain to the death before leaving this 
  room and, if successful, narrative text will instead 
  transition the story into the next chapter. 
  Players can perceive bottlenecks as confining, or 
  as having negated the effect of past choices 
  because all players are eventually routed through 
  those text parts. No matter what decisions the 
  player makes, every character will have an 
  identical experience passing a bottleneck. 
  In normal interactive story-writing, decisions 
  made prior to bottlenecks use state-setting 
  techniques, what we call event gates, to carry the 
  results of past decisions forward to the far side of 
  bottlenecks. (Future options ask about the 
  existence of past events.) However, the effect of 
  past events on future ones is sometimes 
  unnoticed during play. Therefore, it is important 
  to give non-event bottlenecks low levels of 
  visibility, making them less distinguishable from 
  other branching routes, or to set bottlenecks only 
  where expected such as at the start and end of 
  each chapter. 
  Ends are text parts that have no prompts. Upon 
  reaching one, the story ends, and the adventure is 
  over. Ends can represent either negative 
  outcomes (dead ends) or positive outcomes (live 
  ends). 
  
  39 | SOLO CREATOR’S GUIDEBOOK 
  Dead ends typically occur when the protagonist is 
  reduced to 0 hit points after taking damage from 
  combat, from traps, or from other hazards. These 
  are also called “dice ends.” Dead ends that result 
  from poor choices are called “decision ends.” 
  Dice Ends. Dice ends must be carefully 
  scripted. Following combats, you must consider 
  whether the player will get to roll death saving 
  throws, or if there are circumstances allowing for 
  the character’s salvation or resurrection. 
  It is easy to forget, when applying small 
  amounts of environmental damage, that these 
  events should also spawn prompts to a related 
  dead end. Although you may not anticipate that 
  scraping against something sharp and losing 1 hit 
  point could end the story, it is possible that the 
  character had only 1 hit point at that time. Every 
  infliction of damage or exhaustion must therefore 
  have a prompt to a dead end. That prompt will be 
  event-gated to the character having been reduced 
  to 0 hit points or achieving the final level of 
  exhaustion. 
  Decision Ends. A decision end is arrived at 
  because of the player’s choices. These should be 
  used rarely and should never appear randomly or 
  without warning. A decision end should be the 
  terminus of a series of bad decisions. For best 
  results, try layering choices that sound 
  increasingly dangerous as the player progresses 
  toward a dead end. Otherwise, the ending is 
  arbitrary, just as likely to result from the writer’s 
  failure to convey the choice’s danger as to result 
  from the player’s failure to heed that danger. 
  When writing a decision end, it is acceptable to 
  use story information to give clues as to how to 
  avoid the end. Particularly if you have given 
  optional reading to the player, perhaps in an 
  appendix, it is okay to reward the players who 
  diligently examine those hints. 
  As a guideline, put no decision ends in the first 
  half of your adventure. A quick failure makes the 
  player feel cheated out of the experience of the 
  product. It is better for failure to occur nearer to 
  the quest’s conclusion. Particularly avoid letting 
  the player opt out of the whole adventure near its 
  outset, leading to a dead end. Don’t let the player 
  choose to ignore the adventure’s call to action. 
  This old trope is entirely unnecessary; a player 
  using your product has already selected a 
  character that will bite at the hooks if you’ve 
  properly labelled the adventure. 
  Death is Always a Dice End. Reserve dead 
  ends for events that derail the quest, not ones 
  that kill the character. 
  Although some events are understandably 
  lethal-sounding—falling from an impossible 
  height or consuming the un-survivable poison—
  this is a game of DUNGEONS & DRAGONS. Some 
  characters will therefore be equipped to handle 
  any ultra-lethal scenarios you devise. A character 
  with the feather fall spell prepared will not die 
  from falling, and there are several features or 
  traits that convey immunity to poison. 
  In the case of a dead end that should result in 
  the protagonist’s death, dice out the death. Write, 
  “You take 20d6 falling damage” rather than 
  writing “You die from the fall.” Then prompt for a 
  dead end based on whether the character died. 
  Even if the “un-survivable” poison is so potent 
  as to bypass the monk’s poison immunity 
  (especially if it might bypass it) don’t use death as 
  a decision end; invalidating the character’s 
  features and simultaneously killing the character 
  is just stacking insult upon injury. 
  
   
  METASTRUCTURE | 40 
  A live end likewise has no prompts. The story 
  ends there, but in this case, ending in a way 
  favorable to the protagonist, with the success of 
  the mission. 
  Most adventures have only one live end, at the 
  conclusion of the story in the final chapter. But 
  some may include several live ends in order to 
  regulate variable degrees of success and reward, 
  or to address endings where multiple goals were 
  reached in different combinations. 
  Collections of text parts in single player 
  interactive adventures appear in various 
  configurations called tracks. This is true 
  regardless of the mapping type used and 
  regardless of whether the author recognizes the 
  existence of these small-scale structures. 
  Tracks tend to fall into recognizable categories, 
  each with advantages and disadvantages. A 
  writer who understands these configurations can 
  create and utilize them purposefully and to good 
  effect. 
  The central track structure progresses along a 
  single line of text parts. When deviations appear, 
  they are leaves rather than branches, or they 
  immediately route the player back to the central 
  track. Every player has roughly the same 
  experiences through a central track portion of the 
  adventure. 
  These collections of text parts can easily support 
  a strong narrative. The lack of decision points 
  allows the story to remain central because there 
  are few distractions. The long string of text parts 
  can support a lot of narrative text without 
  individual text parts appearing to be too long. 
  Additionally, this configuration is easy to write 
  with. The metastructure is mostly nonexistent, so 
  the writer can ignore most of the tools used to 
  construct interactive adventures. 
  A strong central story in this form means that the 
  adventure’s replay-ability value is low; the player 
  will already have experienced everything the 
  adventure has to offer, and the story will feel 
  unchanged in later playthroughs. A central track 
  configuration plays more like reading a novel, 
  one that simply avoids describing its protagonist. 
  Because central track structures lack the 
  capacity to change in response to player choices, 
  they are also devoid of player agency. This is 
  quickly evident to the player because the 
  metastructure is hard to disguise; the player will 
  soon realize that decisions are not affecting the 
  course of the story or its outcomes. The reduced 
  “interactive” nature of such adventures 
  correspondingly reduces the player’s enjoyment. 
  A variation of the central track, this configuration 
  has more extensive leaves or it has forks leading 
  in many directions, but these parts return quickly 
  to bottlenecks. 
  This configuration allows the player to explore 
  encountered elements without progressing the 
  central storyline. The route returns to the central 
  track before going too far, instead of moving 
  toward the story’s conclusion in parallel with 
  
  41 | SOLO CREATOR’S GUIDEBOOK 
  other branches. These explorations do not allow 
  the player to miss any of the core narrative. 
  This structure shares many of the drawbacks of a 
  central track, simply in lesser degrees. In trade, 
  the striated track enjoys less of the central track’s 
  advantages; it is less supporting of a strong 
  narrative because it adds more distracting 
  options. 
  Parallel tracks maintain strings of text parts 
  separate from one another, each advancing 
  toward the end of the story. They may or may not 
  rejoin at bottlenecks along the way. 
  An adventure composed entirely of parallel 
  tracks creates as many distinct, separate 
  adventures as it has parallel branches. For 
  example, if your story splits into three branches 
  right away, and each branch ends at the story’s 
  conclusion, you have effectively written three 
  different adventures. 
  Parallel tracks appear more often in segments, 
  with bottlenecks bringing the separate threads 
  back together multiple times within a chapter. 
  This is the most common configuration for single 
  player interactive adventures, used in a variety of 
  story situations. 
  Parallel tracks give significant meaning and effect 
  to the player’s choices, allowing those threads to 
  go on to satisfying lengths. Because they run past 
  other events happening on separate tracks, 
  parallel tracks create meaning in player choices 
  because they can both add events to and remove 
  (bypass) events from the character’s adventure. 
  Every parallel branch represents a collection of 
  text parts that the player can bypass on another 
  route. When you create parallel tracks, you are 
  creating experiences exclusive to the characters 
  that route through them, experiences that will be 
  missed by characters on other routes. Although 
  these configurations are the hallmark of good 
  interactive adventures, a writer must be mindful 
  of how much of the adventure will be 
  experienced by every player (as central or 
  striated tracks) and how much can be skipped 
  (on parallel tracks or in nodes). 
  Node tracks have clusters of text parts, often 
  extensive clusters. This structure allows in-depth 
  exploration or conversation localized to one area 
  of the story. 
  Nodes allow you to write significant deviations 
  from the story’s route, deviations that can be 
  opted out of. These configurations are typically 
  used to provide information to players that want 
  to take the time to pursue it. These exposition 
  
   
  METASTRUCTURE | 42 
  nodes make for excellent exposition or in-depth 
  lore but are easily skipped. 
  For example, a library might give the chance to 
  read through multiple books, each of which could 
  have lengthy narrative text with clues that are 
  useful later in the adventure. A player that wants 
  to skip past this to the action can opt to skip this 
  lore node by leaving the library and continuing 
  with the adventure. 
  Expository nodes are particularly useful in the 
  context of replay-ability. Nodes that offer only 
  information can be skipped over by players that 
  have already read them in prior playthroughs. 
  A popular version of this configuration is the 
  conversation node. A nonplayer character might 
  offer a chance for an extensive conversation, its 
  text parts appearing in a node off the main route. 
  Conversation nodes typically have a text part 
  with a topic menu presented as a set of options. 
  Each entry on the menu can lead to a leaf with a 
  recursive prompt back to that menu or can lead 
  to a sub-topic menu with more dialogue choices. 
  The player can also opt to return to the main 
  story route from any topic menu, ending 
  exploration of the node. 
  Divergences in this configuration usually exist for 
  a reason, providing clues or otherwise preparing 
  the protagonist for what comes later. If nodes are 
  gated, they can represent significant segments of 
  the adventure that are not accessible to the 
  reader. 
  In the same way, if the reader does not diverge 
  onto any of these node routes, the adventure will 
  be significantly shorter than intended. This often 
  occurs when significant confrontations or whole 
  scenes can be skipped with a single Charisma-
  based check or some other quick bypass. If you 
  allow the protagonist to talk its way out of every 
  combat, the adventure becomes much shorter. 
  Multiplying tracks occur when one text part 
  prompts into multiple new text parts, each of 
  which prompt into multiple new text parts. This 
  pattern can continue until the end of the 
  adventure, creating a very broad but shallow 
  route. 
  This configuration allows the writer to present 
  and parse complex options (or sets of interacting 
  options) within a narrow segment of the 
  adventure. 
  Multiplying tracks also have the ability to give 
  the player extensive agency; each choice leads to 
  a text part that can only be reached by that 
  combination of choices. Even a single different 
  decision makes a playthrough unique as it routs 
  through a zone of multiplying tracks. 
  Although multiplying tracks give players many 
  different experiences, most of those alternative 
  
  43 | SOLO CREATOR’S GUIDEBOOK 
  text parts exist later in the game. These 
  structures are fundamentally narrower at the 
  start and wider at the finish. Each replay 
  therefore requires the character to go deeper into 
  the story before seeing new text parts. 
  Multiplying tracks also present shallow, broad 
  adventure segments. If each segment presents 
  three options, one decision point requires writing 
  four text parts, two decision points requires 12 
  more text parts, three decision points requires 39 
  text parts, and so on. The amount of writing 
  quickly grows to an unmanageable load unless 
  the multiplying aspect is cut off and text parts 
  bottlenecked into one another. Otherwise, a full-
  size adventure of 350 text parts in a multiplying 
  track might give the player only five decisions to 
  make and a mere six text parts to read on each 
  playthrough. 
  Diagramming is the process of mapping your text 
  parts and their connections in a visual medium. A 
  diagram lets you examine the connection of text 
  parts to see where inconsistencies occur or 
  where connections were forgotten. 
  Importantly, seeing a diagram also lets you 
  identify routes that dramatically modify your 
  adventure’s intended length. Diagramming 
  further lets you avoid errors in linear structure, 
  particularly references to events that have yet to 
  happen. A nonplayer character shouldn’t say “we 
  meet again” if that text part can be reached prior 
  to meeting the nonplayer character for the first 
  time. 
  Some writers may choose not to diagram. 
  There are writing styles that support this 
  approach, particularly those that use “analogue” 
  methods, but such adventures tend to be simple 
  and use few of the tools that make interactive 
  adventures truly interactive. 
  In the 1980s, Joe Dever started his famous 
  interactive adventure series, the Lone Wolf 
  adventures. He used large, individual sheets of 
  paper to contain each of his hand-written text 
  parts and he linked them to one another 
  manually using string, tape, and staples. 
  Modern “analogue” techniques are not so basic. 
  Word processing software is so powerful and 
  ubiquitous as to completely displace writing by 
  hand or with mechanical typewriters. Instead, the 
  term “analogue” refers to the placement of text 
  parts without a diagram, without using data-
  mapping software or even a hand-drawn map. 
  Despite the usefulness and availability of such 
  software, the configuration of many existing 
  single-player adventures reveals that analogue 
  diagraming methods remain in widespread use. 
  For those writers not ready to employ data-flow 
  mapping, the following methods may suffice for 
  keeping track of text parts. 
  The creation and expansion of scaffolds naturally 
  leads to a simple, chronological order of text 
  parts. The basic order method calls for leaving 
  these text parts where they appear, without other 
  tracking methods, at least during composition. As 
  you create and cut scaffolds, your parts stay in 
  the order the player will encounter them, to the 
  degree that intervening forks and branches will 
  allow. 
  To maintain this structure, insert each new 
  scaffold into the existing document of text parts, 
  doing so in whole at the new scaffold’s initiating 
  fork. Then cut the scaffold into its own parts and 
  note its forking points, if any. New forks within 
  the new branch are ignored initially, then 
  returned to for completion later, using this same 
  method. 
  The basic order’s method allows you to compose 
  everything using only a word processing 
  
   
  METASTRUCTURE | 44 
  program. By carefully keeping track of which 
  forks haven’t been scaffolded yet and completing 
  each scaffold before going on to the next, you are 
  not likely to forget to write any of your 
  adventure’s routes. 
  The basic order method is a good choice for 
  starting writers who are new to the process of 
  structuring text parts in interactive adventures. It 
  pairs well with simple structures and, when it 
  reveals the challenges that better diagraming can 
  avoid, it does so gently. 
  The direct insertion of scaffolds creates a 
  configuration of text parts that is hard to analyze. 
  Using the basic order method, text parts initially 
  appear in an order that makes sense. However, 
  that structure quickly loses shape with the 
  insertion of additional scaffolds. 
  This lack of observable structure can hinder 
  your creation process. It obfuscates the pacing of 
  the story and the timing of events relative to 
  other events and routes. Moreover, because 
  complex routes aren’t well-supported in a basic 
  order composition, this method encourages 
  rudimentary configurations of text parts.  
  Without a diagram, you can keep track of text 
  parts by assigning a phase to each. This lets you 
  quantify where each text part appears 
  chronologically in the story, something important 
  to certain timing-dependent adventures. On a 
  macro-scale, the use of chapters is one type of 
  chronological meter. 
  Within chapters, phase markers can be created 
  in a couple of ways. One method is to use 
  separate pages to indicate the passage of time, 
  however abstract. Use page breaks and 
  conspicuous headings to partition these phases in 
  your document. All events that take place at 
  roughly the same time appear on the same page. 
  (Note that phase “pages” often grow to be 
  multiple pages in length.) 
  Another method is to simply add a separate 
  indicator title for each text part, assigning it to a 
  particular phase. For example, “Part 0010-003” 
  and “Part 0010-215” both occur around the same 
  time. When you write these text parts, you can 
  look at every other text part prefixed “0010” and 
  know exactly what is happening at the same time 
  on different routes. Using this method, you 
  should make a list of chronological events that 
  serve as guideposts, pre-numbering your text 
  parts around them. 
  Chronological meter can be a powerful tool when 
  writing parallel branches. It can help you track 
  the pacing of your adventure, letting you know 
  when to reconnect routes sensibly. It also helps to 
  avoid advancing time at different rates on those 
  parallel branches. 
  Moving text parts around is a more cumbersome 
  approach than the basic order method. 
  Depending on the complexity of your branches, 
  the number of text parts each includes, you may 
  find this organization to provide more work than 
  value. 
  Software easily replaces the tape-and-string 
  methods of yesteryear. Electronic data mapping 
  programs are easy to use and are often free or 
  very affordable. While this product is not a survey 
  of software, it does refer to serval easy options. 
  This product doesn’t go beyond a few basic, easy-
  to-use software options. However, if you are 
  willing to learn some new skill sets, perhaps 
  some simple coding like Markup, you can 
  leverage more powerful tools. 
  The majority of these programs are not 
  designed to create character sheet-based 
  interactions; most support simple, choice-based 
  interactive stories without reference to character 
  
  45 | SOLO CREATOR’S GUIDEBOOK 
  states or sheets. Others just help you map data 
  flows. Regardless, each can be useful for 
  organizing and parsing your text or for testing the 
  integrity of your story routes. 
  These example programs, presented 
  alphabetically, provide a variety of tools for 
  tracking your text parts: Adrift, articy:draft, Chat 
  Mapper, ChoiceScript (or Chronicler), Inform, 
  oStorybook, Playfic, Scrivener, TADS 3, 
  TalkerMaker Deluxe, Twine, Undum, XMind, or 
  yWriter 6. Some of these may have associated 
  costs but many more of them (and similar 
  programs) are available as free or open-source 
  alternatives. The links here are just the tip of the 
  iceberg! 
  For reference, most of the diagram illustrations 
  in this product are screenshots taken of Draw.io, 
  which has a free web application and desktop 
  version. 
  Another popular tool is Microsoft’s OneNote, an 
  illustration of which is shown below. This 
  program is useful for organizing information sets 
  in a waterfall configuration, making it an easy 
  first step when migrating from analogue methods 
  to software-based architecture. OneNote for 
  Windows 10 comes pre-installed on every 
  version of Windows 10, and it’s included in Office 
  365 and recent Office suites. Good alternatives 
  include Simplenote and Evernote. 
   
   
   
  
   
  CHALLENGE GATES | 46 
   
   
  
  47 | SOLO CREATOR’S GUIDEBOOK 
  CHAPTER THREE 
  “Nobody challenges me. I challenge 
  myself.” 
  - Shakuntala Devi 
  ATES ARE FACTORS THAT LIMIT THE ROUTING 
  in your adventure. Like literal locked 
  gates, characters cannot pass them 
  without the applicable keys. 
  Because gates are generally overcome using 
  character sheets, they are the distinguishing 
  aspect of interactive adventures based on the 
  DUNGEONS & DRAGONS Roleplaying Game. Without 
  gates, your product is merely an interactive novel 
  that branches without restrictions or 
  prerequisites. 
  Gates particularly provide different 
  experiences to players of different character 
  types. 
   
  CHALLENGE GATES SUMMARY 
  This chapter covers the following topics. 
   
  • Gate Notation. Formatting gates and 
  controlling how the player interacts 
  with them. 
  • Basic Gates. A description of the several 
  flavors of basic gates and how to use 
  them in your adventure. 
  • Feature Gates. Designing gates that rely 
  upon features of the character sheet to 
  bypass, plus a list of keys that match 
  these gates. 
  The ability to access a gate usually gives the 
  protagonist a new option for proceeding through 
  the story. Alternately, what lies behind it is extra 
  information, avoidance of harm or detection, or 
  another benefit for the qualifying character. 
  A gate can also hamper a character. For 
  example, the reader may be instructed to go to a 
  particular text part if the character has 
  established a hostile relationship with a 
  nonplayer character. The door guard might, upon 
  seeing the character approach, go inside and bar 
  the door, then refuse to listen to any pleas for 
  entry. This forecloses options that would be 
  available to other characters. 
  A character qualifies for a gate in one of several 
  ways. Commonly, a character passes a gate by 
  making a sufficiently-high roll of some kind. 
  Other gates allow access only to characters that 
  possess a feature, trait, skill, spell, item, or other 
  relevant effect. Finally, some gates are only 
  accessible to characters that have experienced a 
  specific event or encounter, like having found a 
  codeword or, as previously-illustrated, having 
  established a prior relationship with a door 
  guard. 
  Gates are easier to process if they use a 
  consistent appearance. This section covers the 
  notation of gates, and how to handle complex 
  gate scenarios, particularly when multiple gates 
  exist or when multiple keys apply to a single gate. 
  
   
  CHALLENGE GATES | 48 
  If an option has a gate, there are several ways you 
  can present it. 
  An interactive adventure should develop its own 
  style for gate notation. For SOLITAIRES from 
  Wraith Wright Productions, gated options are 
  preceded by a stated requirement in {braces} 
  using SMALL CAPS. This change in formatting helps 
  to draw the eye. For example: 
  {CLASS FEATURE: PACT MAGIC} Go to Part 017. 
  Natural language can be useful for clarifying the 
  intent of a gate. This is particularly true where 
  the prerequisite cannot be stated in short terms.  
  The following example is a gate that selects for 
  “primary” spellcasting classes and omits 
  secondary and tertiary casters (paladins, rangers, 
  arcane tricksters, and eldritch knights). 
  If you have the Spellcasting feature and it provides 
  you with cantrips, go to Part 034. 
  Where useful, you can combine both techniques. 
  This can help if you normally use a notation form, 
  but you encounter a prerequisite that needs 
  natural language to explain. Examples: 
  {CLASS FEATURE: PACT MAGIC} If you gained 
  magical capabilities from an otherworldly 
  patron, go to Part 017. 
  {CLASS FEATURE: SPELLCASTING + CANTRIPS} If you 
  have the Spellcasting feature and it provides you 
  with cantrips, go to Part 034. 
  In scenarios with multiple gates, you might want 
  to prioritize options, particularly when some 
  produce better results or when you are using 
  gates to differentiate character types.  
  For example, if a character has the keys to 
  multiple gates, but one gate is more important for 
  the character to select than the other, these 
  techniques can help narrow or expand the 
  player’s choice. 
  If you want to single out one gate and require the 
  character to use it if possible, you can put that 
  gate in instructive text rather than the normal set 
  of options. This forces the reader to engage with 
  the prioritized gate before reaching the 
  alternatives in the option set. 
  The following gate options are designed to 
  discover the best kind of armor the character can 
  use. Of foremost importance, the writer wants to 
  know if the character can use metal armor. 
  {CLASS FEATURE: DRUIDIC} If you are forbidden 
  from wearing metal armor by the pacts you 
  made with forces of nature, go to Part 021. 
  Otherwise, choose one of the following options. 
  • If you are proficient with splint armor, go to 
  Part 024. 
  • If you are not proficient with splint armor but 
  are proficient with a breastplate, go to Part 
  031. 
  • If you are not proficient with a breastplate but 
  are proficient with leather armor, go to Part 
  033. 
  • If you are not proficient with any armor, go to 
  Part 003. 
   
  By placing the preeminent gate in the 
  instructive text, a character with that key must 
  use it. (Instructive text is always processed 
  immediately upon reading it, before continuing 
  through the text part.) 
  The prior example also uses layered options. 
  These are gated options presented in order of 
  priority. Each successive option gates out a 
  character that could have used the prior option. 
  Omitting prior options in a layered approach 
  
  49 | SOLO CREATOR’S GUIDEBOOK 
  usually requires natural language, or it requires 
  combining natural language with standard-form 
  gates. 
  Sometimes a gate is passable by multiple 
  methods, making it a mixed gate. Notation can get 
  tricky when trying to list all the requirements. 
  Here is an example for a prisoner who has 
  escaped from an isolated fortress and is 
  wandering through the wilds without provisions. 
  {BACKGROUND FEATURE: WANDERER or WISDOM 
  (SURVIVAL) DC 15} To forage for food, go to Part 
  025. Reduce the Wisdom (Survival) DC to 10 
  and apply advantage if you have the Natural 
  Explorer class feature related to “mountain” 
  terrain. 
  If you cannot successfully forage for food, note 
  that you have missed 1 meal (or 1 additional 
  meal) and go to Part 031. 
   
  In some cases, the combination of prerequisites 
  can get so lengthy or cumbersome that you might 
  want to break them into multiple options. 
  Prompting to the same text part multiple times 
  within the same set of options is normally 
  discouraged because it gives the impression that 
  the player’s choice is meaningless. However, this 
  example is acceptable because it is not a case of 
  negating player decisions; the outcome of finding 
  food is obvious for these options, and the gates 
  simply and clearly describe multiple approaches 
  to reach it. 
  {BACKGROUND FEATURE: WANDERER} To 
  automatically forage for food, go to Part 025. 
  {NATURAL EXPLORER (MOUNTAIN) + WISDOM 
  (SURVIVAL) DC 10} if you have the Natural 
  Explorer class feature related to “mountain” 
  terrain, you can forage for food with this ability 
  check, going to Part 025. 
  {WISDOM (SURVIVAL) DC 15} If you do not have 
  the Natural Explorer feature related to 
  “mountain” terrain, you can forage for food 
  with this ability check by going to Part 025. 
  If you cannot successfully forage for food, note 
  that you have missed 1 meal (or 1 additional 
  meal) and go to Part 031. 
   
  Notice that the third option uses language 
  exclusive of the second option; you don’t want a 
  ranger to fail the first check and then get another 
  chance to roll because you presented it in a 
  separate option. 
  Further note that each of these options is listed 
  in a logical order of preference to the player. The 
  first is for automatic benefits, the second for an 
  easy DC, and the third for a harder DC. The final 
  option is the worst of all; automatic failure to 
  forage. Being consistent with your order of 
  preference helps players understand which of the 
  presented options will be easier to use or will 
  present better results, even if the options do not 
  otherwise appear to be so stratified. 
  Basic gates call for a single factor to bypass. They 
  appear in three forms: event gates, roll gates, and 
  feature gates. 
  Event gates are passed when a character that 
  has undergone a particular event; something the 
  player has seen or accomplished affects how the 
  current scenario plays out. 
  Roll gates require a roll of some kind. They 
  usually reward characters that are focused on the 
  skills or aptitudes that modify the roll, but dice 
  are fickle; these gates are perfectly capable of 
  blocking those same characters. 
  Feature gates ask for some feature of the 
  player’s character sheet. Like roll gates, they tend 
  to reward characters of certain types, but do so 
  without the uncertainty of roll results. 
  
   
  CHALLENGE GATES | 50 
  Event gates are the simplest form of gates. They 
  hide text parts behind the player’s prior 
  decisions, ones that led the protagonist through a 
  previous experience or encounter. This type of 
  gate makes no reference to the player’s choices in 
  character-building or to die rolls; it only matters 
  how the player navigated previous text parts. For 
  example, a character that failed to find the 
  missing ruby will not be able to claim a reward 
  when the option appears to hand over that gem 
  to the authorities. 
  Some event gates are actually disguised versions 
  of other gates. If the prerequisite experience or 
  encounter was only possible because another 
  type of gate was passed, it is actually a gate of the 
  previous type. 
  For example, a gate that requires a character to 
  have previously met a certain non-player 
  character is normally an event gate. But if that 
  non-player character could only have been 
  noticed (and thus met) by succeeding at a 
  Wisdom (Perception) check, the gate is instead a 
  roll gate disguised as an event gate. 
  Disguised gates might incorporate the results of 
  multiple gate types or exist at the end of long 
  chains of disguised gates that began with 
  something like a single ability check. 
  Using disguised gates can serve as a shorthand 
  for having accomplished things in various 
  different ways. Typically, it is only the results of 
  certain events that matter. For example, if there 
  were four ways to recover the ruby, each with a 
  gate, the only thing that matters at this point in 
  the story is the fact of the ruby’s recovery. 
  These disguised gates fit easily into the natural 
  flow of the narrative. Most disguised gates appear 
  in a way that seems not to reference the 
  underlying gate, but rather, what it led to. 
  Perhaps a character found a clue and, when the 
  time comes to apply that clue, the effect seems 
  unrelated. The possibilities are myriad. 
  For example, a character learns from the 
  Count’s diary that pulling a wall sconce opens a 
  secret door in a particular room. If the text part 
  for that room simply provides an option to pull a 
  wall sconce, the player will try it even without 
  having learned the clue, as though pulling sconces 
  is something the character does everywhere. 
  However, asking for an event (having read the 
  Count’s diary), is just the same as asking if the 
  character knows to pull the wall sconce. When 
  the player passes that event gate, the secret door 
  opens. 
  A disguised gate can also serve to purposefully 
  obfuscate a prerequisite. If you want an option to 
  hinge upon one of the character’s assorted 
  capabilities but you don’t want the player to 
  recognize the original gate, a disguised gate may 
  serve that function. This usually takes the form of 
  a feature gate that leads to specific information. 
  When that information is later presented as an 
  event gate, the disguise makes the result seem 
  story-based rather than game mechanics-based. 
  This method is particularly useful if you are 
  attempting to route characters into different 
  branches based on their ability to manage certain 
  challenges. If you want to reserve the toughest 
  version of a fight to the characters that can 
  handle it, you don’t want to write a gate asking 
  the character’s Armor Class or number of hit 
  points, particularly not when a combat seems 
  eminent. Events in a story shouldn’t appear to 
  turn on such factors. 
  Instead, a prior gate might ask whether a 
  character is proficient in shields when the 
  character sees the prince’s fancy shield. Behind 
  that gate is information about the construction or 
  emblem of the observed shield. Later, when the 
  writer desires to put only heavy or medium-
  armored character classes onto a particular quest 
  branch, an event gate based on observations of 
  
  51 | SOLO CREATOR’S GUIDEBOOK 
  that shield will exclude characters that are not 
  proficient in medium or heavy armor since shield 
  proficiency only comes with heavy or medium 
  armor proficiency. 
  Sometimes you want to create a branch that is 
  exclusive to a specific type of character. 
  For example, only a wizard really cares about 
  finding a spellbook. A gate that allows only 
  wizards to see an arcane mark creates an event 
  that can later be referred to when plundering an 
  enemy wizard’s lair. The wizard character, having 
  seen the special mark, knows exactly how the 
  spellbook is disguised. Excluded characters are 
  routed onto a parallel branch and find a different 
  treasure, perhaps just a rare book that can be 
  pawned for gold, or something else more class-
  appropriate. 
  This type of gate appears in two or more parts. 
  The first gate involves a decision or checks for a 
  feature that sets a persist “state” or a “flag” for 
  that character. Later in the adventure, the second 
  (and later) gates refer to that flag using callbacks. 
  The best flags to set are very memorable to the 
  player. This is important because flags usually 
  aren’t noted on the character sheet as flags; 
  they’re just events the player will be asked to 
  recall from earlier in the adventure. (These might 
  even call back to previous adventures if you are 
  writing an adventure path.) Flags should also be 
  easy to summarize so you can write them simply 
  into instructive text or options. “If you were able 
  to read the wizard’s notes in the forgotten 
  tomb…” is probably not as memorable an event 
  gate as asking if the character has interpreted the 
  unholy vermillion rune hidden within those notes. 
  Part Numbers as Clues. Here is a more-
  complex example of a special-use gate. You 
  previously set two gates for deciphering a diary 
  that contains a safe code. The first gate checks for 
  the Thieves’ Cant feature. If the character doesn’t 
  have it, the secondary gate asks for a successful 
  Intelligence check. 
  From the way the gates are written, the player 
  gets the impression that Thieves’ Cant simply 
  bypasses the Intelligence check. However, a 
  rogue will find a different code number than a 
  character that makes the Intelligence check. 
  Therefore, there are two possible flags that get 
  set for later reference.  
  When it comes time to apply the code (“If you 
  previously deciphered the safe code, add 20 to 
  that number and go to the corresponding text 
  part”), the rogue’s flag is different and leads to a 
  different outcome than other characters get; its 
  code will produce a different sum and thus a 
  different text part. The goal of presenting the 
  gates this way is to hide the fact that the safe 
  holds a rogue-specific magic item only when a 
  rogue opens it. Very astute players may puzzle 
  this out, but most will not. 
  A variation of the event gate is the clue gate; the 
  player has encountered an event (the 
  presentation of a clue) but the player must 
  interpret the information to make use of it. 
  A clue gate is typically described by narrative 
  text, but it can also exist in an illustration. For 
  example, a number hidden in a picture can tell 
  the player which text part to navigate to when 
  prompted. 
  A clue gate might be subtle, not much 
  resembling a gate at all. The clue might just be 
  information that allows the player to pick the 
  best of several options. For example, a note that 
  tells the character that the answer is “behind the 
  red door; all others are trapped” can save a lot of 
  suffering if the player interprets and applies the 
  clue at the right time. Knowing the intended 
  direction of travel is similarly useful if given a 
  choice of crossroads. A character that doesn’t 
  know the overall direction to the castle (perhaps 
  having not looked at the map provided) might 
  choose the wrong path. 
  
   
  CHALLENGE GATES | 52 
  Note that clue gates aren’t usually true “gates” 
  because a lucky player can access the correct 
  route simply by guessing. 
  Roll gates require the player to achieve a result or 
  range of results using a defined roll. 
  Some roll gates call for fully-random results, with 
  no modifications from character sheets or player 
  choices. The writer sets the odds and describes 
  the die roll accordingly. For example, the results 
  of a gambling event, like a horse race or a dice 
  game, may come down to a random result. 
  If you are seeking a truly-random roll, be aware 
  that calling something a saving throw, ability 
  check, attack roll, or damage roll, will allow it to 
  be modified or re-rolled by certain effects like the 
  Lucky feat or Great Weapon Fighting feature. If 
  you want a roll gate to be untouched by such 
  effects, do not categorize the roll as anything 
  more specific than a die roll. 
  Nearly all ability checks in the DUNGEONS & 
  DRAGONS Roleplaying Game use skill-based 
  bonuses. However, this is not always the case. 
  Some activities in the standard rules have no 
  associated skills. See the Key Checklist section 
  below for a list of the non-skill rolls given in the 
  Player’s Handbook. 
  When you create a roll gate, you might have to 
  consider whether the player will be allowed to 
  roll before choosing that option. Usually it won’t 
  matter. A player makes a roll for the preferred 
  option and, if unsuccessful, simply tries another 
  of the provided options. However, sometimes 
  making the check should commit a character to 
  the result. Just making the check might take extra 
  time in a scenario where time is being tracked, or 
  it might impose a detrimental outcome if the roll 
  is failed. In such cases, a character should first 
  commit to the attempt and have no way to back 
  out of it. 
  The writer controls commitment through the 
  structure of text. Imagine this scenario. The 
  player is given a choice to stop and disarm a trap 
  while racing through a dungeon. Failure can slow 
  the rate of progress and might spring a trap. To 
  commit the player, the set of prompts would 
  include the option to attempt the disarmament 
  and give some idea of how much time it would 
  take. The text structure calls for a check only after 
  the player has chosen that option. That next text 
  part would include prompts for success and for 
  failure; at that point, the player will not be given 
  the option to leave the trap alone. 
  Except when a good reason requires 
  commitment to a roll ahead of time, standard 
  SOLITAIRES from Wraith Wright Productions allow 
  players to roll every check in a set of options 
  before choosing which option to take. This gives 
  players the freedom to test how well their 
  characters can meet gate requirements before 
  choosing one. 
  Ability checks create unreliable outcomes 
  because a d20 produces a random result within a 
  range of 20 points. Even at their maximums, the 
  ability check bonuses (ability modifier and 
  proficiency bonus), stretch only about half the 
  width of that variable. 
  This has two important implications. First, a 
  high total bonus is only reliable against the very 
  lowest DCs. Even a character competent in that 
  field may fail an easy check. Second, a novice may 
  also succeed against a DC established to challenge 
  a competent character. 
  For example, if you create even odds for a 
  competent character at low level (a DC at about 
  15), the novice still has about a one-in-four 
  chance at success. Ability checks do not 
  substantially distinguish character sheets geared 
  toward their relevant activities. 
  
  53 | SOLO CREATOR’S GUIDEBOOK 
  This unpredictability means that a writer 
  should hesitate to use ability checks as gates for 
  anything that a skilled character should achieve 
  or that an unskilled character should not achieve. 
  Rather, ability checks should be applied to 
  achieve random outcomes that markedly (but not 
  overwhelmingly) favor characters adapted to 
  their pursuits. 
  When gating to test for characters geared 
  toward an activity, simply checking for 
  proficiency in a skill or for a passive check result 
  will create a more reliable test. 
  You might occasionally be tempted to create a 
  roll gate that forces the character to “earn” story 
  advancement through ability checks, particularly 
  for mysteries or in puzzle scenarios. However, 
  because you must also write the results of failing 
  a roll, you will quickly realize that the story must 
  have a progression path even when rolls fail. 
  Therefore, do not use roll gates when 
  something vital is at stake unless a separate 
  means of progression is available. Ideally, use 
  several options so that players can approach 
  problems from multiple directions. For example, 
  a secret door that the character must find could 
  require a Wisdom (Perception) check to notice, 
  but a less observant character could instead learn 
  of its presence through a conversation with the 
  building owner or by having pilfered the 
  building’s floor plan from a wall safe. Adding 
  multiple gates like this leads you through a 
  creative process that adds richer detail to your 
  adventure. 
  Particularly when you are leaving clues for a 
  mystery, a riddle, or a puzzle that you want the 
  player to guess at, do not gate vital clues behind 
  rolls alone. Neither should the solution be purely 
  down to the player guessing at solutions whose 
  difficulties you cannot properly gauge because 
  you already know the answers. A combination of 
  story enigmas (testing player smarts), with a 
  backup method of ability checks (testing 
  character smarts), is often best. Even then, the 
  story must have a route to progress through if 
  both the player and the character fail. 
  Chapter 7 of the Player’s Handbook has rules for 
  ability checks made without rolling. These 
  passive checks are imposed at the DM’s 
  discretion, or in this case, at the writer’s 
  discretion. Passive checks are suggested to 
  represent average results for repeated checks, or 
  to moderate checks kept secret from the player. 
  But in single-player adventures, passive skills 
  take on a new, more-important functionality: 
  imposing reliability. 
  A passive score can very-precisely gate for the 
  type of character geared toward its relevant 
  activity. This is particularly true when ability 
  scores are generated using the point-buy or 
  standard array methods. For example, in a 
  starting-level adventure, if you want only 
  characters focused on arcane lore to bypass a 
  gate, you are looking for a passive Intelligence 
  (Arcana) DC of 15. This assumes the character 
  will have a 16 or higher Intelligence score and 
  proficiency with the Arcana skill. There are 
  essentially no other combinations that meet this 
  passive DC (absent a sheet made with rolled 
  ability scores). No dilettante will randomly roll 
  past this static gate. 
  The “focused character” skill DC of 15 goes up 
  as your adventure’s intended character level goes 
  up. Increase it by one at levels 4 and 8, when 
  characters are likely to gain an Ability Score 
  Increase in their most important ability, and at 
  each of levels 5, 9, 13, and 17, when the level-
  based proficiency bonus rises. 
  If you want to increase potential access in 
  minor amounts, you can simply decrement the DC 
  point-by-point. This is more important to do with 
  higher level adventures, since a truly “focused” 
  character will have had to make several “correct” 
  character-building decision to maintain the 
  highest possible passive score. 
  
   
  CHALLENGE GATES | 54 
  Like ability checks, saving throws and attack rolls 
  use the wide-ranging d20 and so will not produce 
  reliable results when used as gates. Neither do 
  these have ready-made mechanics for testing flat 
  bonuses like the passive ability check system, and 
  only saving throws can gate based on a 
  character’s proficiency. 
  It is wise to reserve saving throws and attack 
  rolls for gates that are strictly associated with 
  their standard functions. A successful saving 
  throw might be appropriate for a gate based on 
  resisting a poison or disease, while multiple 
  attack rolls might suit a gate based on winning an 
  archery contest. 
  Feature gates are bypassed with “keys.” Keys are 
  required class features, background features, 
  racial traits, skill proficiencies, tool proficiencies, 
  weapon proficiencies, armor proficiencies, 
  languages, feats, spells, supernatural gifts, epic 
  boons, marks of prestige, magic items, creature 
  types and special traits, pieces of mundane 
  equipment, alignment, or some other particular 
  effect or capability that the player’s character 
  may possess or be defined by. 
  Where challenges or threats appear in the form of 
  gates, the effects or rolls that bypass them are 
  called gate keys. If your story presents a gate for 
  which a character has what should be a key, the 
  inability to use that key is jarring. For example, 
  not getting an option to fly out of a pit trap 
  disaffects the player of an aarakocra and draws 
  the player out of the story. 
  A comprehensive catalogue of keys appears in 
  this section, below. As you write, it can be helpful 
  to review the list to make sure you are not 
  forgetting to facilitate any gate keys that could 
  bypass the challenges or threats in your story. 
  While writing a scenario, and having reviewed 
  the checklist of gate keys, you might find dozens 
  of viable ways for the protagonist to respond. 
  Here are some approaches for handling scenes 
  that want too many keys, scenes that might 
  otherwise overwhelm the player with options. 
  It can sometimes be helpful to backtrack the 
  narrative and try to find a place where less has 
  happened and thus fewer responses are called 
  for. Finding that point, break the narrative text 
  into two or more text parts to support fewer 
  option prompts at the end of each. If you must, 
  rewrite the events of the scene to make them 
  more segmental or sequential, thus facilitating 
  your ability to divide them into multiple text 
  parts. The result is more text parts, but each text 
  part provides a smaller set of options and thus 
  asks for fewer keys. 
  You can combine gates with roughly-similar keys, 
  “genericizing” them. For example, you might 
  modify the text of a single gate to be bypassed by 
  multiple similar effects, like an ability check, a 
  spell or two, and a background trait. Then modify 
  the linked text part to read in a way that makes 
  sense no matter which key was applied to the 
  gate. Here is what that might look like: 
  You can stabilize Yves if you wish. Make a DC 10 
  Wisdom (Medicine) check, spend a healer’s kit 
  charge, cast spare the dying, cast any spell that 
  heals hit points, use Lay on Hands or another 
  healing feature, or administer any type of 
  potion of healing by going to Part 101. 
   
  A “genericized” gate looks more like this: 
  You can stabilize Yves if you wish. Make a DC 10 
  Wisdom (Medicine) check or apply some 
  equipment or magic that automatically 
  
  55 | SOLO CREATOR’S GUIDEBOOK 
  stabilizes or heals creatures by going to Part 
  101. 
   
  When the player goes to Part 101, the narrative 
  text will not describe which healing method was 
  used for the stabilization, only stating that Yves is 
  now stable. 
  It will be rare that multiple options are so 
  similar as those in this example, so you may have 
  to work a bit harder to combine gates. 
  If a large number of the possible responses to a 
  scene could be foreclosed by adding a few details, 
  you can winnow down the number of prompts 
  you have to write and simultaneously ratchet up 
  the stress and the stakes involved. To reuse the 
  example above, perhaps Yves is bleeding out 
  while in a zone of anti-magic. Suddenly, the only 
  options are mundane, either to pass a DC 10 
  Wisdom (Medicine) check or to spend a healer’s 
  kit charge. 
  If the scene is calling for a particularly-excessive 
  number of options, feel free to use all three tools; 
  split the scene, combine gates, and eliminate 
  possible keys. 
  The key checklist below reminds you of the 
  various features that characters might have so 
  you can determine where those might break your 
  story. This gives you a chance to restructure the 
  adventure to compensate or to add branches that 
  deal with unexpected keys. 
  Unfortunately, some keys are simply too 
  disruptive to compensate for. A Dungeon Master 
  in a normal campaign can alter the story for such 
  features, but in this static medium, some keys 
  would completely alter the adventure; you might 
  find yourself needing to write an entirely-
  different version of the adventure to compensate 
  for characters with one particular key. 
  For example, the Ghostly Gaze eldritch 
  invocation allows a character to see through 
  objects and use darkvision, up to a range of 30 
  feet. The number of scenarios this could alter is 
  staggering, and the effect on the adventure could 
  be extremely far-reaching. 
  Where this is the case, particularly when the 
  feature belongs to a rare type of character that is 
  extremely unlikely to appear, it is acceptable to 
  omit options for that key. Although invalidating 
  part of a character like this is undesirable, 
  facilitating every key at the cost of the adventure 
  is even less desirable. At some point you might 
  just have to decide that the key is unmanageable 
  and ignore its existence. 
  The higher the character level your adventure 
  calls for, the more often you will encounter such 
  story-breaking keys. Out of fairness to your 
  players, make a note of all omitted keys and 
  either name them specifically in the description 
  of the adventure, or describe those features with 
  general terms in the description. Let the players 
  know that those features will not be usable. This 
  is part of the essential information that tells your 
  player what character types work with the 
  adventure. 
  These checklists ensure you have accounted for 
  the various ways character traits and features can 
  bypass your threats and challenges. The list lets 
  you search through gate keys in just a handful of 
  pages, instead of having to comb through every 
  character option in every published book. 
  These checklists can also remind you to add 
  gates for forgotten features, ensuring that your 
  mixture of gates rewards a wide range of 
  character types. 
  The list here contemplates all official 5th 
  Edition books published at the time of this 
  product’s creation. 
  
   
  CHALLENGE GATES | 56 
  These are the most common gate keys, likely 
  accessible by a large number of characters. They 
  can be present regardless of the protagonist’s 
  character level. 
  These usually apply to roll gates but merely 
  checking for proficiency or the Expertise feature 
  can serve as a feature gate. 
  Some of the tools listed might be usable with 
  abilities different from the ones they appear with. 
  Artisan’s tools are omitted as they mostly apply 
  to downtime scenarios rather than adventure 
  gates. 
  Strength. Athletics; force open a stuck, locked, 
  or barred door; break free of bonds; push through 
  a tunnel that is too small; hang on to a wagon 
  while being dragged behind it 
  Dexterity. Acrobatics, Sleight of Hand, Stealth; 
  thieves’ tools, land vehicles, water vehicles; keep 
  from falling on tricky footing, securely tie up a 
  prisoner, wriggle free of bonds, craft a small or 
  detailed object 
  Constitution. Hold your breath, march or labor 
  for hours without rest, go without sleep, survive 
  without food or water, quaff an entire stein of ale 
  in one go 
  Intelligence. Arcana, History, Investigation, 
  Nature, Religion; forgery kit, herbalism kit, 
  navigator’s tools, poisoner’s kit; communicate 
  with a creature without using words, estimate the 
  value of a precious item, pull together a disguise to 
  pass as a city guard, forge a document, recall lore 
  about a craft or trade, win a game of skill 
  Wisdom. Animal Handling, Insight, Medicine, 
  Perception, Survival; get a gut feeling about what 
  course of action to follow, discern whether a 
  seemingly dead or living creature is undead 
  Charisma. Deception, Intimidation, 
  Performance, Persuasion; disguise kit; find the 
  best person to talk to for news, rumors, and gossip; 
  blend into a crowd to get the sense of key topics of 
  conversation 
  Gate keys for racial traits are mostly confined to 
  navigating odd terrain (flying speed, swimming 
  speed, and water breathing) and immunity to 
  certain conditions or environments. 
  Racial Traits. Amphibious (water breathing), 
  Aquatic Heritage (swimming speed), Child of the 
  Sea (swimming speed and water breathing), 
  Darkvision (see without light), Fey Ancestry 
  (immune to sleep), Flight (flying speed), Hold 
  Breath (15 minutes without air), Mimicry (mimic 
  sounds), Poison Immunity (immune to poisoned), 
  Radiant Soul (flying speed), Silent Speech 
  (telepathy if shared language), Speak with Small 
  Beasts (communicate with Small or Tiny beasts), 
  Speech of Beast and Leaf (understood by beasts 
  and plants), Swim (swimming speed), Trance 
  (immune to dreams and sleep), Warforged 
  Resilience (immune to dreams and sleep), 
  Winged (flying speed) 
  The special traits of creatures are listed here 
  because characters may have animal allies like 
  mounts, familiars, and beast companions. (Druids 
  can also duplicate some of these special traits by 
  taking animal forms.) This list is not exhaustive 
  because there are so many potential animals. 
  In addition to the special traits below, a writer 
  must be mindful that animal allies provide an 
  extra set of eyes and ears, making sensory 
  challenges much easier to overcome. They also 
  create an additional layer of security when the 
  protagonist sleeps. 
  Creature Special Traits. Amphibious (breath 
  under water), Blindsight (detect what is un-
  seeable), Darkvision (see in darkness), Detect 
  Invisibility (see invisible), Keen Smell (detect 
  unseen presence or track by smell), Keen Hearing 
  and Smell (detect unseen presence or track by 
  smell), Poison Sense (detect poisons) 
  Alignment in particular is disfavored as a gate. 
  Recent editions of DUNGEONS & DRAGONS have 
  
  57 | SOLO CREATOR’S GUIDEBOOK 
  moved away from the idea that alignment is 
  discernable or has any mechanical effect in the 
  game. In the current edition, there are barely any 
  systems that utilize alignment. To stay consistent 
  with the edition, avoid using alignment gates 
  whenever possible. 
  Language-based feature gates control 
  information provided by language-coded 
  messages. An enemy might shout instructions to 
  its allies in a rare language or otherwise betray 
  clues as to its motivations through language-
  based gating. Likewise, some secret lore might 
  only be available to a character that can read the 
  literal writing on the wall. 
  The frequency of language gates should be 
  sufficient to reward players’ language choices. 
  However, exotic-category languages should be 
  treated as just that, exotic. Their gates should 
  appear less frequently than standard languages. 
  Additionally, be aware that some published 
  campaign settings omit some languages, add new 
  languages, change the rarity of languages, or 
  combine languages. 
  When gating written languages, remember to 
  identify the script in the gate. Only six alphabets 
  are used across every standard and exotic 
  language in the Player’s Handbook, so a character 
  is certain to recognize the alphabet even without 
  being able to read the language. 
  Standard Languages. Common (typically 
  spoken by humans, uses Common script), 
  Dwarvish (typically spoken by dwarves, uses 
  Dwarvish script), Elvish (typically spoken by 
  elves, uses Elvish script), Giant (typically spoken 
  by ogres and giants, uses Dwarvish script), 
  Gnomish (typically spoken by gnomes, uses 
  Dwarvish script), Goblin (typically spoken by 
  goblinoids, uses Dwarvish script), Halfling 
  (typically spoken by halflings, uses Common 
  script), Orcish (typically spoken by orcs, uses 
  Dwarvish script) 
  Exotic Languages. Abyssal (typically spoken 
  by demons, uses Infernal script), Celestial 
  (typically spoken by celestials, uses Celestial 
  script), Draconic (typically spoken by dragons 
  and their ilk, uses Draconic script), Deep Speech 
  (typically spoken by beholders and mind flayers, 
  has no written form), Infernal (typically spoken 
  by devils, uses Infernal script), Primordial 
  (typically spoken by elementals, uses Dwarvish 
  script), Sylvan (typically spoken by fey, uses 
  Elvish script), Undercommon (typically spoken 
  by Underdark traders, uses Elvish script) 
  Feature Languages. Druidic is known only to 
  druids, who automatically spot and understand 
  its “written” hidden messages. Others spot the 
  message’s presence with a successful DC 15 
  Wisdom (Perception) check but can’t decipher it 
  without magic. 
  Thieves’ Cant is known only to rogues. It is 
  hidden within the use of other languages. Its 
  “written” form of signs and symbols convey only 
  short, rogue-related information. 
  This term applies specifically to the personality 
  traits, bonds, flaws, and ideals of a background. 
  Here it also applies to similar traits based on class 
  archetypes or exotic races. 
  Personality traits are extremely difficult to gate 
  for because there are a myriad of options and 
  because players are allowed to customize their 
  backgrounds. Any necessary test of personality 
  traits can probably occur in the adventure’s 
  description instead, where the writer will explain 
  which characters and motivations are suitable to 
  the story. 
  Background features often figure into compound 
  gates, ones that could be passed by other means. 
  These means tend to be payments or rolls. 
  Accordingly, most background features fall into 
  the pay category or the roll category. 
  “Pay” background features provide access to 
  benefits that must normally be paid for. These 
  
   
  CHALLENGE GATES | 58 
  can be referenced where goods or services are 
  accessed, rather than the gates that test for those 
  goods or services. 
  “Roll” background features create outcomes 
  that could be accomplished with the right ability 
  checks. These can be added to gates where the 
  feature-achievable outcome is normally tested for 
  by an ability check. 
  Only a few background features apply to 
  neither category. Such features are essentially 
  impossible to reference or make use of in single-
  player interactive adventures. 
  Background Features (Pay). Bad Reputation 
  (feared by people, won’t be reported for 
  committing very minor crimes like not paying for 
  services), By Popular Demand (get free 
  accommodations for performing, people 
  recognize and like the character), Guild 
  Membership (guild support, paid legal 
  representation if needed), Heart of Darkness 
  (commoners are courteous, will harbor and 
  defend the character), Kept in Style (reduce 
  lifestyle cost by 2 gp, cannot maintain less than 
  comfortable lifestyle), Knightly Regard (shelter 
  and succor from a knightly order and from its 
  political and religious allies), Library Access (free 
  access and preferential treatment at most 
  libraries), Military Rank (influence soldiers, 
  temporarily requisition simple equipment or 
  horses), Respect of the Stout Folk (fine 
  accommodations provided by shield or gold 
  dwarves), Rustic Hospitality (sheltered from the 
  law by commoners), Safe Haven [a.k.a., House 
  Connections] (access safe houses, free room and 
  board, and miscellaneous support), Shelter of the 
  Faithful (free healing at shrines of the character’s 
  faith and free modest lifestyle from the faithful), 
  Ship’s Passage (free passage on ships) 
  Background Features (Roll). Adept Linguist 
  (communicate with humanoids who don’t speak 
  any language), City Streets (navigate a city at half 
  travel time), Criminal Contact (reliable and 
  trustworthy contact with criminal network), All 
  Eyes on You (gain the friendly interest of 
  scholars, nobles, and everyday folk), Court 
  Functionary (access records and inner workings 
  of any noble court or government, know the 
  movers and shakers), Ear to the Ground (a 
  contact in every city provides information on the 
  local people and places), False Identity (second 
  identity complete with documents, ability to 
  forge papers), Historical Knowledge (ascertain 
  original purpose of a ruin or dungeon), 
  Mercenary Life (identify mercenary companies 
  and their emblems, history, and important 
  members), Position of Privilege (welcomed in 
  high society and able to secure noble audiences), 
  Researcher (know where to go to research any 
  piece of information), Uthgardt Heritage (double 
  foraging results, sheltered by druids, barbarians, 
  and other nature-oriented types), Wanderer 
  (recall the layout of nearby terrain features and 
  forage without rolling), Watcher’s Eye (find local 
  watch outposts and identify dens of crime) 
  Background Features (Other). Discovery 
  (unique and powerful secret), Inheritance 
  (possess important object), Retainer (three 
  commoners accompany the character 
  everywhere) 
  Feats are rarely used as gates because only a few 
  of them create new functionality; most simply 
  provide combat effects or modify die rolls. 
  Moreover, feats are an optional rule, so your 
  player might not be using them. 
  Actor (mimic speech and creature sounds), 
  Alert (can’t be surprised), Keen Mind (know 
  which way is north, know the number of hours 
  left before the sunrise or sunset, and remember 
  the details of anything seen or heard in the past 
  month), Linguist (create cyphers), Observant 
  (read lips), Sentinel (might prevent an enemy’s 
  scripted escape from combat) 
  This segment includes checklists for specific gear. 
  Equipment keys can refer to possessing a piece of 
  
  59 | SOLO CREATOR’S GUIDEBOOK 
  gear, having proficiency with a piece of gear, or 
  both. 
  Proficiency. Armor category (light, medium, 
  heavy, shields), weapon category (simple, 
  martial), or a specific weapon or tool. 
  Player’s Handbook Gear. Block and tackle 
  (raise very heavy things), chalk (mark terrain 
  features to avoid getting lost), disguise kit 
  (change appearance), forgery kit (forge 
  documents), herbalism kit (process herbal 
  concoctions), grappling hook (climb obstacles), 
  lock (lock some doors or chests), miner’s pick 
  (dig through cave-ins), poisoner’s kit (harvest 
  poisons), pole (find floor traps), rope (climb 
  down things, tie things), shovel (burry or dig 
  things up), sledge hammer (break through 
  barriers), spikes (spike doors closed), spyglass 
  (see distant things more clearly), steel mirror 
  (deal with gaze attacks)  
  TCEM Gear. Equipment in the following 
  paragraph is specific to a third-party supplement, 
  the Comprehensive Equipment Manual. (It is 
  included because all supplements from Wraith 
  Wright Production are designed so they can be 
  used together.) 
  Ashiaro (leave different tracks), bell kit (create 
  bell trap), cold weather clothes (avoid arctic 
  penalties), diver’s kit (canister with extra lungful 
  of air), falling sail (parachute), periscope (peak 
  around corner while maintaining full cover), 
  shikaro (create spyhole in thin wall or door), 
  snorkel (breathe while submerged), snow shoes 
  or skis (traverse deep snow), sprayer (deploy 
  aerosolized alchemies), water shoes (traverse 
  still water) 
  Leveled keys are those class features, spells, and 
  magic items that won’t appear before your 
  protagonist reaches their associated levels. If 
  you’re writing for a certain level band, you won’t 
  have to worry about checking anything listed in 
  the bands above it, as those will not be accessible 
  to a character in your story. 
  Spells. These lists include illusions because 
  they are particularly difficult to write for. They 
  attempt to deceive a nonplayer character with a 
  semblance of something uniquely imagined by 
  the player, something the writer cannot 
  anticipate. 
  Where a spell is marked with an asterisk (*), it 
  can be cast as a ritual; players will use these 
  spells by passing time rather than expending 
  resources. 
  Where class features and magic items duplicate 
  spells, check the listed spell keys for any 
  disruptive potential. 
  Magic Items. The magic items here are level-
  listed because the Dungeon Master’s Guide 
  associates item rarity ratings with character 
  levels. (See also, Xanathar’s Guide to Everything.) 
  Unlike class features and spells, it is possible for 
  characters to achieve magic items that exceed the 
  level restrictions, meaning that magic items may 
  appear prior to their classifications in the leveled 
  lists. 
  Due to their rarity, sentient items or artifacts do 
  not appear on these lists, nor do these lists 
  include epic boons, supernatural gifts, or marks 
  of prestige. 
  These are accessible at 1st and 2nd level. 
  Class Features. Artisan’s Blessing (can convert 
  wealth to any mundane object worth 100 gp or 
  less), Aspect of the Moon (no need for sleep), 
  Awakened Mind (telepathy), Devil’s Sight (see 
  through all darkness), Divine Sense (detect 
  celestials, fiends, fey, and undead), Eyes of the 
  Runekeeper (read any writing), Ghostly Gaze (see 
  through objects and walls), Gift of the Depths 
  (swimming speed and water breathing), Master 
  of Intrigue (unerringly mimic speech), Natural 
  Explorer (can’t become lost), Read Thoughts 
  (read emotions and surface/active thoughts), 
  Voice of the Chain Master (can perceive through 
  the senses of an invisible familiar at any range), 
  Wild Shape (become CR ¼ beasts without 
  
   
  CHALLENGE GATES | 60 
  swimming or flying speeds, change size, access 
  special traits) 
  Cantrips. Control flames (manipulate fire), 
  druidcraft (sensory effects, light candles), gust 
  (manipulate wind), mage hand (small levitation), 
  mending (small repairs to items), message (secret 
  communication), minor illusion (illusion), mold 
  earth (manipulate minerals), prestidigitation 
  (light candles, clean objects, tiny illusions), shape 
  water (manipulate water, change water 
  environs), thaumaturgy (distractions) 
  1st-Level Spells. Alarm* (get warning of 
  intrusions), animal friendship (bypass natural 
  beast threats), beast bond (communicate with 
  friendly beast), charm person (create friendly 
  interaction), comprehend languages* (understand 
  any languages), detect evil and good (detect 
  aberration, celestial, elemental, fey, fiend, or 
  undead), detect poison and disease (identify toxic 
  threats), disguise self (fast disguise), faerie fire 
  (find invisible), feather fall (avoid falling), find 
  familiar (persistent ally, spy through familiar’s 
  senses), silent image (illusion), speak with animals 
  (question unanticipated “witnesses”) 
  Uncommon Magic Items. Amulet of proof 
  against detection and location (avoids plot-based 
  scrying and similar fiats), boots of the winterlands 
  (no special measures needed for arctic survival), 
  broom of flying (flying speed), cap of water 
  breathing (breathe under water), deck of illusions 
  (random effects, illusions), eversmoking bottle 
  (unlimited smoke screen), immovable rod (block 
  doors, prevent crushing weights), mariner’s 
  armor (swimming speed), necklace of adaptation 
  (breathe anywhere), potion of water breathing 
  (breathe under water), ring of swimming 
  (swimming speed), ring of warmth (no special 
  measures needed for arctic survival), ring of 
  water walking (traverse water), robe of useful 
  items (instant door, ladder, pit, or rowboat), 
  slippers of spider climbing (climbing speed), wand 
  of secrets (detect secret doors), winged boots 
  (flying speed) 
  These are accessible at 3rd and 4th level. 
  Class Features. Detect Portal (detect portals 
  within 1 mile), Divine Health (immune to 
  disease), Pact of the Blade (weapon available 
  anywhere), Primeval Awareness (detect 
  aberrations, celestials, dragons, elementals, fey, 
  fiends, and undead within 1 or 6 miles), Ranger’s 
  Companion (player-controlled ally), Subtle Spell 
  Metamagic (undetectable spellcasting), Weapon 
  Bond (weapon available anywhere), Wild Shape 
  (become CR ½ beasts without flying speeds, 
  change size, access special traits) 
  2nd-Level Spells. Alter self (fast disguise, water 
  breathing and swimming speed), animal 
  messenger* (tiny beast carries 25-word message 
  for up to 1 day), arcane lock (lock some portal 
  and control who bypasses the lock), augury* (test 
  a choice for good or bad outcome), beast sense* 
  (perceive through willing beast’s senses), detect 
  thoughts (know surface thoughts, motivations, 
  and emotions), earthbind (negate flying), find 
  traps (locate traps), invisibility (avoid detection), 
  knock (bypass locks), locate object (find hidden 
  items), rope trick (hide from encounters), see 
  invisibility (find invisible), spider (climbing 
  speed), suggestion (control nonplayer character 
  actions), zone of truth (negate intrigue) 
  These are accessible at 5th and 6th level. 
  Class Features. Land’s Stride (unharmed and 
  unhindered by nonmagical plants), Storm Guide 
  (change weather in small radius) 
  3rd-Level Spells. Clairvoyance (perceive 
  through invisible sensor), counterspell (negate 
  scripted spellcasting), dispel magic (remove plot-
  related magic effects), fly (flying speed), gaseous 
  form (bypass physical obstacles), Leomund’s tiny 
  hut* (create impassible dome), major image 
  (illusion), nondetection (foil plot-related 
  divinations), remove curse (negate “plot device” 
  curses), revivify (reverse scripted death of 
  nonplayer character), speak with dead (question 
  
  61 | SOLO CREATOR’S GUIDEBOOK 
  unanticipated “witnesses”), speak with plants 
  (question unanticipated “witnesses”), tongues 
  (speak and understand any language), water 
  breathing* (breathe water), water walk* (traverse 
  liquids) 
  Rare Magic Items. Bag of beans (random 
  unmanageable effects), chime of opening (unlock 
  and open things from a distance), cloak of the bat 
  (flying speed), Daern’s instant fortress 
  (impregnable fortress, unlimited-use 10d10 area 
  damage effect), folding boat (aqueous 
  transportation), horseshoes of the zephyr 
  (traverse liquid, lava), periapt of proof against 
  poison (immune to poison), Quaal’s feather token 
  (aqueous transportation), ring of x-ray vision (see 
  through obstructions), wand of enemy detection 
  (detect or identify enemies nearby), wand of 
  wonder (weirdly-random effects), wings of flying 
  (flying speed) 
  These are accessible at 7th and 8th level. 
  Class Features. Aura of Devotion (immune to 
  charmed), Ethereal Step (early access to 7th-level 
  etherealness spell effect), Stillness of Mind (cancel 
  charmed or frightened on self), Wild Shape 
  (become CR 1 beasts, change size, access special 
  traits) 
  4th-Level Spells. Arcane eye (scout with 
  invisible sensor), control water (large-scale water 
  manipulation), dimension door (bypass 
  obstacles), divination* (get advice from deity), 
  fabricate (create item on command), freedom of 
  movement (immune to paralyzed and restrained, 
  unaffected by physical impediments like 
  manacles or water), greater invisibility (avoid 
  detection), hallucinatory terrain (illusion), 
  Leomund’s secret chest (access the contained 
  items anywhere), locate creature (find creature), 
  Mordenkainen's private sanctum (secure a 
  structure), polymorph (become beast), stone 
  shape (bypass stone obstacles like walls) 
  These are accessible at 9th and 10th level. 
  Class Features. Aura of Courage (immune to 
  frightened), Elemental Wild Shape (become CR 5 
  air, earth, fire, or water elemental, change size, 
  access special traits), Divine Intervention (deity 
  acts on character’s behalf, as powerful as any 
  cleric spell), Insightful Manipulator (learn target’s 
  Intelligence, Wisdom, Charisma, or class levels), 
  Nature’s Ward (immune to poison, disease, and 
  being charmed or frightened by elementals or 
  fey), Purity of Body (immune to disease and 
  poison), The Third Eye (see into the ethereal and 
  read any language) 
  5th-Level Spells. Awaken (animal or plant 
  becomes intelligent creature), commune* (three 
  yes/no questions answered by deity), creation 
  (create an item), dominate person (telepathically 
  control someone), dream (send messages in 
  dreams), geas (long-term control of nonplayer 
  character), mislead (invisibility and illusory 
  double), modify memory (reshape a creature’s 
  memories), passwall (bypass barrier), Rary’s 
  telepathic bond* (telepathy), reincarnation 
  (reverse scripted death of nonplayer character), 
  raise dead (reverse scripted death of nonplayer 
  character), scrying (spy on others), seeming 
  (illusionary disguise, even on the unwilling), 
  teleportation circle (create teleportation point), 
  transmute rock (bypass stone obstacles), tree 
  stride (bypass obstacles) 
  These are accessible at 11th and 12th level. 
  6th-Level Spells. Arcane gate (far 
  teleportation), Drawmij’s instant summons* 
  (access an item anywhere), druid grove (fortify an 
  area), find the path (know quick, direct route to 
  something), guards and wards (fortify an area), 
  magic jar (possess and control nonplayer 
  character), mass suggestion (control multiple 
  nonplayer characters’ actions), programmed 
  illusion (illusion), soul cage (interrogate newly-
  dead), transport via plants (far teleportation), 
  word of recall (far teleportation) 
  
   
  CHALLENGE GATES | 62 
  Very Rare Magic Items. Carpet of flying (flying 
  speed), cloak of arachnida (climbing speed), 
  Nolzur’s marvelous pigments (create any 
  inanimate object or terrain feature), potion of 
  longevity (turn nonplayer characters into 
  teenagers), rod of security (up to 200 creatures 
  visit a paradise) 
  These are accessible at 13th and 14th level. 
  Class Features. Alter Memories (make 
  creature forget periods of time), Dragon Wings 
  (flying speed), Imposter (unerringly mimic 
  speech, writing, and behavior), Otherworldly 
  Wings (flying speed), Tongue of the Sun and 
  Moon (speak any language), Use Magic Device 
  (use even plot-controlled magic items), Unerring 
  Eye (sense you are being tricked by illusion, 
  magic, or shapeshifting), Vanish (can’t be tracked 
  by nonmagical means) 
  7th-Level Spells. Etherealness (bypass 
  challenges on the material plane), mirage arcana 
  (illusion), Mordenkainen's magnificent mansion 
  (create stronghold), plane shift (leave current 
  plane), project image (perceive through senses of 
  distant illusion of yourself), resurrection (reverse 
  scripted death of nonplayer character), teleport 
  (far teleportation), temple of the gods (create 
  stronghold) 
  These are accessible at 15th and 16th level. 
  Class Features. Timeless Body (can’t be 
  magically aged), Witch Sight (see through 
  disguises of illusion, transmutation, or 
  shapeshifting) 
  8th-Level Spells. Antimagic field (block and 
  suppress even plot-scripted magic), clone (create 
  character duplicate), control weather (change 
  plot-foreshadowing weather), demiplane (access 
  private plane), dominate monster (control 
  enemies’ actions for an hour), glibness (evade 
  truth-magic), mighty fortress (create stronghold), 
  mind blank (immune to mind affecting/sensing 
  effects), telepathy (communicate at any range) 
  These are accessible at 17th, 18th, 19th, and 20th 
  level. 
  Class Features. Saint of Forge and Fire 
  (immune to fire), Soul of Deceit (immune to 
  telepathy and truth-detection), Stormborn (flying 
  speed), Visions of the Past (know past events 
  relating to object or area), Wind Soul (flying 
  speed, immune to thunder and lightning) 
  9th-Level Spells. Astral projection (access 
  astral plane), gate (access other plane), mass 
  polymorph (enemies become beasts), 
  shapechange (become non-construct, non-undead 
  creature), time top (act uninterrupted for several 
  rounds), true polymorph (become, or make others 
  into—something else), true resurrection (reverse 
  scripted death of nonplayer character, even 
  centuries-dead historic figures), wish (miraculous 
  effects or any spell up to 8th level) 
  Legendary Magic Items. Apparatus of Kwalish 
  (underwater travel), deck of many things (random 
  game-derailing effects), sovereign glue 
  (unbreakably bond two things together), sphere 
  of annihilation (annihilate anything) 
   
   
   
  
  63 | SOLO CREATOR’S GUIDEBOOK 
  CHAPTER FOUR 
  “Perseverance is also key to success in any 
  endeavor, but without perseverance in 
  combat, there can be no victory.” 
  - Jocko Willink 
  IGHTS ARE AN EXPECTED PART OF DUNGEONS & 
  DRAGONS, something that most features of 
  most character sheets are designed to 
  overcome. 
  Combats can be their own stories, with their 
  own heroes and villains, with lessons to learn and 
  drama to experience. They deserve their own 
  chapter, with special instructions for how to 
  create, place, and manage them. 
   
  COMBATS SUMMARY 
  This chapter covers the following topics. 
   
  • Using Combats. Using fights to 
  emphasize conflict, raise stakes, and 
  pace your story. 
  • Combat Notation. Suggested methods 
  for standardizing the way battles appear 
  in your adventure and implementing 
  combat efficiently. 
  • Combat-Adjacent Text Parts. Using text 
  parts to lead into combat dramatically 
  and to parse events mid-combat. This 
  segment also helps to manage the 
  outcomes that appear on the far side of 
  each combat event. 
  • Balancing Combat. Making combats 
  exciting but fair when faced by a lone 
  adventurer. 
  Combats serve an array of functions. While they 
  can share some uses with gates, they are more 
  often placed to control pacing or illustrate the 
  stakes of an adventure. 
  Nothing substitutes for combat when it comes to 
  illustrating raw, violent conflict between 
  competing factions or creatures. 
  Combats ratchet up the tension, usually putting 
  the protagonist’s health at serious risk. They 
  represent highest-stakes conflicts that cannot be 
  approximated with symbolic or proxy challenges. 
  In some cases, these fights have no meaning, 
  except perhaps to affect pacing. More often, a 
  fight is one battle in a larger war, or a 
  representation of a larger conflict. To use this 
  storytelling tool, make sure that individual fights 
  include elements of the larger conflict. The more 
  your fights reference the overall conflict of the 
  story, the more personal and engaging the story 
  becomes. 
  Also important from a creator’s perspective, 
  combats represent a significant portion of the 
  adventure’s playing time. Without sufficient 
  combats, the adventure is either too dull or goes 
  by too quickly. 
  One of the metrics that consumers prejudge 
  products by is the estimated play time, and this 
  time is deeply impacted by the number and 
  nature of the adventure’s combats. Without these 
  
   
  COMBATS | 64 
  aspects, a fast reader will power through your 
  adventure at a much-faster rate than you 
  advertise. 
  Additionally, when players re-engage with 
  (replay) a single-player interactive adventure, 
  there is an interesting phenomenon that occurs. 
  Most narrative text gets skipped in favor of 
  reading only instructive text and options. A 
  player that reads the options at the end of a text 
  part can very-accurately remember the story and 
  make the right choices for those options. For 
  replayability, the only thing that slows the player 
  down is the combats, and to a lesser degree, other 
  rolling-intensive segments. 
  Like an adventure novel, a violent conflict can 
  punctuate long stretches of exposition and 
  exploration, particularly at the story’s conclusion. 
  When applied selectively, these tense moments 
  can provide upbeats of action between 
  downbeats, a pacing technique we have discussed 
  in a previous chapter. 
  Combat is important for more than its dramatic 
  invocations. It also affects the pacing of your 
  story. Along with other actions scenes, it is an 
  important tool for subtly raising tension and 
  providing a meaningful climax to your story. 
  For good pacing, each chapter of your 
  adventure should have between one and three 
  action scenes. These scenes may include fighting, 
  but some of them could deploy other complex 
  struggles where injury and death are possible. An 
  action scene might also be a tense or hostile 
  social encounter. Not all action scenes need to 
  escalate into combat; the mere possibility is often 
  dramatic enough. 
  Because some combats will appear only in 
  certain branches or locations of the story, and 
  because others might be avoided by player 
  decisions or rolls, expect to build between 8 and 
  12 combat encounters. Place these throughout 
  the adventure at points that will ensure the 
  player finds an appropriate number of fights. 
   
  SUGGESTED NUMBER OF COMBATS 
  For a four-chapter (four hour) adventure, 
  try to route the protagonist through 4 to 8 
  combats, including the final battle. The 
  adventure will likely contain more fights 
  than this, but each route should interact 
  with only the right amount of them. 
   
  Your adventure will probably culminate in a final 
  fight. This is an enduring expectation for action 
  storytelling, one that transcends genres and 
  mediums. If you do not plan to have a final fight 
  in your story, you are probably doing it “wrong.”  
  In some cases, a creator may wish to end an 
  adventure on a cliffhanger. (Cliffhangers are 
  discouraged in SOLITAIRES, due to the need for 
  interchangeability between adventures.) If you 
  are planning a cliffhanger ending, you can still 
  insert a climactic combat just before that point. 
  For example, if your main antagonist gets away, 
  have an ending battle with a powerful lieutenant 
  instead. 
  The climactic battle should also be expositive 
  or otherwise dramatic, meaning it is more likely 
  to use combat-adjacent text parts. 
  Combats require complex notation to convey 
  their myriad factors. Their writeups are large, 
  calling for a large amount of space to manage 
  them. They are too unwieldly to insert among 
  normal text parts. Moreover, they are distracting 
  when placed within normal text parts, potentially 
  revealing unwanted metadata at a glance, 
  particularly if illustrations or battle maps are 
  included. 
  These factors suggest that combat writeups 
  should be relegated to the pages of an appendix 
  
  65 | SOLO CREATOR’S GUIDEBOOK 
  in your adventure. This product proposes two 
  forms, traditional sets and narrative sets. Both 
  options are presented here in ways that will fit a 
  combat appendix at the end of your product. 
  Traditional sets are composed of usage data and 
  one or more stat blocks. These replace the 
  decision-making process that a Dungeon Master 
  normally performs during combat, as well as the 
  general information about the antagonists that a 
  Dungeon Master would reference for this task. 
  In a normal game, every aspect of a creatures’ 
  behavior remains unwritten. Its round-to-round 
  choices are left to the whim of the Dungeon 
  Master. Because there is no DM to moderate a 
  single-player adventure, traditional combat gates 
  supply “usage data” to replace the role of the 
  Dungeon Master in this gaming medium. 
  Usage data includes any tactical instructions for 
  running the combat. This could mean 
  descriptions of monster’s actions round-to-round 
  or more-general instructions. However, monster 
  tactics are probably better controlled by default 
  modes, a set of simple, standardized monster 
  combat behaviors described in your adventure’s 
  playbook. 
  Tactics data can also change the parameters of 
  a combat gate or direct the player out of it and 
  into another branch of text parts. For example, a 
  monster vulnerable to fire may change its tactics 
  entirely or flee if the protagonist inflicts fire 
  damage. Prompts that address such events 
  appear within the usage data. 
  Combats are usually concluded by winning a 
  fight, but some are concluded by losing or fleeing 
  from the battle. 
  You can save space by assuming (stating up-
  front) that failure in battle ends the adventure 
  with the protagonist’s death. If the player loses, 
  nothing more is said. However, that approach 
  ignores the potential for storytelling inherent to 
  losing a fight or fleeing from it. Better to have a 
  separate text part describe the fallout of a lost 
  battle, even if it simply describes the 
  protagonist’s death. In solitary play, abrupt, 
  unwritten ends do not create a satisfying 
  gameplay experience so they should be avoided. 
  If choosing to flee is one of the combat’s 
  possible outcomes, you will need to determine 
  the risks, costs, or consequence. If this allows the 
  protagonist to “fail forward,” passing the gate 
  anyway, carefully consider how a character is 
  better off by winning the combat. Failure should 
  have consequences, but those consequences don’t 
  always have to result in the death of a character 
  or the failure of its quest. 
  Usage data is a great place for other information 
  that applies to a combat gate. This can be 
  incidental to the specific gate, or the type of 
  information you want to apply in all of your 
  combat gates. 
  In the full-page example of a traditional set 
  writeup (below), the usage data includes 
  instructions for running the combat in the case of 
  a second character. This facilitates a standard 
  feature of SOLITAIRES; the system has general 
  rules for playing with two players, or for one 
  player to use two characters. 
  Stat blocks are the collected mechanical features 
  of monsters and non-player characters. They 
  include critical information necessary to 
  understand creatures’ combat capabilities. Some 
  combat gates will involve more than one type of 
  creature and thus will note more than one stat 
  block. 
  Official publications typically add art and flavor 
  text to accompany a creature’s stat block. 
  
   
  COMBATS | 66 
  Together, these elements provide what the DM 
  needs to run these antagonists. 
  The stat block format is used in all official 
  products. Although other formats are possible, 
  this is the notation system that D&D players 
  understand and expect. Creators should adhere to 
  the normal appearance and configuration of stat 
  blocks, to the degree that doing so is practical and 
  legal. Some deviation is expected, and may be 
  necessary, but the overall form should remain 
  recognizable. 
  The terms of publishing on the Dungeon Masters 
  Guild require that Monster Manual stat blocks 
  appear only in abbreviated form. This restriction 
  includes monsters otherwise useable under the 
  Open Gaming License (OGL). It controls all 
  monsters from all official sources, one of the few 
  instances where the Dungeon Masters Guild is 
  more restrictive than when publishing under the 
  OGL. The Guild’s guidelines prefer that you direct 
  players to the Monster Manual instead. 
  Unfortunately, single-player adventures play 
  differently from normal ones and have particular 
  needs that are in conflict with this guideline. In a 
  traditional adventure, the Dungeon Master can 
  reference the Monster Manual without completely 
  giving away all the antagonists’ information. This 
  includes artwork and flavor text that may be too 
  revealing. In single-player adventures, using the 
  Monster Manual is therefore an impractical 
  option. Here are some approaches to convey 
  monster data safely within the market’s rules. 
  First, use summary stat blocks, as the 
  guidelines suggest. What “summary” means is an 
  open question, one that has been the subject of 
  some debate on creator forums. While we don’t 
  know what “summary” means, we do know that 
  the restriction has a history of being enforced. 
  Some creators’ works were temporarily removed 
  from the market in 2018 until they cut out 
  monster stat blocks. Interestingly,  these 
  inclusions might not have been contrary to any of 
  the creator guidelines that were in effect prior to 
  the “clarified” rules that appeared at around the 
  same time as the enforcement. 
  Necessarily, a “summary” is some degree of 
  information less than what appears in official 
  publications, and that degree is probably not a 
  small one. Therefore, make your summaries omit 
  every single article of extraneous information and 
  hope that the Guild’s enforcement mechanisms 
  find this sufficient. Moreover, try wholly-altering 
  the stat blocks; instead of copying, rewrite 
  everything in your own words. While this only 
  technically complies with the “don’t copy” 
  instruction, it will also help you rearrange 
  information for smaller, more-efficient 
  summaries. 
  Additionally, use your own monsters and non-
  player characters of various races. Create unique 
  and interesting antagonists that do not borrow 
  from the DUNGEONS & DRAGONS intellectual 
  properties. Alternately, use modified monsters 
  that are sufficiently-deviated from their sources 
  as to require their own new, unique stat blocks. 
   
  EDITOR’S NOTE: STAT BLOCKS USED ON 
  THE DUNGEON MASTERS GUILD 
  The Dungeon Masters Guild has guidelines 
  for using stat blocks from official products. 
  As of this date, the FAQ states: 
   
  You can include information like 
  summary stat blocks of monsters from the 
  Monster Manual in your adventure. 
  Similarly, you can include spell effects and 
  other useful information as needed to make 
  running your adventure an easy and 
  streamlined experience. Please note that 
  sometimes it’s just as easy to refer the 
  Dungeon Master to the Monster Manual or 
  other core rulebook instead. In short, avoid 
  copying large sections of Wizards titles. 
  Stick to summary information needed and 
  not easily referenced. 
   
  
  67 | SOLO CREATOR’S GUIDEBOOK 
  EXAMPLE OF COMBAT GATE NOTATION: “TRADITIONAL” SET 
   
  Appendix A-11 
  You have encountered a kruthik hive lord. This 
  creature is hostile and will attack immediately. 
  There is only one apparent exit from this room. 
  LOCATION 
  The room is rectangular, 40 feet wide and 80 
  feet long. The walls reach 30 feet high. 
  Your enemy begins 55 feet from you. Even if 
  you back away from it, your enemy can probably 
  reach you in one turn, perhaps using the Dash 
  action instead of attacking. 
   
  SECOND PLAYER 
  Instead of doubling the number of creatures in this 
  combat, add 2 adult kruthiks. These creatures will 
  follow the same Skirmisher tactics, described 
  below. 
  OUTCOMES 
  • You can try to flee after 3 full rounds of combat. To make 
  this attempt, go to Part 076. 
  • If you win this fight, go to Part 390. 
  • If you lose this fight, go to Part 119. 
   
   
   
   
   KRUTHIK HIVE LORD 
  Large monstrosity, unaligned 
  AC 20, HP 102, Speed 40 (burrow 20, climb 40) 
    STR +4, DEX +3, CON +3, INT +0, WIS +2, CHA +0 
  Senses Darkvision 30’, tremorsense 60’ 
  Languages Kruthik 
  Keen Smell. Advantage on Wisdom (Perception) 
  checks that rely on smell 
  Pack Tactics. Advantage on attack rolls if at least 
  one ally is within 5’ of the target 
  Tunneler. Can burrow through rock at speed 10, 
  leaving a 10’ diameter tunnel 
  Multiattack. 2 stab attacks or 2 spike attacks 
  Stab. Melee (10’): +7 to hit, 1d10 + 4 piercing 
  Spike. Ranged (30/120’): +6 to hit, 1d6 + 4 
  piercing 
  Acid Spray (Recharge 5–6). Each creature in a 15’ 
  cone emanating from this creature must make a 
  DC 14 Dexterity save, taking 4d10 acid on a 
  failure or half as much on a success 
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
  TACTICS (SKIRMISHER) 
  This foe will attempt to close to melee range, 
  using ranged actions while closing. In this 
  environment, the foe will be able to make 
  melee attacks on its 2nd turn. 
  If this foe lacks ranged attacks, it will use its 
  action to dash, reaching melee range in 1 turn. 
  Special. The kruthik hive lord will use Acid 
  Spray on its first turn within melee range and 
  again each time the action recharges. 
  
   
  COMBATS | 68 
  Whatever the case, the less information you 
  include about monsters, the safer your product 
  will be in the Dungeon Masters Guild. Just be 
  mindful to include sufficient information for a 
  single player to run a combat using your 
  antagonists. If you find that you must send the 
  player to an official sourcebook, be mindful of the 
  information that will appear on those pages and 
  the degree to which metaknowledge from 
  “spoilers” may alter how your adventure is 
  played from that point forward. 
  The full-page example in this chapter, the 
  kruthik hive lord battle, represents a traditional 
  set combat writeup. It includes a standard 
  monster from Mordenkainen’s Tome of Foes, but 
  the information in the text block is summarized, 
  with as many omissions as possible. However, 
  keep in mind that this summarization may still 
  fall short of what the Dungeon Masters Guild 
  requires. 
  Narrative sets take an approach that is very 
  different from traditional sets. They walk the 
  player through the combat as it unfolds, 
  sometimes round-by-round, providing options 
  and instructions at each step along the way. 
  An entire narrative set can resemble a 
  collection of text parts much like the combat-
  adjacent text parts described previously. Unlike 
  combat-adjacent text parts, the player never gets 
  into the combat proper. Instead, these parts 
  continue, strung together until the encounter is 
  complete. 
  The text parts used in narrative sets often call for 
  more-complex identifiers as titles. Because they 
  still fit into a combat appendix, they should also 
  appear chronologically, to the degree that 
  branching options allow, unlike normal text parts. 
  For example: 
  ▷ APPENDIX A-02, R-04.3 
   
  In this example, the unique identifier tells us 
  that we’re in an appendix (Appendix A, which 
  happens to be our combat appendix), and on the 
  second page or info set, which in this case means 
  the second combat of the appendix. 
  None of that is new, but now we’re adding the 
  round number (round 4), plus a parallel point in 
  that round (the 3rd variant of what could happen 
  in this round, based on the events of prior 
  rounds). 
  These text parts can appear chronologically, 
  ordered by round number and round variants. In 
  the example below, there are three separate text 
  parts for round 2, each of which is a numbered 
  variant representing a different enemy tactic. 
  Each variant in the example is a consequence of 
  what happened in round 1. 
  ▷ APPENDIX A-02, R-01.1 
  ▷ APPENDIX A-02, R-02.1 
  ▷ APPENDIX A-02, R-02.2 
  ▷ APPENDIX A-02, R-02.3 
  ▷ APPENDIX A-02, R-03.1 
  ▷ APPENDIX A-02, R-04.1 
  ▷ APPENDIX A-02, R-04.2 
  ▷ APPENDIX A-02, R-05.1 
   
  You don’t have to use round-based numbering 
  on your text parts in narrative sets, but it can be 
  particularly useful when initially structuring the 
  combat. Like the Basic Order method of 
  diagramming text parts discussed in chapter 2, 
  this can help you keep track of every option and 
  route during creation, even if you rename the 
  identifiers later. 
  A combat writeup in the form of a narrative set 
  starts with important initial information. This 
  includes some description of the terrain and the 
  antagonists, some initial information of what 
  
  69 | SOLO CREATOR’S GUIDEBOOK 
  would appear in usage data for a traditional set, 
  as well as some of the antagonists’ defensive 
  numbers. 
  Because most of the instructions for running 
  antagonists are going to appear in round-by-
  round text parts later, only the instructions and 
  defenses needed up front are placed in the “initial 
  information” text part. 
  Although a narrative set may have a small stat 
  block at its outset, it probably looks nothing like 
  the familiar stat blocks used in the Monster 
  Manual. The attack rolls and tactics are omitted 
  here; only the creature’s hit points and defenses 
  need to appear at the outset. 
  ▷ APPENDIX A-02, R-01.0 
  You have begun a combat with a maddened 
  fomorian. 
  You are in a roughly-circular chamber, about 50 
  feet in diameter. The ceiling is 15 feet high. 
  This Huge giant has a 14 Armor Class and 149 
  hit points. It has the following saving throw 
  modifiers: STR (+6), DEX (+0), CON (+6), INT (-1), 
  WIS (+2), CHA (-2). If you reduce the maddened 
  fomorian to 0 hit points at any time in the coming 
  combat, ignore further prompts within the 
  appendix; go immediately to Part 319. 
  Roll initiative for yourself. The maddened 
  fomorian has a pre-rolled initiative result of 4. On 
  the maddened fomorian’s first turn, go to 
  Appendix A-02, R-01.1 to process its first action. 
  The text parts in narrative sets sometimes batch 
  rounds of combat together in one part; they need 
  not lay out each round as a separate text part. For 
  example, after text parts that handle a foe’s un-
  rechargeable features, protective spellcasting, 
  potion-drinking, and other one-use preliminary 
  actions, a single text part might lay out the foe’s 
  normal round-to-round attacks, to be repeated 
  until combat ends. Sometimes these text parts 
  add variety, like substituting a dragon’s breath 
  weapon each time it recharges. 
  Note that this description does not include 
  every possible combat scenario. While it may 
  allow more control of the combat round-by-
  round than a traditional set writeup, you can 
  never write enough text parts to cover everything 
  that could happen in the battle. The player may 
  still be required to self-moderate to a significant 
  degree. 
  ▷ APPENDIX A-02, R-03.1 
  With its Curse of the Evil Eye expended, the 
  maddened fomorian will use Multiattack to apply 
  one use of its regular Evil Eye trait and a greatclub 
  attack on each of its turns. 
  - Greatclub. Melee Weapon Attack: +9 to hit, 
  reach 15 ft., one target. Hit: 19 (3d8 + 6) 
  bludgeoning damage. 
  - Evil Eye. Magically force seen protagonist to 
  make DC 14 Charisma save. Failure = 27 (6d8) 
  psychic damage. Success = half damage. 
  If the maddened fomorian cannot see the 
  protagonist, it will instead attempt two greatclub 
  attacks. 
  Continue this combat round-by-round to its 
  conclusion. If you are reduced to 0 hit points, go to 
  Part 450. If you reduce the maddened fomorian to 
  0 hit points, go to Part 319. 
  The primary advantage of narrative sets is that 
  they don’t risk clearly identifying the creature or 
  proving too much metadata by referring the 
  player to the Monster Manual or another official 
  sourcebook. They also mitigate the risk of over-
  copying and offending the guidelines of the 
  Dungeon Masters Guild. 
  Additionally, these text parts can be 
  interspersed with normal text parts in the same 
  chapter, without having to direct the player into 
  an appendix. However, the appendix option is 
  still recommended to avoid distractions and 
  inadvertent metadata. Of additional advantage, 
  
   
  COMBATS | 70 
  keeping the whole combat in an appendix means 
  the player doesn’t have to skip around in the 
  product while also trying to track combat data.  
  Consider implementing these antagonist-affecting 
  tricks to make your combats run more smoothly. 
  Particularly in traditional sets, don’t include any 
  of the enemies’ characteristics or traits that are 
  irrelevant. For example, it is almost never useful 
  to note a monster’s alignment. Likewise, a special 
  trait that benefits the monster when it is adjacent 
  to its allies should be cut from the stat block if the 
  monster is alone. The kruthik hive lord example 
  above includes its Pack Tactics special trait only 
  because of the option for additional adult 
  kruthiks to appear alongside it. 
  Adventures run smoother if most Dungeon 
  Master decisions are automated or pre-
  determined. The player should only self-
  moderate when absolutely necessary, a fact that 
  suggests you should make important decisions 
  ahead of time. 
  This technique applies mostly to an 
  antagonist’s use of limited powers. If a creature’s 
  most powerful attack has a recharge roll, it will 
  probably use that power whenever it is ready. 
  However, it is more difficult for the player to 
  decide when the antagonist resorts to using a 
  healing potion or which tactics it prefers when 
  multiple options are equally likely to succeed. 
  For best results, pre-make as many of these 
  decisions as you can without overwhelming the 
  player. This premeditation is more easily 
  facilitated by notating combat in narrative sets. In 
  traditional sets, making too many decisions ahead 
  of time will bloat your usage data to a point 
  where the player will forget the instructions in 
  the heat of battle. 
  The fewer rolls the player must make on behalf of 
  antagonists (or supporting characters), the 
  better. 
  For example, you can pre-roll a monster’s 
  initiative and put the result in the combat 
  writeup. Listing the result takes up no more 
  space than listing a bonus, and it keeps the player 
  from having to make yet one more roll. However, 
  not all roll types work so efficiently. This 
  technique is easiest to apply in combat-adjacent 
  text parts and in combat writeups noted as 
  narrative sets. 
  You can also use pre-rolling to put your thumb 
  on the scale of combat outcomes. By dictating a 
  few roll results, you can make the monsters act 
  faster or hit harder, or you can make them 
  weaker. 
  Alternately, you can regulate extremes by 
  dictating average roll results. This system is 
  already in use in 5th Edition DUNGEONS & DRAGONS 
  in the form of average damage mechanics. 
  Monster Manual stat blocks give Dungeon 
  Masters the option to use average damage or to 
  roll damage. These damage notations appear as a 
  flat number followed by a die set in parentheses, 
  like “16 (2d6 + 9) slashing damage” or “88 
  (16d10) lightning damage.” If you “pre-roll” 
  average results, on damage rolls or other roll 
  types, you can use the same notation. You can 
  even give the player the option to use the stated 
  result or to roll, selecting this mode of difficulty 
  increase at the start of the adventure. 
  If your combat writeup uses a map, mark the 
  starting locations of all the actors. However, make 
  these marks subtle so they’re not distracting once 
  the combat begins. A small or a light marking is 
  best. 
  
  71 | SOLO CREATOR’S GUIDEBOOK 
  This section talks about the text parts leading 
  into combat, and those parts routing the player 
  out of combat, either mid-battle or at the fight’s 
  conclusion. Pre-combat text parts are those that 
  directly impact the conflict. Mid-combat and post-
  combat text parts are prompted to from within 
  the combat writeup, leading to events that trigger 
  during or after the battle. Post-combat outcomes 
  only occur at the end. 
  This option exists primarily to give effect to 
  surprise and ranged combat tactics. It also allows 
  for combat to be processed round-by-round so 
  that you can narrate various events or allow a 
  villain the chance to monologue as the combat 
  unfolds. 
  You can use a pre-combat text part to check for 
  surprise. (You can instead insert surprise 
  calculations into a combat writeup, but the 
  particulars tend to take up too much space to 
  make that practical.) 
  When creatures are attempting to be sneaky, 
  you can determine that the scenario gives the 
  protagonist or the antagonists a chance to be 
  surprised by one another. Surprise is a 
  (surprisingly) complex mechanic to employ in a 
  single-player interactive adventure. Remember 
  that it only happens when you decide that 
  conditions are right for it. 
  For foes to be surprised, the protagonist must 
  make a Dexterity (Stealth) ability check. The 
  result is compared to the passive Wisdom 
  (Perception) scores among the antagonists. Those 
  antagonists whose scores are met or exceeded by 
  the roll are surprised. 
  To be surprised by the antagonists, compare 
  the protagonist’s passive Wisdom (Perception) 
  score against the foes’ rolls of Dexterity (Stealth). 
  The protagonist is surprised if all the foes rolls 
  equal or exceed that passive score. If a 
  protagonist has an ally along, perhaps a ranger’s 
  beast companion, it is possible for the ally to be 
  surprised while the protagonist is not, and vice 
  versa. 
  Finally, remember that it is possible in some 
  scenarios for both sides to check for surprise. 
  This can make the scenario far more complicated, 
  further justifying placing surprise mechanics in a 
  separate pre-combat text part. 
  Here is an example of a pre-combat text part 
  used to check for surprise. Because the 
  protagonist is off the path and the goblins are 
  waiting in hidden positions, only the goblins get a 
  chance to check for surprise. Note also that these 
  DCs were set by pre-rolling the goblins’ Dexterity 
  (Stealth) checks, an efficiency technique 
  described earlier in this chapter. 
  PART 221 
  You feel a sense of trepidation as you enter the 
  darkened forest. The path narrows and the 
  trees become thicker, blocking out much of the 
  sunlight. As the wind shifts, the strange smells 
  of the forest waft over you. 
   
  Calculate your passive Wisdom (Perception) 
  score. If that score is 11 or higher, go to Part 
  292. If it is 10 or lower, go to Part 224. 
  The ranged phase is so named because ranged 
  combat is the primary function of this pre-combat 
  allowance. However, depending on your wording, 
  the protagonist can use this lead time for other 
  activities. Ranged combat is only the descriptor 
  for this phase because it is so often overlooked in 
  interactive adventures. 
  Your default monster tactics will probably be 
  little more than moving into melee range and 
  attacking all-out. Melee is the expected mode for 
  
   
  COMBATS | 72 
  most battles, which leaves ranged characters at a 
  disadvantage. 
  Particularly if you use battle maps instead of 
  theater of the mind systems, you may notice that a 
  typical one-inch grid map that conforms to a 
  single book page creates a very small fighting 
  arena. Unless you are providing a fold-out map or 
  a separate image file that exceeds the size of a 
  page, mapped battles probably begin in very tight 
  quarters, meaning characters that rely on ranged 
  weapons and spells don’t get a good chance to 
  make use of their preferred features. 
  A ranged phase gives the protagonist a chance 
  to make a ranged attack even before initiative is 
  rolled. This text part states the range and 
  instructs the player to track and carry over any 
  damage inflicted for when the combat begins. 
  (You will need to list the target’s Armor Class and 
  saving throw modifiers, as well as any 
  resistances, immunities or special traits that 
  might come into play, like Magic Resistance.) 
  Ranged phase opportunities should be 
  expressed in allowances of attacks, actions, or 
  turns. Because ranged combat is only one of the 
  many activities these options allow, the name for 
  these pre-combat parts is something of a 
  misnomer. 
  Turns maximize player agency. Anything less 
  than a turn limits the player’s options and should 
  only be used when justified by the circumstances. 
  However, because movement of various kinds 
  is possible, you will need to be mindful of how 
  this might affect distances between foes when the 
  combat begins. Allowing movement can 
  particularly disrupt the starting positions you 
  want to dictate if you are providing a battle map 
  rather than using theater of the mind mechanics. 
  A player may also wish to begin escaping 
  combat, if you allow escape in that scenario, and 
  expect some sort of advantage based on 
  movement in this extra turn. Avoiding a combat 
  at the outset is best handled by a pre-combat gate 
  to bypass it. Once the character has gone beyond 
  such a possibility, any escape options in the 
  combat writeup should not apply to a ranged 
  phase. 
  If you allow an action (but no regular movement, 
  bonus action, or reaction), the protagonist can 
  substitute a spell of the right casting time 
  whether offensive, defensive, or investigative, or 
  may do something else like drink a potion in 
  preparation for battle.  
  Note that an action cannot be used to simulate a 
  bonus action, so a character could not, for 
  example, cast shield of faith in moment. You may 
  therefore wish to vary this option, allowing an 
  action or a bonus action. 
  Also keep in mind that, unless you state 
  otherwise, an action can be used to Dash. This 
  invokes the complications of movement and 
  starting placement applicable to full turns. 
  Of additional importance when not allowing the 
  protagonist a full turn, you must specifically 
  allow for an item to be interacted with; you must 
  let the protagonist draw the bow that will be fired 
  or pull out the potion that will be consumed. 
  Because a character’s free interaction with an 
  object is allowed as part of a turn, not an action, 
  you must specifically provide it as additional lest 
  the character be stuck with nothing in-hand to 
  use in that moment. 
  If you allow only a single attack in this phase, the 
  character will be unable to cast spells, move, or 
  perform other actions in that time. 
  The single-attack option also presumes that the 
  character has a weapon in hand, so the ability to 
  draw a weapon should be stated as additional. 
  Alternately, you might route this ranged phase 
  through a branch that has the protagonist’s 
  ranged weapon already in-hand. This option 
  effectively simulates the Ready action, limiting a 
  character to a single attack triggered by stated 
  circumstances. 
  
  73 | SOLO CREATOR’S GUIDEBOOK 
  Here is an example of a ranged phase using the 
  single action option. 
  ▷ PART 292 
  Your keen senses detect the presence of goblins 
  lying in ambush. You detect them before you 
  are in their close striking range. As you hesitate, 
  you see the ambushers rise from their hiding 
  places, preparing to charge. 
   
  You can perform a single action prior to 
  combat beginning. If you need to draw a 
  weapon or another item to perform this action, 
  you may do so. 
  The goblins, numbered 1 through 4, are all 
  50 feet away from you. Each has a 15 Armor 
  Class, 7 hit points, and the following saving 
  throw modifiers: STR (-1), DEX (+2), CON (+0), 
  INT (+0), WIS (-1), CHA (-1). If you target the 
  goblin with the glittering headdress (number 
  4), it instead has 12 hit points and is immune to 
  the charmed and frightened conditions. 
  When your pre-combat action is resolved, go 
  to Appendix A-09. Note any damage or other 
  lingering effects upon the numbered goblins 
  there. 
  Some ranged phases may last more than one 
  round, depending on encounter distances. 
  Enemies might use their own ranged attacks 
  during this phase or might be unable to return 
  fire based on their equipment or other 
  capabilities. These factors can potentially 
  complicate a ranged phase, even to the point 
  where the antagonist can be defeated before 
  proper combat begins. 
  You can gate a ranged phase behind a Wisdom 
  (Perception) check to spot a distant enemy or a 
  Wisdom (Insight) check to realize that a creature 
  is already hostile as it approaches. Failure to pass 
  such a roll gate starts the battle in close quarters. 
  By placing the ranged opportunities into combat-
  adjacent text parts, the combat gate notation 
  doesn’t grow too complex with these details. A 
  character that sees the chance to make ranged 
  attacks will eventually get to that close-quarter 
  moment when initiative is rolled. This is where 
  the combat gate notation takes over, and where a 
  less-alert character will have begun the battle. 
  You may want a text part to give the option to 
  entirely avoid a combat using stealth, guile, or 
  other tactics. This is not a pre-combat phase; it is 
  instead simply a text part with a gate, as 
  described in the chapter 3. 
  Pre-combat phases are useful for adding drama to 
  the encounter. Sometimes you’ll want to reveal 
  information in the early rounds of combat. 
  Perhaps the main antagonist wants to reveal her 
  plans or her tragic motivations, or she simply 
  wants to goad the protagonist. Alternately, you 
  can dramatically shift the environment or reveal 
  clues as a battle unfolds; perhaps a running battle 
  moves through a dangerous tunnel system rife 
  with traps or into a back room where the 
  hostages are being held, upping the stakes. 
  Expositions in this style can enhance the 
  storytelling in your adventure, mixing it with the 
  excitement of combat. The typical form of 
  exposition appears in a text part with a 
  monologue or narration. Alongside it will be 
  instructive text that allows the protagonist to 
  attack or cast a spell. These might appear as a 
  series of text parts in similar form, allowing the 
  antagonist to reveal a few sentences of 
  information between each round. 
  Although it is normally a pre-combat device, 
  expositive moments can also appear after the 
  combat begins, using devices described in this 
  chapter. (See Mid-Combat Events.) 
  Here is an example of exposition used in a pre-
  combat text part. 
  
   
  COMBATS | 74 
  ▷ PART 224 
  As you stroll blithely down the forest path, 
  three black arrows come whizzing at you from 
  the underbrush. 
   
  These attacks are aimed at you. They hit Armor 
  Class 17, 17, and 8, respectively. Each hit 
  inflicts 5 (1d6 + 2) piercing damage. Because 
  you are surprised, you cannot use reactions in 
  response to these attacks. If you are reduced to 
  0 hit points, go to Part 450. Otherwise, read 
  on. 
   
  From behind a tree, a tall goblin appears 
  wearing a glittering headdress. It speaks 
  sternly, in Common, “This fate befalls all who 
  would defile our shrines and sacred caves! Kill 
  this one in the name of the Bitter Eye!” Three 
  more goblins materialize out of the 
  underbrush, eager to do their leader’s bidding. 
   
  Go to Appendix A-09. 
   
  A couple of things are going on here to make 
  note of. First, it is the antagonist’s ranged phase 
  being facilitated, not the protagonist’s, because 
  the protagonist was surprised. Second, if the 
  character survives, it does so with new 
  knowledge of the goblins’ motivations and the 
  name of their leader. This expositional dialogue 
  would not have been possible by routing the 
  player directly into a combat writeup. 
  Combat-adjacent text parts that occur 
  interspersed with chances to attack or cast spells 
  have immersion-breaking potential. If you fail to 
  account for the fact that the antagonist might die, 
  perhaps from an arrow’s critical hit or a powerful 
  spell, you can wind up with dialogue or 
  developments nonsensically produced by a dead 
  antagonist. 
  To avoid this paradox, remember that any 
  chance the protagonist has to injure or otherwise 
  affect an antagonist might lead to immediate 
  victory rather than decrementing what you think 
  is the antagonist’s large number of hit points. 
  Whenever such a chance is presented, always list 
  an alternate prompt for the event of the 
  antagonist’s demise. Here is an example of such 
  instructive text. 
  If the total damage you have inflicted upon the 
  knight is 154 or more, go to Part 031. 
  Otherwise, continue the battle by going to 
  Appendix 053. 
  For various reasons, you may wish to supply 
  intervening events or opportunities around and 
  among the rounds of battle. For these moments, 
  consider using mid-combat events. 
  Mid-combat events (and post-combat 
  outcomes) must have notation that the player can 
  remember and reference during a combat. When 
  battle begins, your player will normally step away 
  from the realm of your concise control, rolling 
  dice and noting hit point losses round-by-round 
  until the fight is done, without any further 
  reference to your text. Unless you strongly signal 
  when (and how) a mid-combat event occurs, the 
  player is likely to lose track of this special 
  instruction. This is particularly true if you have 
  listed multiple lines of tactical instructions and 
  unusual outcome prompts. Therefore, use mid-
  combat events sparingly and carefully, and apply 
  notation that is hard to forget. 
  Consider also the complexity and likelihood of 
  your triggers. Don’t forget to inform your player 
  of the precise condition under which a mid-
  combat event occurs. Also be mindful of triggers 
  that may never occur. For example, an event that 
  occurs “at the start of the third round” or “when 
  the priestess is reduced below half hit points” 
  might never occur if the combat ends in the 
  second round or the priestess gets killed outright. 
  If the mid-combat event is critical to you story 
  but its trigger is tenuous, consider recasting it as 
  a pre-combat phase or a post-combat outcome. 
  
  75 | SOLO CREATOR’S GUIDEBOOK 
  Sometimes, a battle can change dramatically part-
  way through. For example, a fight in a sinking 
  ship might, after the third round of battle, find the 
  combatants dramatically hampered by waist-
  deep water. An antagonist might take a healing 
  potion, try to flee, or otherwise change tactics if 
  reduced to half or fewer hit points. 
  In the usage data of a combat writeup, you can 
  seed prompts that take effect under certain 
  circumstances. Events like these need a trigger, a 
  contingent phrase in the form of “If X condition 
  occurs, then Y event occurs.” Try to keep these 
  prompts simple and easy to remember. Because 
  the reader is no longer looking at your instructive 
  text while running the battle, be aware that 
  complex conditions might be forgotten until the 
  player completes the battle and returns to 
  reading text parts. 
  Here are a few examples of instructive text that 
  would appear in the combat writeup’s usage data. 
  If you incapacitate the hobgoblin outrider or 
  reduce it to 0 hit points in three or fewer 
  rounds, you can push off from the dock and 
  escape the creature’s slower allies, going to 
  Part 199. If the hobgoblin outrider is above 0 hit 
  points and is not incapacitated at the start of 
  the fourth round, two additional hobgoblins join 
  the fray. Each has the same statistics as the 
  outrider. When this happens, you will not be 
  able to escape until the combat is over. 
   
  If this battle lasts longer than two rounds, the 
  rising water turns the entire map into difficult 
  terrain for the third and later rounds. 
   
  If you reduce the darkling queen to 40 or fewer 
  hit points without killing her, she will use her 
  next action to cast dimension door and escape 
  to an area you cannot see. If you are unable to 
  prevent this action, the combat ends early; go 
  to Part 033. Otherwise, fight on. 
   
  If the battle reaches the fourth round, the 
  dragon will say something in Draconic on its 
  turn. If you understand that language, go to 
  Part 319 at that time. (Part 319 will provide a 
  translation and then return you to this appendix 
  page to continue the battle.) 
  Combats resemble complex gates because they 
  invoke multiple rolls and features, and they can 
  halt the protagonist’s progress through the story. 
  However, combats are not gates; they have 
  different purposes and functions. Success in 
  combat can feel like bypassing a gate, but in fact 
  every combat is passed in one way or another. 
  Following a combat, the player will always 
  progress further, even if it is only to reach a brief 
  text part that describes the protagonist’s death. 
   All combats route the player into one of three 
  possible outcomes: success, escape, or failure. 
  The conditions for these outcomes, and the 
  prompts to them, appear in the usage data of a 
  traditional set or in the initial information text 
  part of a narrative set. Alternately, a narrative set 
  will re-present them in each text part as the 
  combat unfolds. 
  If you use a mixed format or one of your own 
  design, be sure to place these prompts 
  prominently, where the player will not have to 
  search for them. 
  The prompt for succeeding should be easy to 
  manage. Consider these points for clean 
  transitioning between the combat writeup and 
  the text parts that will continue the story. 
  Avoid nebulous phrases such as, “if you win the 
  combat,” unless you have defined what winning 
  means in your playbook. The trigger for success 
  should be as succinct as possible and should 
  
   
  COMBATS | 76 
  include as many possible outcomes as are 
  reasonable to contemplate. 
  •  Success: If you kill the Baron or reduce him to 0 
  hit points at any time in this combat, ignore 
  further instructions and go to Part 311. 
  Try to avoid cluttering your usage data with 
  multiple or complex success outcomes. For 
  example, try not to use two prompts to route the 
  protagonist into different text parts based on how 
  quickly the combat unfolded or whether a 
  prerequisite event occurred earlier in the story. 
  Particularly avoid this if your usage data included 
  mid-combat events or tactical instructions for the 
  antagonists. Instead, wait until the next text part; 
  after routing through the success prompt, the 
  resulting text part can be a short one that gates 
  the protagonist based on such factors. 
  When you must use multiple success options, 
  probably because the triggers for success are 
  different, remember to prioritize these and write 
  them as mutually exclusive of one another to 
  avoid confusion. For example, the following 
  option set is for a duel where success triggers 
  from “defeating” the foe or disarming him. 
  •  Success: If you kill the Baron or reduce him to 0 
  hit points at any time in this combat, ignore 
  further instructions and go to Part 311. 
  •  Success: If you disarm the Baron according to 
  the terms of the duel, and the Baron still has 1 
  or more hit points, go to Part 324. 
   
  Note that the second option is written to be 
  usable only if the first is not achieved. Otherwise, 
  a character with the Disarming Attack maneuver 
  could both disarm and kill the Baron in one roll, 
  leaving the player uncertain as to which option to 
  pick. 
  Remember that many players will be very 
  interested in taking antagonists’ weapons and 
  pocket money after a fight. While you don’t need 
  to allow this to occur in every instance, don’t fail 
  to consider what the protagonist has time to pick 
  up after the battle. Even a monster-quality 
  weapon (one with no resale value) can be of use 
  to a character that didn’t bring a better weapon 
  on the adventure. 
  When noting loot, you might efficiently include 
  it in a combat writeup that isn’t already too 
  cluttered. However, it is more likely that a post-
  fight looting moment works better as a later text 
  part. 
  The escape prompt triggers from a mid-combat 
  event. It typically has prerequisites, like this: 
  In the third or later round of combat, you can 
  attempt an escape action using the systems 
  defined in the playbook. If you succeed, go 
  immediately to Part 318. Otherwise, continue 
  the combat. 
   
  Writing for the protagonist’s escape requires 
  you to decide between “failing forward” or 
  “failing backward.” Such failure states can be 
  either literal or figurative. Fleeing from a 
  guardian that blocks a tunnel could result in the 
  protagonist running past it (failing forward) or 
  running back (failing backward). However, a 
  combat might instead have some other goal, like 
  delaying the king’s pursuers, that can be achieved 
  by fleeing after four rounds (failing forward) or 
  failed by fleeing within the first three rounds 
  (failing backward). 
  An option to fail forward doesn’t require 
  anything extra when “forward” is a literal, 
  directional factor. The protagonist simply moves 
  on as though the battle was won. For some 
  reason, the antagonists are unable or unwilling to 
  pursue the fight. The player avoids the risks of a 
  longer battle but loses the chance to loot fallen 
  foes or recover spent arrows. 
  
  77 | SOLO CREATOR’S GUIDEBOOK 
  If the combat’s goals are not literally 
  directional, failing forward probably means the 
  protagonist fled after achieving some goal, 
  something less than killing every antagonist on 
  the field. Perhaps the Duke’s brother was killed as 
  intended, and the protagonist doesn’t want to 
  risk a protracted fight against the remaining 
  guards. Failing forward in these circumstances 
  probably requires more parsing, either with 
  different escape options or perhaps a later event 
  gate that, for example, simply asks if the Duke’s 
  brother was killed in that fight (rather than 
  checking for whether the protagonist “succeeded” 
  in the battle). 
  The player’s route through the story is more 
  dramatically affected by failing backward. The 
  fleeing outcome probably resembles the combat’s 
  failure outcome, except that the protagonist 
  survives. If  you allow this to occur, you will need 
  to create a new approach to the scenario or a way 
  to bypass it. 
  Of foremost importance is whether the battle 
  must be fought again. Can the protagonist rest up 
  and return to the fray? If so, will the antagonists 
  also be healed? Will their dead members be 
  brought back to life? There is no way to 
  accurately guess the antagonists’ post-combat 
  state of health, meaning that routing the player 
  back through the same combat requires some 
  kind of explanation as to how the bugbear’s hit 
  points have returned, how its dead goblin 
  minions were cleared away and replaced, etc. 
  These justifications can become so convoluted 
  and irrational as to suggest that you not allow a 
  character to refight the battle. Instead, finding a 
  way around that conflict is preferred. Because 
  repeating the battle is discouraged, your decision 
  about failing forward of failing backward should 
  instead focus on the stakes of the conflict. 
  A backward-failing escape option should come 
  with a tangible penalty. It might be a setback in 
  the quest, the loss of time and treasure, or some 
  other penalty that the player can feel. 
  Because failing backward should require an 
  alternate route and a tangible penalty, the usual 
  approach is to route the protagonist through an 
  arduous or costly journey before continuing on 
  the quest. For example, the character leaps off the 
  ferry to avoid a battle and is then swept down the 
  coast by currents. The protagonist must now 
  journey back through the wilderness to get to the 
  destination port, fighting or sneaking past gnoll 
  tribes along the way. 
  Victory is the expected outcome of combats in 
  DUNGEONS & DRAGONS. A combat scenario that 
  reliably kills the player characters is considered 
  too hard, counter to the game’s design. Although 
  some degree of risk is necessary to challenge the 
  player characters and to justify their rewards, 
  rarely will a retreat be necessary and rarely will a 
  party member die. However, a solo protagonist’s 
  chance at survival is much more tenuous. 
  Because failure in combat is more likely, there are 
  particular complexities to consider in single-
  player adventures. 
  Failure usually means the protagonist is reduced 
  to 0 hit points. It can also mean instant death 
  from massive damage or automatic death 
  imposed by exhaustion, spells, or other game 
  effects. 
  A player character reduced to 0 hit points 
  normally gets to make death saving throws in an 
  effort to stabilize. However, you must first decide 
  whether stabilization is possible in the particular 
  encounter. 
  When adventuring alone, stabilization is 
  unlikely. With no allies to defend the unconscious 
  protagonist, an intelligent enemy will perform a 
  coup de grâce to ensure death; each of its attacks 
  now have advantage, automatically count as 
  
   
  COMBATS | 78 
  critical hits (potentially inflicting instant death), 
  and automatically impose a failed death save. An 
  unintelligent monster is likely to begin feasting 
  on the protagonist’s flesh, to the same ends. 
  Usually, the combat writeup’s “failure” option will 
  direct the player to a (dead end) text part that 
  describes the protagonist’s demise. 
  Sometimes, reaching 0 hit points is not a death 
  sentence. Perhaps the bandits only want the gold 
  and don’t care if the protagonist survives. 
  Perhaps the feral bull was only interested in a 
  fast-moving target and has no interest in 
  trampling the protagonist’s limp body. Perhaps 
  the antagonists want to capture the protagonist 
  alive and choose to administer bandages or spells 
  to ensure this outcome. 
  Left alone, a player character that is at 0 hit 
  points can make death saving throws as normal. 
  However, be sure to condition this option on the 
  protagonist being alive. Dead characters don’t 
  stabilize. This may require you to provide two 
  failure options in the combat writeup. 
  Alternately, the text part lead to by the writeups 
  failure option could itself gate out dead 
  characters before allowing saving throws. 
   You have been defeated by the Blue Leopard, 
  your body slashed and mangled by its claws. 
  •  If you were reduced to 0 hit points without 
  being killed outright, you can attempt death 
  saving throws to recover. If you stabilize, 
  continue your adventure at Part 606. Add 1d4 x 
  20 Interval Points to your total unless a death 
  saving throw result of 20 (or some feature or 
  magic you possess) allowed you to recover 
  instantly. 
  •  If you were killed outright during the battle or 
  you die from failed death saves, go to Part 619. 
  Because a solo adventurer otherwise has no 
  friends to arrange a resurrection, consider these 
  “fairness” tools to prevent death from completely 
  ending the protagonist’s story. 
  Failure. As a consequence of death, the 
  protagonist fails the adventure. Any penalty short 
  of failing the quest, except for extremely unusual 
  story purposes, creates a game without 
  consequence, where success and failure are 
  immaterial. This means that a text part describing 
  the character’s death is a dead end, even if it 
  allows resurrection. 
  Resurrection. We recommend that you allow 
  the player character to be found and resurrected 
  after death in most circumstances, with costs as 
  discussed below. Death is rarely final in 
  DUNGEONS & DRAGONS, and to do otherwise is to 
  penalize solo play too much. 
  In the text part attached to the combat 
  writeup’s failure option, you can describe the 
  events that led to the protagonist’s return to life, 
  and the costs associated. These factors determine 
  the costs to return from the dead. 
  Costs. Returning from death is never free. Even 
  an allied spellcaster must pay the material 
  components of the spell. The cost is based on the 
  magic necessary, which in turn depends on the 
  facts of the protagonist’s death and the nature of 
  the corpse’s recovery. 
  It is unlikely that the protagonist will be 
  administered to quickly enough for a revivify 
  spell, unless adventuring with non-player 
  character allies. A raise dead spell is more likely, 
  but certain conditions, like the loss of limbs or a 
  recovery that took longer than 10 days, 
  necessitate a resurrection spell. In the case of the 
  protagonist’ body being completely destroyed or 
  its being converted to undeath, a true resurrection 
  is the only cure. 
  Each of these spells lists its component cost in 
  the Player’s Handbook. You decide if additional 
  fees are necessary for the spellcasting service 
  based on the character’s possible allies, ties to 
  local temples, or other factors. A character that 
  cannot pay the cost out of ready coins (or 
  
  79 | SOLO CREATOR’S GUIDEBOOK 
  diamonds carried for that purpose) must do so by 
  selling possessions. 
  Debts. If selling possessions does not suffice, 
  you can impose a debt upon the player character. 
  First, the protagonist loses all wealth and magic 
  items, the value of which is subtracted from the 
  debt. Future earnings must go to pay back 
  whatever person or organization is responsible 
  for the protagonist’s return to life until the debt is 
  paid. 
  Since the adventure is effectively over, 
  imposing a debt requires the player to be willing 
  to track these figures in the next adventure. This 
  is easier to do in a continuing adventure path, 
  when you can actually identify and recur the 
  supporting characters to whom the debt is owed. 
  You can even use event gates to write debt-
  specific scenes in future adventures where 
  “collectors” visit to remind the protagonist of the 
  debt. 
  As the creator of an adventure, you take on many 
  of the functions of a Dungeon Master. This 
  includes the responsibility to make interesting 
  challenges and to set them at appropriate 
  difficulty levels. 
  For combats, you must be mindful of the 
  peculiarities of this medium and how a lone 
  character changes the dynamics of the game. 
  Chapter 6 addresses some of the ways you can 
  manage a lone character’s vulnerabilities, but the 
  bulk of that management takes place here, during 
  the designing process. 
  A character adventuring alone has no margin for 
  error. Therefore, the foes you select need careful 
  consideration, particularly to address the fact 
  that the protagonist faces them without the aid of 
  an entire party. 
  The DUNGEONS & DRAGONS Roleplaying Game has a 
  system for rating challenges, but it makes a poor 
  yardstick for gauging the difficulty of single-
  player combats. The Challenge Rating system can 
  provide a useable starting point, but it is 
  inadequate to fully measure single-player 
  adventure challenges for two reasons. 
  First and foremost, the system is directed at 
  parties of multiple adventurers. Certain creature 
  traits, particularly those that incapacitate a single 
  character—just a fraction of a party’s fighting 
  force—are game-ending powers when facing a 
  lone protagonist. Other factors, particularly 
  extremes of hit points or Armor Class, innate 
  defenses, resistant or immunity to non-magical 
  weapon damage, and the like, are balanced 
  against the assumption of a full party. A group of 
  adventurers is likely to have a variety of tools to 
  meet challenges that are immune to one 
  particular tool or another. If an antagonist is 
  resistant to the smaller range of features 
  available to a lone adventurer, the difficulty of the 
  encounter spikes dramatically. 
  The second way that the Challenge Rating 
  system fails is that, for balance purposes, it 
  assumes characters meet every encounter 
  completely fresh, with all of their various 
  resources and features available. A weakened 
  party can choose to withdraw and find a place to 
  camp for a long rest. The party is not expected to 
  rest before every fight, but it can usually do so if 
  it must. At the very least, it has a Dungeon Master 
  to referee further interactions if the party cannot 
  withdraw. Conversely, in single-player 
  adventures, the placement of long rests relative 
  to combats is dictated by the story’s creator. A 
  player usually cannot withdraw from the flow of 
  the story to take a long rest; this storytelling 
  medium is insufficiently flexible to insert major 
  events like this. 
  
   
  COMBATS | 80 
  The Challenge Rating of antagonists should 
  therefore earn very little consideration in the 
  course of balancing combat gates.  
  One of the most impactful components of an 
  enemy’s stat block is the breadth of its damage 
  capacity. If all of an enemy’s attacks hit and then 
  roll unfortunately-high damage results, the 
  adventure can end based on some very bad luck. 
  Even if a creature has only one attack, having a 
  large damage range can be instantly lethal in the 
  case of a critical hit. While a certain degree of luck 
  is desirable, truly-high damage spikes are far 
  deadlier in a single-player scenario than in a 
  normal game. You should therefore select and 
  design enemies being mindful of the maximum 
  damage they can inflict each round. 
  In order to reign in outlying damage results, 
  consider using average damage results for 
  antagonists’ attacks. These numbers are already 
  listed in the Monster Manual, making them very 
  easy to implement. You can omit the dice from 
  monsters’ stat blocks, or you can include them for 
  players that want to use them for a more 
  “hardcore” playing experience. 
  Spells and special traits that can incapacitate the 
  protagonist should be avoided, even if those 
  effects call for easy (or multiple) saving throws. 
  Rather than just being difficult, there is a serious 
  risk that a bad roll or two with such effects will 
  end the adventure, no matter how tough the 
  character or smartly it is played. 
  Generally, this means leaving hold person off 
  the enemy cleric’s spell list. Conditions are bad 
  news for single players, creating situations that 
  immediately spiral out of control. Effects that 
  inflict blinded, frightened, or poisoned are 
  incredibly dangerous. Effects that impose 
  incapacitated, paralyzed, petrified, restrained, 
  stunned, and unconscious are essentially “save-
  or-die” powers in this environment. 
  If you particularly want to use a monster that 
  could normally incapacitate a player character 
  with a single roll, you might simply excise that 
  power from the stat block. For example,  if you 
  want to use a rampaging basilisk, you can alter it 
  for use in the single-player environment, perhaps 
  reasoning that the creature is rampaging because 
  it lost its Petrifying Gaze to old age, or had its 
  eyes clawed out in a battle with another monster. 
  One of the problems inherent to the challenge 
  rating system is the difficulty of rating an 
  encounter’s strength when adjusting the number 
  of monsters involved. There are several 
  important factors to be aware of, some in the 
  protagonist’s favor and some not. 
  First, dividing the encounter’s strength into 
  more (weaker) enemies, rather than fewer 
  (tougher) enemies requires the player character 
  to use more attacks to bring down the foes. Each 
  killing strike against a weaker foe wastes the 
  damage inflicted in excess of that enemy’s hit 
  points. More monsters also fill the terrain more 
  effectively, making it harder for the character to 
  flee or to stay hidden in light of the enemies’ 
  many Wisdom (Perception) checks. 
  Second, placing all of an encounter’s strength 
  into a single monster makes the scenario more 
  vulnerable to particular character features that 
  might easily negate the threat. For example, a 
  flying creature could easily overcome a pair of 
  carrion crawlers by staying above their reach. 
  However, a carrion crawler and a few hidden 
  piercers among the stalactites is a harder 
  matchup to steamroll. A trait that effectively 
  negates one monster’s threat might not work as 
  well on others. 
  Third, try to remain aware of common features, 
  particularly those at the pinnacle of  character 
  capabilities within your adventure’s level range. 
  These can vary dramatically in effectiveness 
  based on how many foes are faced at a given time. 
  
  81 | SOLO CREATOR’S GUIDEBOOK 
  Encounters should employ monsters of different 
  types. A single type of monster is prone to 
  creating a consistent advantage or disadvantage 
  for certain characters, one that lasts for the entire 
  adventure. For example, an adventure stocked 
  entirely with undead might give a cleric too easy 
  a time. A yuan-ti pureblood might skate through 
  an adventure where the majority of monsters’ 
  attacks inflict poison damage or the poisoned 
  condition. A creature resistant to the charmed 
  condition might not fear the fey. 
  You can mitigate the risk of intemperate dice in 
  several ways. Bad luck should not be the end of 
  the adventure. Instead, the player should feel that 
  the adventure afforded decision-based chances to 
  succeed and rewarded good choices made along 
  the way, decisions like whether or not to drink a 
  healing potion after the previous battle. 
  The subtlest approach is to apply a non-lethal 
  outcome if a combat is failed; if the monsters 
  disable the protagonist but do not outright kill it. 
  The outcome of losing the overly-difficult combat 
  is that the protagonist has another chance to live, 
  perhaps rolling death saves, getting captured for 
  ransom, or otherwise suffering setbacks that are 
  less than lethal. 
  You can also add other circumstances, magic 
  items, friendly creatures, or even interactive rules 
  to protect against death by a tragic outlier. While 
  you should endeavor to avoid changing the 
  balance of combat with such measures, you can 
  make certain combats lets risky—less prone to 
  swingy die results—by having an effect that will, 
  under the right circumstance, negate a bad saving 
  throw or leave a character with 1 hit point after 
  an attack instead of 0. Further possibilities like 
  these are discussed in the next chapter. 
  The easiest and most-affective way to 
  compensate for the solitude of the protagonist is 
  to include creatures or characters that fight as 
  allies. Perhaps the protagonist is adventuring 
  with a non-player character companion or even 
  in an entire party of non-player character 
  adventurers. 
  These scenarios are tricky. You should avoid 
  making the player control non-player characters 
  in battle. Each ally that the player must control in 
  combat ratchets up the complexity of the task. 
  Controlling the protagonist, additional allies, and 
  all the opponents in a battle is almost certainly 
  too much to ask of your player; studying each 
  participant’s features and tactics will probably 
  take far more time than the combat itself. 
  However, that does not mean that allies should be 
  avoided. They still make wonderful tools for 
  mitigating the risks of adventuring alone. Allies 
  can easily be used without adding complexity. 
  The best way to use allies in a battle is to 
  separate the protagonist into its own individual 
  combat, facing off against the most interesting of 
  the foes. Narrate the allies into their own combats 
  that occur at the same time. This allows you to 
  run a combat with just the player character, 
  narrating the results of the other 
  contemporaneous fighting. 
  If the player character wins the fight within a 
  certain number of rounds, narrate the character 
  as coming to the aid of the allies and finishing 
  their separate combats. If the battle goes longer 
  than a set number of rounds, the reverse can 
  happen, with the allies narratively finishing the 
  battle by coming to the protagonist’s aid. And, if 
  the player character is reduced to 0 hit points 
  during its fight, you have the freedom to continue 
  the story since the allies can win their separate 
  fights and revive the protagonist after the dust 
  settles. 
  
   
  COMBATS | 82 
  The protagonist’s surroundings can deeply affect 
  the course of a battle, as can the number and 
  nature of fights that have already occurred in that 
  adventuring day. 
  Be mindful to change the terrain from time to 
  time, presenting a variety of environments in 
  your combat writeups. Identical surroundings 
  can be boring and will benefit or penalize certain 
  character types too much. 
  For example, if all encounters are in lightless 
  chambers, a gloom stalker ranger is forever 
  invisible. Or if all the encounters take place in 
  bright daylight, characters with the Sunlight 
  Sensitivity trait are always suffering that 
  weakness. Of particular importance to track, 
  games entirely in tight tunnels make flying 
  characters lose their major advantage. 
  The protagonist has limited hit points, and 
  limited uses of features that refresh after a rest. 
  Other limits, like reserves of ammunition or 
  healing potions, can also impact how difficult a 
  combat is based on its proximity to the previous 
  resting point or marketplace. 
  As a general rule, expect a character to safely 
  fight one or two times between each short rest. At 
  three or four combats between short rests, the 
  character is probably low on hit points and other 
  resources and may have exhausted any healing 
  potions or other single-use recovery items. 
  Particularly in the case of your adventure’s 
  final combat, make sure the protagonist has had a 
  long rest immediately before it, or no more than 
  one fight prior to it. In this way, you can afford to 
  make the final combat challenging with the 
  knowledge that the character probably hasn’t 
  wasted too many resources already. 
  The number of combats a character can endure 
  between rests varies to some degree. Different 
  classes refresh their rest-recovery powers at 
  different intervals (short vs. long rests). Some 
  classes have spells or features that allow for in-
  combat or between-combat healing. Adjusting for 
  these resources’ recovery rates is difficult, 
  requiring extensive playtesting of different 
  classes. 
   
   
  
  83 | SOLO CREATOR’S GUIDEBOOK 
   
   
  
   
  WRITING | 84 
   
  CHAPTER FIVE 
  “No, no! The adventures first, explanations 
  take such a dreadful time.” 
  - Lewis Carroll 
  OUR SCAFFOLDS DESCRIBE THE STORY’S EVENTS 
  and environment with placeholder text, 
  but this is not the finished product. 
  Scaffolds need novel-like writing to cover 
  their bare bones, prose that will engage the 
  reader, creating tension and a sense of 
  excitement. 
  In a normal game of DUNGEONS & DRAGONS, a 
  Dungeon Master supplies most of the story, 
  narrating the events. To assist this process, some 
  standard adventures write area introductions in 
  boxed text to be read aloud. But in a single-player 
  medium, everything narrative is “boxed” text; the 
  whole adventure needs to be written out in full.  
   
  WRITING SUMMARY 
  This chapter covers the following topics. 
   
  • Text Parts. Converting scaffolds into fully-
  written sequences of text parts and 
  instructions for the various components of 
  complete text parts. 
  • Metaknowledge. Writing in ways that 
  prevent giving the reader too much 
  information about the story or the 
  underlying mechanics of routing. 
  • The Protagonist. How to write about a 
  completely-unknown character and how to 
  avoid common pitfalls in the process. 
  The story in your single-player adventure will 
  look more like a novel than a standard adventure 
  module. Simultaneously, its prose must provide 
  all the elements that a Dungeon Master would 
  otherwise narrate. Thus, the focus of this section 
  is upon narrative and instructive text. 
  Narrative text is where your writing skills come 
  into play. It is the primary element of your text 
  parts and constitutes the majority of your 
  adventure’s writing. 
  Like the bones of a creature you are building 
  from scratch, your naked scaffolds need covering 
  with the flesh of your narrative text. 
  Here again is the sample scaffold from chapter 
  1, with a conversion example. 
   
  WITH PROMPTS ADDED (VERSION 3) 
   
  Part 01-007: river crossing 
  You walk toward the river bank 
  You hear your pursuers closing in behind 
  • To steal a boat for crossing, go to Part 01-
  008: far bank. 
  • To swim the river, go to Part 01-023: wet 
  arrival. 
   
  Part 01-008: far bank 
  You reach the other bank, dodging arrows 
  You run into the trees 
   
  
  85 | SOLO CREATOR’S GUIDEBOOK 
   
  SCAFFOLDS CONVERTED (VERSION 4) 
   
  Part 01-007: river crossing 
  You walk quickly toward the river, staying to 
  the shadows as much as possible. You wonder 
  how long it will take the guards to notice your 
  absence. 
  Your question is soon answered by a distant 
  shout from the camp behind you. Your heart 
  leaps and you sprint down to the shore where 
  you find a pair of old wooden rowboats 
  beached near the fast-moving water. The 
  sounds of your pursuers are growing louder. 
  • To steal a boat for crossing, go to Part 01-
  008: far bank. 
  • To swim the river, go to Part 01-023: wet 
  arrival. 
   
  Part 01-008: far bank 
  You push one of the rowboats into the river, 
  diving in as the current pulls the old boat 
  downstream. In the dim moonlight, you see the 
  guards reach the river and begin searching. 
  You’ve nearly reached the far shore when your 
  boat is spotted. Arrows start to rain down 
  around you. You leap the last few feet to dry 
  land and run for the trees. Arrows strike a 
  nearby trunk as you plunge into the cover of 
  the tree line, finally out of reach of your 
  pursuers. 
   
  If, as you replace scaffolds with narrative text, 
  you reach a fork that creates too few branches to 
  satisfy the narrative you are writing, you will 
  need to fix this problem. 
  You must either rewrite the narrative text to 
  narrow or redirect the focus of the story into the 
  branches you have scaffolded, or you must go 
  back to the scaffolding process to create new 
  branches. The first is preferable at this stage, 
  since new routes call for new rounds of testing 
  and can require too much additional labor. 
  Your narrative text has two fundamental 
  functions, revelation and inquiry. It does these 
  things simply by describing the environment and 
  actions taking place therein. 
  Narrative text’s first function is to reveal the 
  results of a prior prompt. For example, the 
  character has taken the left-hand tunnel 
  described in the last prompt. In the current 
  prompt, the narrative text describes the tunnel 
  and what waits at its end, thus revealing the 
  results of choosing to turn left. 
  Just as importantly, narrative text sets the 
  stage for player agency, foreshadowing the 
  decisions the player must engage with in the 
  options. It leads naturally to the inquiry, the 
  moment when you ask the player, “what do you 
  do?” 
  Following are a few guidelines for how to write 
  your narrative text. 
  The form of your narrative text is second-person 
  present-tense. 
  Second person perspective is uncommon in 
  novels but expected in single-player adventures. 
  It is characterized by such second-person 
  pronouns as you, yours, and yourself. Address the 
  reader (“you”) directly, as the protagonist in your 
  writing. This is a powerful tool for immersion. 
  For the same reason, write your narrative text 
  in the present tense. Present tense implies an 
  immediacy (in time and location), whereas past 
  tense takes the reader back a step to observe 
  events from a distance. 
  Although present tense is preferred, past tense 
  can still have a place in adventures; it can be 
  useful when describing past events, perhaps 
  when writing a flashback. 
  
   
  WRITING | 86 
  With all the action you are sure to be writing, it 
  can be easy to gloss over the environment and 
  the interesting objects within it. This can lead to a 
  bland narrative. 
  As a guideline, make sure to call out one 
  interesting feature of the environment at every 
  large text part. If possible, describe something 
  with a sense other than sight. A single interesting 
  feature, particularly one that engages the other 
  senses, is often enough to enliven the world 
  without overwhelming the reader. 
  The one-description guideline also serves as a 
  key to help players remember locations. This is 
  particularly important in locational mapping, 
  when players are often asked if this is their first 
  visit to an area. Without a distinctive feature to 
  the area, it can be hard for players to answer this 
  question accurately. 
  Rich descriptions are important, but they should 
  be kept short. Too much detail in the 
  environment can overwrite what the player is 
  already imagining and reduce immersion rather 
  than enhancing it. 
  Another drawback to over-describing is that 
  players will fixate on details you can’t anticipate 
  and will want to interact with them. Limiting the 
  interactable things around the protagonist is one 
  of your most important tools for keeping players 
  on track and minimizing the number of leaves 
  and branches you have to build out from each 
  scene. If you write a detail that interests the 
  reader and then fail to allow interaction with it, 
  your adventure will feel unnecessarily 
  constrained. 
  Short descriptions are also best when it is 
  battle you are describing, rather than the 
  environment; less is more when it comes to 
  writing, particularly with action scenes. 
  The maximum amount of text your players 
  want to digest in one text part is about 150 
  words. You should rarely exceed that number. 
  Even in an action scene, you can use all the tools 
  of this section in text parts of 75 words or less. 
  Narrative prose need not be a mere layer of gloss. 
  You can incorporate important clues that will 
  matter later in the story. A player who diligently 
  absorbs the narrative might be better equipped 
  to make decisions later. For example, knowing 
  that you need to go south to reach your 
  destination can help you determine which path to 
  take at a crossroads. 
  However, be aware that players sometimes 
  ignore narrative text altogether. Most stories of 
  this nature can be navigated by reading just the 
  options and thereby extrapolating a general 
  impression of the story. Players do this when 
  they don’t feel engaged with the story, when they 
  feel excited or rushed to get through something, 
  or when faced with a wall of text that doesn’t 
  promise to be worth reading. For this reason, it is 
  a good idea to avoid making narrative text-based 
  clues necessary to the later completion of an 
  adventure. 
  The skill of writing is not something a Dungeon 
  Master uses in a normal game; running a game 
  combines storytelling and speech, not storytelling 
  and writing. Interactive adventures in this 
  medium are different. Without a DM to narrate 
  your adventure, the player must experience it 
  through the prose you write. In this medium, 
  good writing is therefore a necessary element for 
  an excellent adventure, and editing is what makes 
  it good. 
  Successful writers tend to have imagination, 
  technical proficiency, and practice. Imaginative 
  content captures the reader’s attention, while 
  proficiency with the language reduces errors that 
  would distract the reader. With practice, a 
  writer’s style improves, allowing more complex 
  ideas to be conveyed with shorter, more-elegant 
  writing. 
  
  87 | SOLO CREATOR’S GUIDEBOOK 
  Fortunately, you don’t need to be a great writer 
  to create enjoyable interactive adventures. Unlike 
  reading a novel, playing DUNGEONS & DRAGONS 
  comes with the expectation of sharing the 
  imaginative process. It is a cooperative 
  storytelling experience. 
  The other ingredients, the technical 
  proficiencies of writing, come with time and 
  study, or they can be borrowed from others who 
  review and correct your writing. You really only 
  need the ingredient of imagination; without a 
  good story, no configuration of words will make 
  the adventure enjoyable. 
  Interactive adventures do not require a high 
  level of proficiency to write. They are a good 
  medium to practice your writing in, since most of 
  your text will simply narrate the direct action of 
  the protagonist and other actors. Even if your 
  syntax and style are clumsy, if you lack 
  proficiency with your chosen language, there are 
  a few things you can do to accelerate your 
  learning process. 
  If you are worried about your skill, start 
  writing now! Don’t let proficiency concerns get in 
  your way. You have to start somewhere; the 
  sooner you get writing, the sooner you’ll get to 
  the level of skill you are seeking. This advice 
  applies if you are a poor writer, or if you are one 
  of the many mediocre (or even great) writers 
  who underestimate their skill level. 
  Writing instructive text is simple. It doesn’t need 
  to capture the reader’s imagination, it simply tells 
  the reader what to do. Its greatest challenge is 
  avoiding the problem of ambiguity, which will be 
  addressed in Chapter 6. You don’t want your 
  instructive text to have more than one viable 
  interpretation. 
  Your options will appear where you have noted 
  forks in your scaffold. Options follow naturally 
  from the narrative text, giving them a precise 
  nature and number. 
  Options offer the player action or decision-
  making. They ask a question in the style of, “what 
  do you do?” 
  In a normal game of DUNGEONS & DRAGONS, this 
  question is essential for the Dungeon Master to 
  ask a player. It transitions the focus of the game 
  from the DM to the player, requiring the player to 
  exercise agency and engage with the story, even if 
  to do nothing or to move away from the story. 
  “What do you do?” is a question that has two 
  parts, checking both “task” and “intention.” The 
  DM wants both the action and the goal in order to 
  overcome any ambiguity in the player’s response. 
  A stated action can be imagined as playing out 
  very differently based on the player’s intentions. 
  This structure of inquiry is important to be 
  mindful of when writing options for interactive 
  adventures. Ideas conveyed with text are 
  particularly prone to ambiguity. The discordance 
  between an option as stated and the result as 
  provided is usually small. But all too often, an 
  option’s resulting text part can make the player 
  question whether the option was misread, or the 
  hyperlink was misdirected. Therefore, whenever 
  possible, options should be worded to include 
  both a task and an intention. 
  Intention may seem obvious from the text, but 
  it is never as obvious as the writer believes. 
  Ambiguity is hard to perceive by a person who 
  already knows what is meant. Where intention is 
  not necessarily obvious, options should be stated 
  in the “outcome/action” form, first stating the 
  protagonist’s goal then the activity to reach it. 
  Here is an example of an option written in the 
  “outcome/action” form. 
  • To prevent Maktos from coming aboard, you 
  can push away from the dock. Go to Part 416. 
   
  
   
  WRITING | 88 
  Sometimes this combination can be conveyed 
  with ability or skill gates. Two dialogue choices 
  with identical text can take different tones if they 
  require a Charisma (Intimidation) check or a 
  Charisma (Persuasion) check. In the two 
  examples below, the first clause of each sentence 
  can be replaced by the syntax of an ability check 
  gate. 
  • {CHARISMA (INTIMIDATION) 12} If you wish to 
  frighten club owner, you can tell her that 
  cooperating with the authorities is good for her 
  business by going to Part 392. 
  • {CHARISMA (PERSUASION) 12} If you wish to build 
  rapport with the club owner, you can tell her 
  that cooperating with the authorities is good for 
  her business by going to Part 317. 
   
  Telling people that something is good for them 
  often carries the subtext that the alternative is 
  bad. In the first example, placing the Charisma 
  (Intimidation) gate signals that the option will 
  convey a threat of interfering with business, 
  without having to write it out in natural language. 
  When options appear in a text part, they appear 
  in sets of two or more. (A prompt by itself, with 
  no alternatives, is just instructive text.) 
  If you are following the creation process 
  described in this book, you have already 
  determined the number of options while writing 
  forks and adding branches to your scaffolds. 
  Unfortunately, the process of adding details 
  often illuminates additional options that seem 
  obvious in hindsight. You will frequently want to 
  add new scaffolds at these forking points. 
  Resist that temptation.  
  The best thing to do in these cases is to alter 
  narrative text to fit your predetermined options. 
  You are already beyond the scaffolding and initial 
  testing; restructuring now can introduce even 
  more unforeseen problems or necessitate the 
  repetition of your lengthy development process. 
  Re-writing your layer of narrative text is better 
  than redeveloping your underlying structure. 
  If you do need to add additional options, 
  prompt them into leaves or nodes, or use short 
  branches that bind into existing branches as 
  quickly as possible. 
  Normally, each set of options has at least one un-
  gated option that players can take if they fail the 
  other gates’ ability checks or lack the features or 
  experiences necessary to bypass those other 
  gates. Making sure one option in the set is 
  ungated is a good guideline to avoid accidental 
  ends. 
  A set of options that are all gated raises a red 
  flag, calling for careful inspection. If you find 
  yourself writing a set of options that are all gated, 
  take time to examine why and how this impacts 
  player routes. This formulation typically applies 
  when the writer perceives that every character 
  will fit at least one gate, but it is easy to overlook 
  some exceptions. 
  If you anticipate that the protagonist will 
  qualify for one of the gates, no matter what, try to 
  envision how that might fail. Particularly, if the 
  gates are experience-based, consult your diagram 
  to determine if there are any routes to reach this 
  point in the story without having encountered 
  one of those prerequisite events. 
  Gated option sets that shouldn’t worry you are 
  binary positive/negative gates based on a single 
  event. These take the form of “If you have 
  encountered [X event], go to Part 714” and “If you 
  have not encountered [X event], go to Part 733.” 
  This seems like you are simply leaving one open 
  option, the negative gate, but in fact, by the 
  negative reference to the event, you are 
  preventing the player from choosing that option 
  if the protagonist has encountered X. In this way, 
  a binary set of gated options closely resembles 
  instructive text, with no decision being made by 
  the player. 
  
  89 | SOLO CREATOR’S GUIDEBOOK 
  Metaknowledge is information inadvertently 
  revealed to the player through your use of 
  routing tools and metastructure. Because the 
  player infers this information from game systems, 
  something not perceptible to the character, it 
  puts the player in the hard position of having 
  information that the character does not. 
  Try to avoid conveying metaknowledge 
  because it hurts the play experience. Seeing 
  behind the curtain reduces immersion. Players 
  feel immersion when they can suspend their 
  natural disbelief of the unnatural. Immersion 
  allows players to experience more-realistic 
  feelings in response to events in your game. 
  Restricting metaknowledge is one of the few 
  ways to improve the players’ immersion and thus 
  their experiences with your product. 
  Good players will try to prevent 
  metaknowledge from influencing the choices they 
  make as their characters, but this is not an easy 
  burden to carry. The player already has enough 
  information to keep track of without having to 
  remember what was learned in-character and 
  what is known only to the player. Reducing 
  metaknowledge helps to alleviate this burden. 
  Metaknowledge of events occurs when your tools 
  convey information that should not yet be known 
  or that allow players to accidentally notice 
  information that could be hidden by pagination. 
  Such metaknowledge encourages players to make 
  decisions or take actions they otherwise wouldn’t 
  if they didn’t have that information. 
  Providing an option to check for traps, in an 
  adventure where searching has never before 
  been offered as an option, is an example of 
  metaknowledge in the form of a revealed event. It 
  reveals to the player the presence of a trap, which 
  will spring if not found and disarmed. 
  When the prerequisites for a gate will forecast 
  the result of using that gate, you can use a bit of 
  obfuscation to prevent metaknowledge. 
  Let’s look again at the example of a trapped 
  door. The options allow the protagonist to use the 
  door, search it for traps, or leave the room. The 
  option to search has a roll gate that forecasts the 
  result and can influence the player’s decisions. 
  Even the Difficulty Class of the ability check 
  reveals a lot and can dissuade the player from 
  trying such a difficult task. 
  • To leave this room the way you first entered it, 
  go to Part 411. 
  • To open the mysterious door, go to Part 255. 
  • {INTELLIGENCE (INVESTIGATION) 20} You can search 
  the door for traps. If you succeed, go to Part 
  011. 
   
  Assuming this isn’t a bluff (that there is actually 
  a trap on the door), you can avoid forecasting by 
  hiding your gate in the next text part, presented 
  after the player has committed to a search. (This 
  tool is like the veneers and base rooms used to 
  parse location-based events in locational 
  mapping.) 
  • To leave this room the way you first entered it, 
  go to Part 411. 
  • To open the mysterious door, go to Part 255. 
  • To examine the mysterious door more closely 
  add 1 Interval Point and go to Part 216. 
   
  This change does a few things. First, it doesn’t 
  talk about traps at all. A player might expect to 
  find some hidden writing that reveals the door’s 
  purpose, dust and cobwebs indicating no recent 
  use, or maybe a trap. Offering a prompt for 
  simply examining the door doesn’t forecast the 
  risk so strongly. 
  Second, a cost was applied to the search option. 
  Given a choice of being careful without penalty, 
  
   
  WRITING | 90 
  the player will probably always choose caution. 
  However, if there is a cost, hurrying has a 
  quantified advantage. 
  Third, the roll gate was moved to the next text 
  part, appearing only after the player has 
  committed to that route. The player will not know 
  what kind of check, if any, will be necessary for 
  the search. 
  The non-narrative text of the next part looks 
  like this: 
  Make a DC 20 Intelligence (Investigation) check. 
  If you succeed, go to Part 011. If you fail this 
  check by more than 5 points, go to Part 202. If 
  you fail this check by 5 or fewer points, choose 
  one of the following options. 
  • To leave this room the way you first entered it, 
  go to Part 411. 
  • To open the mysterious door, go to Part 255. 
   
  Note how this configuration puts the ability 
  check in instructive text, meaning it must be 
  resolved before contemplating the options that 
  follow it. The player is locked into the 
  examination, having made that decision in the 
  prior text part, and cannot now choose to skip the 
  ability check once its nature and difficulty are 
  revealed. 
  The way text parts are named and placed can 
  strip the mystery from the play experience. 
  Therefore, use identifiers that do not convey 
  metaknowledge and do not tempt the player to 
  glance at extraneous information. 
  The human eye is better-drawn to certain aspects 
  of grouped objects. Cognitive experts tell us that 
  humans can scan for certain traits of collected 
  objects more easily than others. Color and shape 
  are more distinguishable than words, even simple 
  ones. Therefore, make your identifier fonts larger, 
  bolder, and differently-colored than the rest of 
  your text. Your goal is to draw the eye to the 
  identifiers, rather than allowing it to snap up any 
  other short, offset bits text that are so common 
  and eye-catching in other text parts. 
  This product assumes that the unique identifiers 
  for your text parts are numbers, not names, due 
  to reasons previously stated. However, because 
  some writers prefer the advantages of word-
  based systems, particularly during adventure 
  creation, this is a reminder to revise any that 
  include metaknowledge, particularly when such 
  names reveal the results of prior decisions. 
  Metaknowledge from text part titles is not 
  limited to the information of those parts. When 
  multiple text parts appear on the same page, the 
  player will necessarily scan those titles to 
  determine which is the one being sought. If the 
  name of another nearby text part conveys any 
  information, even scanning over it might reveal 
  information about the future of the story. 
  When a set of options is prompting players 
  toward two separate text parts, don’t put those 
  prompted parts on the same page of your 
  product. Players may be tempted to glance at the 
  outcome of the other option if it is visible, gaining 
  metaknowledge of their choices’ alternatives. It is 
  hard, particularly while reading small segments 
  like text parts, not to scan titles on the same page 
  or peripherally notice a few lines that stand out. 
  By preserving the secrecy of alternate choices, 
  you are preserving the mystery and replayability 
  of your product. 
  Even the identifiers named in your prompts 
  sometimes convey information you don’t want to 
  give away. This particularly occurs in a couple of 
  ways. 
  
  91 | SOLO CREATOR’S GUIDEBOOK 
  If, as some writers do, you want to begin every 
  chapter with an anticipatable number, like 
  making 301 the first text part of the third chapter, 
  a prompt that sends you to part 301 signals the 
  start of a new chapter. Depending on the 
  importance of the options this prompt appears in, 
  knowing that one prompt successfully transitions 
  the character onward can convey unwanted 
  metaknowledge. Avoid any prompts that 
  constitute vital decisions from leading directly to 
  the story’s conclusion or the chapter’s conclusion. 
  Similarly, if the prompts within a set of options 
  direct the player to the same text part, the player 
  will immediately recognize that the decision is 
  meaningless, without any effect on the course of 
  the story. If you must create illusory choices, do 
  so in a way that isn’t forecasted. 
  If you give players a future prompt, one meant to 
  be checked at a particular point later in the 
  adventure, don’t provide the unique identifier for 
  the text part to be checked. This is part of a 
  larger, general rule: Don’t tempt the player with 
  metaknowledge. 
  If players are reading a text part that appears 
  next to your future-prompted text part, they 
  might remember that number and their eyes may 
  wander down the page a bit too far, revealing the 
  mystery. 
  To avoid this temptation (or accident), you can 
  also use the Part Numbers as Clues method found 
  under special-use gates. 
  The protagonist is the central character of your 
  adventure, yet its abilities and proclivities are 
  entirely unknown to you. Writing for a mystery 
  character can be challenging but the task is not 
  insurmountable. Doing it right requires special 
  attention to factors that might inadvertently 
  characterize your protagonist. 
  As the adventure’s creator, and despite 
  indications to the contrary, you do have some 
  ability to define the protagonist. However, that 
  ability is limited to your introductory material, 
  trying to convince the player to play a character 
  that is compatible with your adventure. 
  Be aware that this power is illusory. You can 
  describe whole realms of specificity for players’ 
  characters, all the way down to providing a pre-
  made character. Just know that players will often 
  ignore your instructions and use whatever 
  characters they want. 
  The only thing you can count on when it comes 
  defining the protagonist is that your players will 
  rarely appreciate the effort. The degree of your 
  intrusion into this traditional player role will be 
  inversely proportional to the players’ feelings of 
  agency and thus their enjoyment. Efforts to 
  illustrate the protagonist are mostly ineffective 
  and are starkly counter-productive. 
  Your goal is to give the protagonist no identity 
  that is discernable in your writing. Identity is 
  supplied by the player, and any indicator 
  contrary to the player-built identity is deeply 
  immersion-breaking. This is true on a roleplaying 
  level and, if the player identifies strongly with the 
  character, it strikes a discordant tone on a 
  personal level. 
  Most unintended markers appear in 
  observations of the protagonist, or in 
  observations from the protagonist’s point of view. 
  It is important to control for both types, but this 
  is not always easy. Identity markers are often 
  subtle and are supplied by the writer 
  subconsciously. They often stem from the 
  writer’s own expectations, from the tradition the 
  writer learned to write in and the background 
  from which the writer comes. 
  
   
  WRITING | 92 
  Personality is a strongly-defining element of a 
  protagonist’s identity. It is inadvertently signaled 
  in various ways, but mostly in misguided 
  attempts to mold the character’s personal 
  growth. Your story is situational, not character-
  driven. Your protagonist therefore has no 
  character arc. 
  This is the obvious reality for single-player 
  interactive adventures and, while it deviates from 
  all the best advice given to story writers, it is 
  necessary in this environment. Your protagonist 
  is a mystery, and its development depends on the 
  reader rather than the writer. 
  This maxim is offended when a writer tries to 
  give the protagonist internal or moral struggles, 
  some sort of personal journey to undergo or 
  character growth to achieve. 
  Because the player has already defined every 
  relevant aspect of the character, from its 
  background to its internal conflicts, a writer-
  supplied character arc can only distract and 
  disappoint. It is acceptable to suggest arcs and 
  write moral dilemmas, but never expect that any 
  development options will resonate with the 
  player or otherwise stick to the protagonist. 
  For example, some of the dialogue or other 
  options you offer, perhaps near the resolution of 
  your story, can reflect exceptional degrees of 
  maturity, forgiveness, or stoicism in the face of 
  the nemesis’ ongoing antagonism. However, if 
  you force the player into these responses, you 
  risk redefining that character contrary to the 
  player’s desires. 
  A character’s voice reveals another aspect of its 
  personality. Engaging dialogue can be 
  entertaining in various media like novels and 
  film. However, there is little more that is 
  protagonist-defining than the exact choice of 
  words that the character will use. 
  Therefore, when writing dialogue for the 
  protagonist, whether inserting words into 
  narrative text or providing dialogue options for 
  the player to choose from, do not use exact 
  quotes. The more generic or glossed-over the 
  protagonist’s speech, the better. 
  For an example of narrative text, when passing 
  a rider on the road, don’t write that the 
  protagonist greets the rider saying, “Nice horse, 
  mister.” Neither should you write generically that 
  the protagonist compliments’ the rider’s horse. 
  Both of these methods ascribe personality and 
  functionality to the character. (Remember, some 
  characters communicate only via telepathy!) In 
  such scenarios, it is best to use the simplest of 
  terms to indicate that the protagonist generated 
  any mode of communication, preferring instead 
  to focus on non-player characters’ words. 
  For dialogue in prompts, don’t write out exact 
  sentences for the protagonist to say. Just as 
  importantly, don’t fail to make conversation 
  outcomes match the player’s expectations for the 
  prompts that lead to them. If an option calls for 
  persuasiveness, don’t write the resulting text part 
  as the protagonist being intimidating. This often 
  happens when writing overly-specific results for 
  generic prompts. 
  The best approach for dialogue is to use vague, 
  generic prompts and vague, generic outcomes for 
  them. Otherwise, too much specificity can give 
  protagonist a voice the player does not agree 
  with. 
  Successful novels that don’t have character arcs 
  have something else in common; they focus on 
  action. The protagonist reacts to tough 
  circumstances or chooses action to influence 
  others and the environment. While character 
  agency is paramount in interactive adventures, be 
  aware that the manner in which you characterize 
  these choices can be as protagonist-defining as 
  speech can be. 
  
  93 | SOLO CREATOR’S GUIDEBOOK 
  This over-specificity may often occur when 
  writing overly-descriptive combat results. A well-
  written adventure finds the careful balance 
  between exciting descriptions of combat and non-
  defining descriptions. Particularly, be mindful 
  that a gruesome killing stroke written into the 
  combat aftermath can paint the character as 
  violent or delighting in cruelty, something likely 
  for a raging barbarian but not a stoic monk. 
  Similarly, proper writing for agency allows the 
  player character to remain central while not 
  being too definitive. The character is the hero, not 
  a spectator. Its personal decisions matter, and it 
  should be able to finish quests in a variety of 
  ways. 
  Avoid referring to any choices made for the 
  protagonist during character creation. This 
  probably seems obvious; it takes very little work 
  to avoid describing a character’s race and class, 
  but other aspects of the character sheet are 
  harder to filter out. 
  It is usually easy to remain neutral of implications 
  that might define a character’s backstory. A 
  generic approach is inclusive of all backstories 
  except those few rare ones, like being raised by 
  wolves. 
  In the case of outliers like that, it is acceptable 
  to write with the assumption that a character can 
  get by in normal society; a player makes such an 
  exotic choice with the expectation that it will 
  contrast the story and break immersion from 
  time to time. 
  To help you be more inclusive of various 
  backstories, read through the backgrounds in this 
  product’s list of feature gates to see if there are 
  any standard versions that your story might not 
  yet allow for. 
  Although this advice applies to any writer, the 
  history of profoundly-male viewpoints in fantasy 
  literature necessarily focuses this discussion on 
  the male perspective. 
  Even with a rising number of female 
  protagonists in popular culture, the male gaze 
  still influences many writers; it affects what 
  details draw their protagonists’ attention and 
  thus who appears in their protagonists’ 
  proximity. In this way, fantasy literature mimics 
  the too-common focus of fantasy art, repeatedly 
  invoking the male-serving stereotypes of 
  physically-potent men and young, attractive 
  women. 
  Fortunately, these viewpoints are easy to 
  identify and correct for. 
  One prominent marker of a character’s sex is its 
  attraction to other characters. Even if the 
  protagonist does not express attraction, any 
  description of another character as “attractive” 
  overwrites that neutrality. 
  Although this tendency is not specific to 
  DUNGEONS & DRAGONS, the game’s historic 
  propensity was toward describing almost all 
  female characters as “attractive.” On top of this 
  ubiquitous label, descriptions of women tended 
  to be much longer than those of men, giving 
  greater focus to the shape and features of 
  women’s bodies. 
  Revelation of these details occurs with the 
  assumption that the viewer cares about (or is 
  attracted to) such things. Aside from the obvious 
  societal ill of objectifying people, writing 
  attraction creates an identity marker that might 
  run counter to the identity the player has 
  established for the protagonist. Although 
  attraction is not universally binary, the sexual 
  interests of the character are the player’s alone to 
  design or to leave undefined. 
  Therefore, in all cases, avoid describing non-
  player characters in terms of attractiveness. 
  Creating attraction to any sex, fantasy race, 
  physical characteristic, or to other things creates 
  
   
  WRITING | 94 
  an identity for the protagonist that may intrude 
  upon the player’s imaginative territory. 
  A subtler indicator of a male protagonist, one 
  common to fantasy literature, is the nature and 
  number of female characters seen in the 
  environment. In fantasy literature, no less than in 
  other storytelling media, female characters tend 
  to appear only as Type A (young and attractive) 
  and Type B (old and wizened). This is an issue 
  that uniquely affects women’s appearances; 
  popular media more readily affords space to male 
  characters of all ages. 
  The failure to see middle-type women creates a 
  distinctly-male view and marks your protagonist 
  with that identity. To avoid this, create female 
  characters in a variety of ages and appearances, 
  including middle age. Additionally, place women 
  in roles of varying prominence, not merely in 
  supporting roles. Let the protagonist see women 
  in your world that reflect those in reality. For 
  inspiration, you can model female characters on 
  the real-world women in your everyday life, in 
  politics or in business, and even as the passersby 
  on the street or in the market. 
  Equipment is often identity-defining because 
  choices of what a protagonist carries reflect its 
  interests and capabilities. References to the 
  character’s gear should therefore be minimal and 
  careful. 
  Writing evocative prose calls for details that 
  enliven the world or the actions taking place 
  therein. Particularly in battle sequences, you 
  might be tempted to reference the pommel of the 
  unknown protagonist’s weapon, the flight of its 
  arrows, or the impact of its plated boot. 
  No matter the reference in this vein, it will be 
  wrong. Some of your players’ characters will lack 
  weapons with pommels, use ranged cantrips 
  instead of arrows, and wear slippers rather than 
  boots. 
  There is no single piece of equipment that 
  characters universally carry, except those pieces 
  that you mandate through story tools. If the 
  monster can only be slain by a particular magic 
  weapon, and you have given the character the 
  weapon already, and the character has had no 
  real chance to get rid of the weapon, then you can 
  safely describe it’s use or appearance.  
  Otherwise, avoid casual references to anything 
  the protagonist wears or carries. 
  DUNGEONS & DRAGONS stories like to include 
  taverns or inns, just as writers like to assume that 
  characters have coins and are willing to spend 
  them casually for drinks, food, and lodging. 
  While it may be tempting to gloss over these 
  small accountings in the same way that Dungeon 
  Masters often hand-waive them during 
  adventures, this is counterproductive. Even 
  offhand mentions of spending during the 
  narrative text will cause fastidious players to try 
  to account for the cost of such fare. Ignoring costs 
  for room and board is particularly troubling 
  when the character doesn’t have any pocket 
  money, a common scenario at 1st level when 
  players tend to spend every copper of their 
  starting wealth on weapons and adventuring 
  gear, intending to sleep outdoors until their 
  adventures turn profitable. 
  However, that is not to say that you should 
  avoid such scenes entirely. There are several 
  ways to write them without a stated or implied 
  expense. You could simply have the character 
  visit the tavern without drinking or eating. The 
  protagonist takes care of any business or 
  information-gathering and leaves. Along the way, 
  the character could have the option to spend gold 
  pieces—perhaps a round of drinks loosens the 
  tongues of the patrons and gives advantage on 
  Charisma checks—but the expense is not 
  mandated. 
  
  95 | SOLO CREATOR’S GUIDEBOOK 
  Another approach is to simply require an 
  expenditure and note that a character without 
  coin must instead give the proprietor items worth 
  at least twice the expense. Only a wholly-ascetic 
  monk would have no coin or possessions, so this 
  approach is a safe one if the expenses are small 
  enough. 
  Alternately, you can make up some reason for 
  the character to get free fare. Perhaps the 
  protagonist resolves a conflict that was brewing 
  in the entryway and the tavern keeper is grateful 
  for the intervention. When this is the case, make 
  it explicit that the character pays nothing for 
  those drinks you narrate. 
  When these scenes start to accumulate, 
  particularly when the character is travelling 
  along established roadways with inns, it is better 
  to avoid narrating the protagonist through 
  overnight scenes indoors. With long travel 
  between locations, skip over how the character 
  spends nights or give an option for the character 
  to camp outside rather than stay in paid lodgings. 
  DUNGEONS & DRAGONS adventures often include 
  segments of travel, sometimes extensive 
  segments, which often reference the protagonist’s 
  belongings. 
  Horses are a common feature of travelling 
  scenes. It may be tempting to expect the player to 
  have one, but horses are expensive, particularly 
  early in an adventurer’s career. It is rare for 
  characters to own mounts other than magical, 
  spell-acquired mounts. Additionally, the expense 
  of a mount is usually unwarranted for a lone 
  adventurer who will have to leave the creature 
  tied up somewhere while plumbing the depths of 
  a dungeon or ascending the heights of a ruined 
  tower. Therefore, either don’t use mounts during 
  overland movement, or give players another 
  travel branch if they do have mounts of some 
  kind. 
  Another common error in narrating travel is to 
  ascribe a bedroll, blanket, or even a tent to the 
  character. This comes into play when writing 
  about the crisp morning air, the soaking rain, or 
  the biting winds. Although descriptions of the 
  environment and weather are great, be watchful 
  for assumptions about equipment or weather-
  appropriate clothing that slip into those 
  descriptions. 
  Player characters sometimes have mounts, pets, 
  or other allied creatures. A familiar or a small 
  (pocket-portable) creature probably doesn’t raise 
  an eyebrow, regardless of where the protagonists 
  goes. But larger beasts don’t travel well in busy 
  cities and wouldn’t be welcome in most indoor 
  scenes. 
  Mounts and large pets particularly present 
  problems. What does a cavalier do with a 
  warhorse while staying overnight at an inn? 
  Stabling could be available, but does the 
  character believe this crucial ally will be safe 
  while separated for so long? Can a beast master 
  “stable” a bear or leopard ally? When the 
  character goes places the animal cannot, which 
  types of animals can be allowed to roam the 
  wilderness unsupervised in particular 
  environments? 
  The issue of animal allies is not limited to rare 
  character types; anyone can buy a horse and 
  become deeply invested in keeping that mount 
  safe and nearby. This is not an issue easily 
  ignored and there are few solutions to the 
  conundrum. This is yet another reason to gloss 
  over the lodging situation in most travelling 
  scenes. But the problem also hampers scenes or 
  whole stories set in cities or inside buildings. 
  It is a good idea to deal with the large-creature 
  conundrum simply and up-front. Tell the player 
  in your introductory materials whether there is 
  room for large animals to accompany the 
  protagonist. Additionally, when a scene will 
  require a character to go somewhere that an 
  animal cannot go (or should not go), assume that 
  the player character owns a horse at least and 
  
   
  WRITING | 96 
  include a sentence that states A) where large 
  creatures go, and B) when such creatures will 
  return to the player’s side. For example: 
  A mount or other creature larger than Small 
  may not accompany you into the duke’s court. 
  Your ally Rudovar can watch over a horse or 
  similarly-sized animal ally until you return to 
  the hunting lodge. 
  For extended city-based segments, you can write 
  an optional scene allowing a horse to be stabled 
  until the protagonist leaves the city. Ideally, the 
  facilities would also be suitable for wilder 
  animals like wolves, the type of facility distinct to 
  fantasy settings. Expenses should be minimal, and 
  alternatives should be offered for those who can’t 
  pay the coin. 
  This is an extremely difficult situation to write 
  for. Fortunately, players who choose characters 
  of this type, those with animal companions, 
  probably already understand the conundrum and 
  are willing to accept any plausible explanation for 
  their pet’s whereabouts during such adventures. 
   
   
   
  
  97 | SOLO CREATOR’S GUIDEBOOK 
   
   
  
   
  FINAL TOUCHES | 98 
  CHAPTER SIX 
  “Finishing food is about the tiny 
  touches. In the last seconds you can 
  change everything.” 
  - Mario Batali 
  HESE IMPORTANT COMPONENTS SHOULD BE 
  worked on at various times in your 
  product’s creation. As ongoing 
  considerations, they cannot be inserted 
  into the previous steps. However, the balance of 
  their implementation should occur toward the 
  end of your process. 
  The elements of this chapter constitute 
  optional advice; not every product needs these 
  things. They include the use and placement of 
  treasure and other rewards, the creation of 
  adventure statements for single adventures and 
  whole adventure paths, and an assortment of 
  quality control techniques to hone your product. 
   
  FINAL TOUCHES SUMMARY 
  This chapter covers the following topics. 
   
  • Seeding Rewards. Guidelines for using 
  different types of treasure, placing it, and 
  keeping its value within the game’s intended 
  distribution rates. 
  • Playbooks. How to present new rules and 
  world information, particularly in light of 
  multi-adventure campaigns based upon 
  these shared features. 
  • Quality Control. Methods for testing your 
  product, managing outside test resources, 
  and using test results. 
  This section addresses game rewards and the 
  methods for their placement and balancing. In 
  addition to mundane wealth and magic items, 
  non-concrete rewards are also discussed, like 
  character levels, reputation points, and other 
  things of value. 
  Where regimentation of rewards is expected, 
  these suggested rates use the Shared Campaign 
  rules from Xanathar’s Guide to Everything. 
  Class growth represents the ultimate award for 
  success and survival. Most existing single-player 
  adventures that use the Dungeons & Dragons 
  rules grant the protagonist a character level at 
  their conclusions. The SOLITAIRE system maintains 
  that tradition but suggests a variation where the 
  adventure’s play time must justify the award. 
  The single-player interactive adventures sold on 
  the Dungeon Masters Guild have established 
  several “industry standards” that coincidentally 
  mirror the checkpoint mechanic from Xanathar’s 
  Guide to Everything. Checkpoints form the 
  foundation of several systems in this section, 
  including the leveling system. 
  Existing adventures tend to estimate four hours 
  of play time, and they tend to grant a single 
  character level at their conclusions. Under the 
  Shared Campaign rules, an adventure grants 1 
  checkpoint for each hour of play time. Achieving 
  4 checkpoints grants a character level, up until a 
  character reaches 5th level, matching previously-
  established expectations for the genre. 
  
  99 | SOLO CREATOR’S GUIDEBOOK 
  Thereafter, 8 checkpoints (two standard-sized 
  single-player adventures) are needed to gain a 
  character level. 
  Even regular adventures commonly list their 
  expected play times in hours or sessions. 
  However, anyone who has compared actual play 
  time to expected play time cannot escape the 
  conclusion that the estimates are meaningless. 
  Different groups focus on different aspects of 
  play, some of which take more time than others. 
  Estimated play time therefore has time has no 
  real meaning in standard adventures. 
  Conversely, play times for single-player 
  adventures are very important. These products 
  take much less time to consume than an 
  adventure played around the table with multiple 
  players, and without other players to endlessly 
  banter with, play time is more easily measured. 
  Your product’s purchasers will be very aware of 
  their start and finish times, typically experiencing 
  both in a single evening, which makes real play 
  quantifiable and estimates subject to comparative 
  scrutiny. Therefore, when stating your 
  adventure’s expected play time, do not guess at 
  this number and do not inflate it. Instead, try the 
  baseline formula in the sidebar in order to 
  conform with other adventures in the genre. 
  SOLITAIRES equate 1 hour of (estimated) 
  playtime to 1 checkpoint. Checkpoints form the 
  foundation of several systems in this section, 
  including the leveling system. Under this system, 
  4 of which equate to one level’s increase for a 
  first-tier character. At 5th level and above, 
  characters require 8 checkpoints to advance a 
  level. 
  You can write adventures for the SOLITAIRE 
  system that do not provide 4 hours of play time. 
  These are simply not worth a full level’s 
  advancement for completing. But who says 
  gaining a character level should the norm? 
  Players can enjoy other rewards provided by 
  your shorter adventures, including story 
  exposition for an ongoing adventure path, 
  opportunities to improve reputations with 
  factions and important non-player characters, 
  and additional chances to acquire magic items, 
  both major and minor. 
  Shorter adventures are also more-easily 
  inserted into long campaigns that players string 
  together. Particularly when playing an adventure 
  path of connected adventures, a character may 
  fail a mission and stop the adventure early, 
  receiving fewer checkpoints. Adding in a short 
  adventure can help to level the character before 
  proceeding along that adventure path. 
   
  FORMULA FOR PLAY TIME ESTIMATES 
  Multiply your total word count by the 
  percentage of the text parts that the player will 
  necessarily read through. Assume one hour of 
  play for every 8,000 words or so. Note that 
  your entire product may have a large word 
  count but, if the player is only expected to 
  encounter 10% of the text, the adventure will 
  play much more quickly than the total word 
  count would indicate. 
  For each combat the player will likely 
  encounter add 10-15 more minutes of play 
  time. (If your combats are taking much longer 
  on average, you might be making them too 
  complex.) You can also add 10-15 minutes for 
  other scenarios of extended rolling, perhaps if 
  you use complex skill challenges or puzzles. 
   
  From money to magic items, from fame to favors, 
  these assorted rewards each have different 
  effects upon the character and the campaign. The 
  primary focus of this section is balancing these 
  rewards. 
  You might ask yourself why treasure 
  distribution rates matter. In many ways, treasure 
  “balancing” is a very small problem, particularly 
  in the way the current edition of DUNGEONS & 
  
   
  FINAL TOUCHES | 100 
  DRAGONS maintains its power equilibrium. 
  However, in single-player interactive adventures, 
  where there is no Dungeon Master to moderate 
  the strength of challenges versus the power of 
  particular adventuring parties, the problem is 
  much magnified. 
  This issue is one that hearkens back to the 
  earliest editions of Dungeons & Dragons, where 
  the portability of characters between campaigns 
  was an assumed feature of normal play. Everyone 
  had stories about that one Dungeon Master who 
  showered players with magic items. The term 
  “Monty Haul” comes from the name of a 
  gameshow host of the time, a beloved character 
  who liked to surprise guests with wondrous 
  prizes. That host’s name (in homophone) is a 
  reference applied to DMs who can’t stop 
  themselves from over-rewarding their players, 
  like bad parents trying to buy their children’s 
  love. Characters so enriched were not well-
  received at other Dungeon Masters’ tables. 
  While it may feel good to give Monty Haul-scale 
  rewards, and it may seem like an easy way to 
  raise player satisfaction with your product, it is 
  ultimately counterproductive. You will have 
  inflated player expectations for your future 
  products, and you will need to present extreme 
  challenges in those products to balance the 
  overpowered mess you have created. Further, it 
  diminishes compatibility with the work of other 
  creators who adhere to the game’s intended rates 
  of treasure distribution. 
  For these reasons, the following guidelines are 
  recommended for seeding rewards of various 
  kinds. 
  DUNGEONS & DRAGONS has a long history of 
  motivating adventurers with the lure of treasure. 
  Finding gold is an expected aspect of the game, 
  one that gives players a sense of accomplishment. 
  Wealth also helps players customize their 
  characters through equipment choices, and it lets 
  them meet challenges that a poorly-equipped 
  character could not. 
  Coins, trade bars, and gemstones constitute a 
  primary form of mundane wealth in D&D. These 
  items are easy to carry and spend; seeding them 
  does not (normally) risk encumbering your 
  protagonist, nor does it create extra hurdles to 
  overcome while trading at the market. For 
  additional information on these types of wealth, 
  and inspiration for their use, consider Wraith 
  Wright’s Comprehensive Wealth Manual, which 
  lists a number of interesting ideas for mundane 
  wealth in various forms. 
  Xanathar’s Guide to Everything suggests treasure 
  rates for shared campaigns. It calls for seeding a 
  set amount of gold pieces per level. The amount 
  of wealth goes up at each character tier but is 
  otherwise consistent at each level within a tier. 
  Single-player adventures made with the 
  SOLITAIRE system can more-precisely parse these 
  numbers, breaking them down by checkpoint. 
  This is preferable because some adventures 
  might be worth only a fraction of a level. Creators 
  can meet these collaborative targets based on 
  their checkpoints, without having to worry about 
  matching what other writers are putting in their 
  adventures. 
   
  MUNDANE WEALTH BY LEVEL 
  Current Character Level 
  Wealth Multiplier 
  1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10 
  20 gp 
  11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16 
  70 gp 
  17, 18, 19, 20+ 
  700 gp 
   
  For each checkpoint in your adventure, seed 
  the wealth on the Wealth Multiplier column that 
  matches the adventure’s character level. While 
  you cannot control exactly how much of the 
  wealth in your adventure that the protagonist 
  finds, try to ensure that no more than 25% of that 
  wealth is “difficult” to find. And even if the player 
  carefully seeks out every possible scrap of wealth 
  
  101 | SOLO CREATOR’S GUIDEBOOK 
  in the adventure, try to ensure that this total does 
  not exceed the adventure’s intended total by 
  more than 25%. 
  Meeting treasure targets is about more than the 
  totals listed throughout the adventure. Totals are 
  not relevant if characters cannot possibly access 
  all of it because they route through mutually-
  exclusive branches. 
  General Wealth. General wealth is mundane 
  wealth that appears in trunks or other 
  bottlenecks. It is easy to keep track of and balance 
  because everyone is assumed to get it, regardless 
  of gates bypassed or routes taken. 
  You should prefer to seed about half of the 
  adventure’s mundane wealth as general treasure. 
  This will establish a minimum baseline reward 
  for the adventure, assuring that the protagonist is 
  not deprived of a usable amount of wealth 
  because of bad decisions or an unfortunate 
  character design. Treasure in the form of quest 
  payments is particularly suited for such purposes. 
  Variable Wealth. Other mundane wealth may 
  be placed in various branches, in gated leaves, 
  and whatever other routes you imagine. This 
  wealth often takes the form of hidden treasures, 
  wealth in enemy combatants’ pockets, and 
  contract bonuses for meeting additional 
  objectives. 
  The protagonist may recover all, some, or none 
  of the variable wealth. A character that makes no 
  effort should acquire little or nothing beyond the 
  general treasure. A character that makes the 
  extra effort, plays smartly, and has good fortune, 
  should acquire the remainder of the treasure 
  target, maybe even a bit more. 
  Magic items exist in two categories, major and 
  minor. These categories are named explicitly in 
  Xanathar’s Guide to Everything, but in the 
  Dungeon Master’s Guide, they are only 
  differentiated by the different Magic Item 
  treasure tables. (Tables A-E are minor items and 
  Tables F-I are major items.) 
  Minor magic items are consumables, items like 
  potions and scrolls, regardless of their rarity 
  ratings. The also include a few of the weaker 
  permanent magic items, like every common-rated 
  magic item and a few of the uncommon-rated 
  items too. 
  SOLITAIRES treat minor magic items as 
  interchangeable with mundane wealth, since 
  those are not the sort of items that significantly 
  impact a character’s power, regardless of their 
  numbers. To manage these, determine a 
  reasonable gold piece price for each, using the 
  suggested value ranges that the Dungeon Master’s 
  Guide applies by item rarity. (Remember to halve 
  the value of consumable items like potions and 
  spell scrolls.) Use the resulting value to account 
  for part of the protagonist’s mundane wealth 
  income for the level in question. (Alternately, use 
  the exact magic item prices listed in Wraith 
  Wright’s Comprehensive Wealth Manual.) 
  Do not seed minor magic items of rarity ratings 
  that exceed the protagonist’s matching character 
  level, according to the restrictions in the Dungeon 
  Master’s Guide: 
   
  • Common-rated and uncommon-rated items 
  can appear as soon as 1st level 
  • Rare-rated items at 5th level 
  • Very rare-rated items at 11th level 
  • Legendary-rated items at 17th level 
  Permanent magic items fall into the major magic 
  item category (except those that are already 
  rated as minor). These are the items that deserve 
  the most attention when it comes to controlling 
  their distribution. 
  Prior to Xanathar’s Guide to Everything, a 
  Dungeon Master would have to perform a lot of 
  math to determine the game’s intended rates of 
  distribution by averaging results of the Treasure 
  
   
  FINAL TOUCHES | 102 
  Hoard Tables. Now, Xanathar’s Guide to 
  Everything includes a Magic Item Rewards by 
  Rarity table showing target distributions for an 
  entire party of adventurers. From these books we 
  learn that, across a career of 20 levels, a character 
  should expect to acquire only four or five major 
  magic items. This expected rate of distribution 
  creates difficulties for single-player adventures. If 
  multiple creators’ works are used together in a 
  player-compiled campaign, how should creators 
  decide whose adventure gets the rare honor of 
  granting a major magic item? 
  Rather than trying to regulate this answer, the 
  SOLITAIRE system goes around it. SOLITAIRES 
  expect that every protagonist will be overloaded 
  with major magic items, so they limit the amount 
  the protagonist can bring into the adventure. 
  These level-based limitations are stated on the 
  Wealth Rubric table. (See the Solo Player’s 
  Guidebook.) The player chooses at the start of 
  each adventure which major items will come 
  along, and which will be left somewhere for 
  safekeeping or placed into the hands of allies. If 
  players permanently give away major magic 
  items, rather than leaving them in a pool that is 
  interchangeable between adventures, you can 
  give other rewards for this sacrifice, probably 
  renown points. 
  To keep things from getting out of hand within 
  your own adventure, limit the protagonist to 
  gaining no more than a single major magic item. If 
  you want to grant additional magic, you can 
  present the opportunity to trade a magic item for 
  another specific magic item. This lets you 
  introduce something new without further 
  upsetting the intended treasure distribution 
  rates. 
  For example, an adventure might seed a +1 
  shortsword in an ancient tomb. Upon returning to 
  town, the local temple offers the protagonist a 
  few options to trade the sword for. 
  This is a great way to seed magic items suited 
  to the protagonist; give an opportunity to trade 
  something for a short list of items that are 
  preferred by (or specific to) certain classes. 
  Referencing the table, seed 1 major magic item 
  of the listed rarity in your adventure. You can do 
  this safely knowing that the character will only be 
  able to carry forward around one-eighth of these 
  items if using the SOLITAIRE rules. 
   
  MAJOR MAGIC ITEM SEEDS 
  Character 
  Level 
  Magic Item 
  Rarity 
   
  Character 
  Level 
  Magic Item 
  Rarity 
  1 
  Uncommon 
   
  11 
  Rare 
  2 
  Uncommon 
   
  12 
  Rare 
  3 
  Uncommon 
   
  13 
  Very rare 
  4 
  Uncommon 
   
  14 
  Very rare 
  5 
  Uncommon 
   
  15 
  Legendary 
  6 
  Uncommon 
   
  16 
  legendary 
  7 
  Rare 
   
  17 
  Very rare 
  8 
  Rare 
   
  18 
  Very rare 
  9 
  Uncommon 
   
  19 
  Legendary 
  10 
  Uncommon 
   
  20 
  Legendary 
  The locations where magic items appear differ 
  based on the items’ types and the writer’s 
  strategies for their use. 
  Minor Items. Minor magic item rewards are 
  best placed strategically, either as contextual to 
  proximate threats or positioned for player 
  selection. 
  Because most minor magic items are single-use, 
  they are most valuable when seeded near 
  scenarios that call for their specific functions. For 
  example, a potion of fire resistance is most 
  valuable in the context of challenges that might 
  inflict fire damage. (Seeding mundane tools 
  contextually, like ropes near a cliff, can have the 
  same strategic effect.) 
  Contextual placements of this sort should be 
  uncommon. They are particularly useful when the 
  protagonist must overcome a particular challenge 
  and you worry that it may not have the right tools 
  for the job. 
  
  103 | SOLO CREATOR’S GUIDEBOOK 
  Most strategic placements of minor magic items 
  should be where players can select for the 
  particular things that might aid them. For 
  example, a magical merchant might sell a wide 
  variety of beneficial items. A fighter might wish to 
  buy healing potions that a cleric has no need for. 
  Conversely, cleric might want spell scrolls that 
  the fighter cannot use. Inserting player choice is 
  one mechanism to offset the lack of feature 
  versatility that a single adventurer has to deal 
  with. 
  Player-choice placement also gives the player 
  something to do with earned wealth, converting it 
  into useable magical effects. You can meet 
  varying degrees of need to reduce the 
  protagonist’s wealth reserves by adjusting the 
  prices you set. 
  Major Items. The major magic item you place 
  in your adventure should be in a location where 
  the protagonist is very likely to find it. It’s okay if 
  your protagonist fails to find the item or makes 
  choices that prevent the item from being taken. 
  It’s also okay to put the item at the end of the 
  adventure, a treasure discovered after the final 
  battle. 
  Likewise, if placing an opportunity to trade a 
  major item for another, do so at a time and place 
  where the protagonist isn’t likely to miss the 
  opportunity, but also make sure that this comes 
  after the protagonist is likely to have found the 
  major item in your adventure. It is otherwise 
  possible that the protagonist has nothing to trade 
  with, so cannot benefit from this opportunity. 
  Aside from character advancement and material 
  rewards, adventuring can win other advantages 
  for the player character. 
  Inspiration is a small reward you can give the 
  protagonist. It represents a simple, mechanical 
  benefit, worth having but not overpowering. 
  Because there is no Dungeon Master to apply 
  inspiration, consider giving it out when the 
  protagonist solves a problem in the “best” 
  possible way or acts selflessly, particularly doing 
  so at some real cost. Alternately, use inspiration 
  to reward whatever player behavior you would 
  like to encourage in your adventure. 
  An adventure may present several 
  opportunities to earn inspiration. You can’t give 
  out too many because a player can only have one 
  inspiration at a time. 
  Renown and faction rank usually have no bearing 
  on single-player adventures. However, in a series 
  like an adventure path, where the protagonist 
  engages in long-term enterprises, interacting 
  with the same people and factions repeatedly, 
  renown becomes a useful tool for scoring 
  adventure success and rewarding social 
  conformity. You can even apply renown to 
  organizations of the smallest size—a single 
  person—making renown an effective indicator of 
  relationship strength with individual non-player 
  characters. 
  In a single adventure, one not part of an 
  adventure path, you can still grant renown points. 
  However, these are probably more easily 
  represented with an abstract series of gates. 
  Rather than scoring the protagonist for having 
  done or not done certain things, and granting 
  advantages or insights thereby, your one-off 
  adventure can simply use event gates that call to 
  the same events and which provide those desired 
  rewards. 
  When faction ranks are used, they make excellent 
  feature gates dealing with organizations. You can 
  also advance the story by gating small, expositive 
  leaves behind renown totals or faction ranks. 
  In addition to the advantages suggested in the 
  Dungeon Master’s Guide, you can write whole 
  
   
  FINAL TOUCHES | 104 
  branches to effectuate the player’s degree of 
  renown. In an adventure path, you can make 
  faction rank as central a factor to the story as you 
  want. 
  The regular advantages of faction ranks fit nicely 
  into the systems this product recommends for 
  other reward types. 
  For example, faction rank may expose possible 
  magic items to acquire in lateral trades. These 
  can be tuned to match your protagonist based on 
  the faction in question. Renown with two 
  competing factions can measure how the 
  character has been played, or what features or 
  aptitudes it prefers. A character that picks a 
  bunch of locks and thus completes objectives for 
  the thieves’ guild may discover that ranks in that 
  guild give access to rogue-benefiting magic items. 
  Factions can also facilitate different downtime 
  activities. From training in particular tools to the 
  use of a grand library for research, these benefits 
  can be as varied as the factions you present. 
  Time is a treasure like any other. In the 5th 
  Edition, each day can be coined for a reliable 
  amount of gold, based on the protagonist’s skills 
  and proclivities. When the player chooses an 
  unpaid activity, like training, the loss of those 
  days’ professional income is an opportunity cost 
  paid to seek the alternative activities. 
  Each single-player interactive adventure has a 
  “playbook.” This is an introduction to the story 
  and a set of instructions for navigating the 
  adventure. Playbooks typically stand in for a 
  Dungeon Master, providing guidance and world 
  information that would normally come from the 
  DM. 
  A playbook can take several forms, from just a 
  few paragraphs in the book’s introduction, to a 
  complete rules chapter, to an entirely-separate 
  document that accompanies an adventure or a 
  whole adventure path. 
  A useful playbook includes information about the 
  adventure and the world. Collectively this is 
  called an adventure statement, and it takes 
  several forms. 
  The narrative description gives useful 
  information about playing the adventure, an 
  overview of its story and the background or 
  themes required for character played in it. 
  A story summary tells the reader what the 
  adventure is about. In addition to piquing player 
  interest, a good summary says a little bit about 
  the adventure’s beginnings and the possible 
  hooks that might draw in a protagonist. It also 
  lays out the scope and the end point of the 
  adventure. This information lets players 
  determine if the adventure is right for their 
  needs; the start and ending points are 
  particularly useful when designing campaigns of 
  interconnected adventures. 
  Setting information includes any important or 
  useful information about the game world. If you 
  are writing for an official, published campaign 
  setting, like the Forgotten Realms or Ravnica, let 
  the player know that up front. 
  Knowing the setting helps the player know if 
  the adventure will be suitable to the character 
  and campaign being contemplated. For these 
  purposes, the most useful settings are generic 
  because those fit into any game world. However, 
  don’t let that stop you from writing for official 
  settings. Published worlds have fun and 
  interesting features that can justify writing 
  adventures that are exclusive for use in those 
  settings. 
  
  105 | SOLO CREATOR’S GUIDEBOOK 
  Setting information also includes any 
  consistent details that will apply across multiple 
  adventures if your playbook is designed for an 
  adventure path. Because adventure paths use 
  shared motivations or hooks, and many details 
  will remain consistent across the entire path, the 
  playbook can be a great place to lay those out 
  without having to repeat them in each product. 
  Along with the story summary and its hooks, be 
  direct about the sort of protagonist that will fit 
  the adventure. If your story will be of no interest 
  to a character motivated only by profit, say so in 
  the adventure description. It makes little sense to 
  include an altruistic adventure in the midst of a 
  mercenary character’s campaign of self-interest 
  and bounty-hunting. 
  Beyond simple motivation, the character 
  description is a good place to mention 
  incompatible character types. Perhaps a 
  particular class archetype has a feature that 
  instantly cuts through the mystery and 
  invalidates most of your adventure. 
  In addition to disqualifying aspects of a 
  character, you can also talk about features that 
  will allow characters to excel or to have a hard 
  time in the adventure. This is different from 
  defining compatible or incompatible characters, 
  but only by a matter of degrees. 
  The expected character level is one of the most 
  important parts of an adventure description, and 
  for good reason. A character’s level tends to make 
  the greatest impact on its overall power. Other 
  aspects of a character sheet would have to be far 
  out of balance to eclipse the power-variance 
  created by differing character levels. 
  Fortunately, character levels are universally 
  understood as inherent limitations in adventures. 
  It is the standard practice of adventure writers to 
  state a character level suitable for their 
  adventures. Just by stating a level requirement, 
  creators are tapping into a shared compatibility 
  mechanism and abiding by its expectations. 
  All other character requirements in this section 
  are strongly encouraged but are not strictly 
  necessary. 
  A protagonist’s equipment is typically addressed 
  in two modes, mundane wealth and magic items. 
  If you anticipate that excessive mundane 
  wealth could greatly change the course of your 
  adventure, feel free to limit it. Perhaps you have a 
  major market and are worried that the 
  protagonist could buy too much helpful 
  equipment like dozens of healing potions. 
  Perhaps a series of gates can be bypassed by 
  bribing guards and you don’t want the player to 
  be able to afford every opportunity these afford. 
  Restrictions to mundane wealth are probably 
  related to thresholds you set arbitrarily. It is 
  otherwise up to you to decide how much wealth 
  puts your player at too much advantage based on 
  how wealth can be used in your adventure. 
  Characters aren’t otherwise overpowered until 
  they’re carrying many hundreds of gold pieces, 
  not until gold has lost all luster in their eyes. 
  More impactful than mundane wealth, a glut of 
  magic items can alter the protagonist’s power to a 
  degree that unbalances your adventure’s 
  challenges, challenges you must create without 
  foreknowledge of what the protagonist carries. If 
  you are not writing for the SOLITAIRE system, feel 
  free to make it an inherent limitation in your 
  rules, whether you justify this by story-based 
  reasons, or you simply wish to tell potential 
  players that the rule exists for balance reasons. 
  Restrictions to magic items can be general, as 
  in a maximum number, but usually they are more 
  specific. You might forbid particular items like a 
  ring of x-ray vision or sphere of annihilation, items 
  that are too disruptive in your adventure. You can 
  do this even when those items’ rarity ratings 
  
   
  FINAL TOUCHES | 106 
  make them viable options for the stated character 
  level. 
  The goal of limitation is to make adventures 
  compatible. Therefore, if you tell players they 
  must pare down their major magic items, allow 
  them to get the items back at the end of the 
  adventure. This is useful if the character is going 
  to be played again in the same series where it 
  acquired the excessive treasure; the protagonist 
  might well depend on that number of magic items 
  to survive in said adventure series! 
   
   
  CHARACTER DESCRIPTIONS FOR SOLITAIRES 
  LEVEL BANDS 
  Instead of a single level, you can set a two-level 
  band for your adventure. In SOLITAIRES, a level 
  band is expected. 
  Level bands allow players to be more flexible 
  in the order they play your adventures in. They 
  work because major increases in character 
  power tend to happen at odd-numbered levels. 
  Particularly note that access to new spell levels, 
  which equates to new functionalities, occurs at 
  odd-numbered levels. 
  Level bands are laid out in the Solo Player’s 
  Handbook. These bands (and their associated 
  levels) are also provided under Gate Keys, earlier 
  in this product. 
   
  WEALTH RUBRIC 
  SOLITAIRES use a table for limiting the 
  protagonist’s mundane wealth and magic items. 
  This “Wealth Rubric” is described in the Solo 
  Player’s Guidebook. It can be a useful reference 
  when crafting the treasures in your product. 
  The SOLITAIRES style of play expects players to 
  use the adventures of different creators 
  interchangeably. Unfortunately, many great 
  adventures remarkably over-reward the 
  protagonist, to the degree where later 
  adventures are overwhelmed by the resulting 
  power. The Wealth Rubric filters out excess 
  treasure so you can reliably balance the 
  challenges in your adventure. 
   
   
   
  The adventure statement includes the sort of 
  details that potential players should know up 
  front, before they engage with your product or 
  purchase it. Therefore, in addition to putting it in 
  your playbook, place the full adventure 
  statement, or an abridged version of it, on your 
  product’s cover. Alternately, in the case of an 
  online market like the Dungeon Masters Guild, 
  place it on the product page or in whatever other 
  location product details are normally provided. 
  Players of these adventures expect to use the 
  normal rules of the DUNGEONS & DRAGONS 
  Roleplaying Game. In addition, new rules are 
  necessary where they relate to the player’s 
  interaction with the story and the metastructure 
  of your adventure. Without a Dungeon Master to 
  moderate the adventure, you will need to provide 
  the guidance, moderation, and limitation a DM 
  would otherwise provide. This is accomplished 
  by the interaction of your metastructure, the 
  standard rules, and the new rules you provide in 
  the playbook. 
  Rules in your playbook generally appear in two 
  forms, necessary rules that allow the player to 
  play alone, and helpful rules that make the single-
  player experience more enjoyable. 
  These are the rules that are needed for the 
  character to properly navigate your single-player 
  adventure. 
  
  107 | SOLO CREATOR’S GUIDEBOOK 
  Necessity will vary based on the nuances of 
  your design. Here are several necessary rule 
  examples used in SOLITAIRES from Wraith Wright 
  Productions. 
  Prerequisite Checks. If one or more options in 
  a set of options has a prerequisite roll of some 
  kind, you can attempt each roll in that set before 
  deciding which option to choose. 
  Instructive Text. Always resolve instructive 
  text as you encounter it, prior to reading further 
  into the text part. 
  Attitudes. When your interaction with a non-
  player character indicates an addition or 
  reduction of attitude points, you must track that 
  non-player character’s total attitude points in 
  your play journal. 
  Helpful rules are those that ease the difficulty of 
  playing an adventure alone. They particularly 
  accommodate the smaller size of the adventuring 
  party, the lone player. 
  For example, the standard foraging rules take 
  an hour and produce food for multiple 
  adventurers; a single-player version might 
  reduce the time needed since only a single 
  character needs feeding. 
  Adventuring alone is dangerous. Very dangerous. 
  Of all the possible “helpful” rules you can write, 
  this product strongly suggests that you add a 
  gratuitous mechanic to increase your hero’s 
  survivability. Although playing without such a 
  safety net can be exciting, having one vastly 
  increases the range of challenges you can write 
  for your protagonist. On a more basic level, a rule 
  that ensures the character will survive until its 
  initiative order on the first turn of combat can 
  help to reinforce the player’s sense of agency. 
  A survival rule can take many forms, from a 
  change in rules to a magic item or supernatural 
  gift. Here are some options. 
  Hit Point Increase. To make the protagonist 
  more survivable, you can apply a rule to give the 
  protagonist the maximum possible hit points for 
  each of its levels. Alternately, you can double or 
  triple the character’s normal hit point maximum. 
  This is perhaps the simplest such rule you can 
  apply. 
  The downsides of this rule are several. By 
  changing a permanent aspect of the character, 
  you are requiring the player to keep track of two 
  hit point maximums, one for your adventure and 
  one for any other adventure the character is 
  played in. 
  Additionally, this protection only offsets 
  damage; it does not guard against any of the 
  other threats particular to a lone adventurer. 
  While you need not address any other dangers, 
  doing so gives you more flexibility when 
  designing threats. 
  Magic Item. An item of power grants protective 
  benefits to the player. Perhaps it stores spells, 
  like cure wounds, shield, and other protective 
  magic. Perhaps it revives a character with 1 hit 
  point upon making any successful death save. 
  The advantages of a magic item include the 
  versatility of its power; you can customize the 
  benefit of a magic item without being bound to 
  existing systems. This also lets you apply benefits 
  without changing the core mechanics of your 
  player’s DUNGEONS & DRAGONS experience. 
  The downside of using an item is that your 
  cocky protagonist might try to sell it off for gold. 
  If you use this mechanism, you might want to 
  include story factors or magic that prevent the 
  item’s sale. You will probably need another 
  limitation to keep the item from being used 
  elsewhere, in the adventures of other creators. 
  Supernatural Gift. Your protagonist is 
  employed by an individual being of great power, 
  a temple, or some other magical organization that 
  can bestow blessings upon its servants. Like a 
  magic item, these powers can be highly 
  
   
  FINAL TOUCHES | 108 
  customized with their own benefits and 
  limitation. 
  Supernatural gifts simultaneously avoid some 
  of the drawbacks of magic items; they can’t be 
  sold, and you can more easily limit their benefits 
  to the times (the adventures) when the 
  protagonist is in service to that employer. 
  A playbook is also an excellent place to locate 
  important pieces of your story. These pieces are 
  discussed here in three modes: prologue, 
  continuity, and world building. 
  A story introduction serves a couple of purposes. 
  It can set the stage by describing events, large 
  and small, that will matter for the upcoming 
  adventure. But why place it in the playbook? The 
  answer is “pacing.” 
  It may seem natural to place your stage-setting 
  in your adventure’s first text part. However, you 
  can accomplish some useful things by putting it in 
  your playbook instead. Prologues often take a 
  page or more of text, which pushes the limits of 
  player attention when it comes to text parts. 
  Players expect an interactive experience, not a 
  novella, even at the story’s start. The first text 
  part should hook the player in; it doesn’t have to 
  be in medias res, but when getting to the action 
  and player choices, sooner is better than later. 
  Of course, the player will have already read the 
  prologue, so you are not shortening the amount 
  of text processed. However, placing it apart from 
  the action allows the story to “start” well. When 
  the prologue also appears early in the playbook, 
  before the listing of rules, it further serves to 
  modulate the pace of those rules. A player first 
  steeped in the adventure’s prologue will find the 
  rules and play instructions to be less dry. 
  This segment addresses only the aspects of 
  continuity that cannot be maintained with an 
  ably-built prologue. These aspects include 
  important or common fixtures in the world. Such 
  things might need their own pages for reference. 
  If they are very important, these pages might 
  need to be referred to later during the adventure, 
  perhaps appearing as part of an appendix to the 
  playbook. 
  Continuity information is especially useful 
  when writing adventure paths. The same people, 
  places, and things can appear in a recurring 
  fashion, across multiple adventures, and may 
  need individual descriptions in the playbook. 
  For example, if your protagonist bears a magic 
  ring that drives the story, the ring may need its 
  own page of flavor text, not just a mere mention 
  in the story’s narration. 
  Particularly when using a generic setting, your 
  playbook may need to introduce regular aspects 
  of your world that may come up. A generic setting 
  might also demand explanations for where the 
  adventure might fit when deployed in various 
  officially-published settings. 
  The need for quality control is greater in single-
  player adventures than in standard adventures. 
  The reason is simple and stark; without a 
  Dungeon Master to moderate errors and correct 
  them as the adventure unfolds, a mistake can 
  render a single-player adventure literally 
  unplayable. Even problems that don’t stop the 
  adventure can be jarring without a Dungeon 
  Master to apply the correct rule or to explain the 
  necessary details at the right moments. 
  This section covers how and where to focus 
  testing, recommending an order and 
  methodology for the process. If you are not used 
  to managing quality assurance efforts, this 
  section may be of particular use to you. 
  
  109 | SOLO CREATOR’S GUIDEBOOK 
  You are the primary tester of your product. 
  However, by virtue of being the creator, your 
  testing efforts have certain weaknesses. You must 
  therefore get outset help in order to achieve the 
  best testing results. 
  You will find yourself testing your product at 
  every stage of its development, consciously or 
  unconsciously. Because you will provide yourself 
  with the most feedback, it is essential to identify 
  the weaknesses inherent to your own feedback. 
  The primary problem of self-testing is that you 
  know what you mean to say and how you mean 
  the various parts of your adventure work. 
  One way this problem presents itself is in 
  instructive text and complexly-worded options, 
  where ambiguity is invisible to you. As the writer, 
  you know what your words mean. If there is 
  another interpretation to the words you used, 
  you won’t see it because you already know what 
  you meant. Your brain will supply the correct 
  meaning as you read, without worrying about 
  other interpretations. Ambiguity is particularly 
  dangerous in instructive text and in complex 
  options. 
  To reduce ambiguity, use short, direct 
  sentences. Then do your own reviews after 
  waiting a significant time period, purposefully 
  attempting to read ambiguity into it. 
  Additionally, where you suspect ambiguity may 
  linger, make a note to have your other testers 
  keep an eye out for the meaning of those 
  particular passages.  
  The same principle of knowing what you meant 
  applies to other errors too. Reading for errors 
  while in chronological proximity to having 
  written them is inefficient. Your brain will refuse 
  to register misspellings, missing words, and 
  similar failings of text if it recognizes a sentence 
  processed recently. This cognitive miracle can be 
  overcome by putting significant time between 
  writing and reviewing. 
  By virtue of your closeness with the material, you 
  will also find that you overlook story possibilities 
  too, usually in the form of missing character 
  motivations, insufficient player options to match 
  the listed environmental stimuli, and paradoxes 
  of various kinds. 
  Overestimating protagonist intuition is another 
  problem that stems from your closeness to the 
  material. It is easy to underestimate how difficult 
  a particular leap of logic might be to a player who 
  is not you. The answer to a riddle may seem 
  obvious, but you can’t properly judge because 
  you already know the answer. Even if you 
  puzzled out something like that in the past, there 
  is no telling whether a riddle will be too easy or 
  two hard for another player until you have others 
  examine it. 
  There are no true cures for these weaknesses 
  in your self-reviewing capabilities, but there are 
  some techniques for mitigation. Such weaknesses 
  are the primary reason that your product 
  requires outside testing. 
  Other testers fall onto a spectrum of 
  professionality, from your close friends that you 
  press into service, to community/forum members 
  interested in your product, to amateur or 
  professional testers who you pay or otherwise 
  compensate. 
  Although it takes some work, almost anyone 
  can find people willing to look at a product. 
  Querying related groups on collaborative writing 
  forums or asking your own friends on various 
  social media platforms might be enough to 
  connect you with interested persons. 
  
   
  FINAL TOUCHES | 110 
  Do not be dismayed if you cannot afford to pay 
  testers. Some people will be interested in helping 
  even if you cannot give them cash. 
  Being upfront about this information is 
  important. Unless you have a budget that 
  includes paid testers, be sure to mark requests 
  for help as unpaid. Acknowledge that what 
  testers give you is valuable, even if you cannot 
  properly compensate them for it.  
  There are things you can do for your testers 
  that aren’t financial. First, remember to thank 
  everyone you work with; even the smallest 
  contributions of people’s time and ideas can 
  make your product better. Don’t get distracted by 
  the magnitude of your own work that you fail to 
  recognize the people who help you. Further, don’t 
  make the mistake of thinking that “practice,” 
  “exposure,” or access to early versions of your 
  material is a form of compensation. 
  Importantly, everyone who contributes 
  something in the way of time and energy should 
  get a mention on your credits page. Each person 
  should first be asked whether they wish to be 
  excluded from the credits or appear under a 
  pseudonym or working name. And try to 
  attribute each person’s work accurately and 
  specifically, preferably using industry-standard 
  terms for the work they’ve done. 
  When recruiting testers, be sure to convey your 
  expectations (or hopes) for the kind of feedback 
  they will give. Every player has something to 
  contribute, even if it’s just a “I liked it” or “it was 
  boring.” But testers can provide so much more 
  detail. Supplying your desired expectations in 
  writing can turn a simple response into an 
  informative report with complex feedback. Most 
  of the people you recruit won’t have quality 
  assurance backgrounds, so won’t know what 
  feedback is useful until you spell it out in exacting 
  detail. 
  The most successful method of getting feedback 
  is by questionnaire, directly targeted at the 
  information you are seeking. Questionnaires are 
  best when built specific to each phase of the 
  projects, as described in the next section. Try to 
  make questions open-ended and non-leading. 
  (Let testers provide their own feedback without 
  having to do so through a narrow lens.) 
  Numerical rating systems are mostly useless at 
  this scale of adventure design. 
  It is important to test at different phases of your 
  adventure’s creation. Otherwise, errors 
  discovered late in the process can require you to 
  change deep, structural elements upon which rest 
  a great deal of labor that will need redoing. 
  This product suggests three distinct phases for 
  testing, each with its own area of focus. These 
  phase descriptions address how to approach 
  testing, what to look for, and how to direct 
  outside testers to the areas you need the most 
  help with. Each phase also talks about how to 
  integrate feedback from that round of testing. 
  The first significant point at which testing can be 
  useful is when the scaffolds are complete. At this 
  point, your shorthand test parts should exist in a 
  single document, arranged in the order they will 
  appear in the final product, with hyperlinks 
  completed too. You and other testers can 
  generally navigate the adventure fully, even 
  though the adventure is written in shorthand. 
  For self-testing, focus first on updating and 
  finalizing your diagram of text parts. You have 
  probably made significant changes to the diagram 
  since you began using it in chapter 2. If you have 
  not created a diagram, you should strongly 
  consider doing so at this point since it is the most 
  effective tool for testing the integrity of your 
  story routes. A methodical check of every text 
  
  111 | SOLO CREATOR’S GUIDEBOOK 
  part’s prompts and hyperlinks will ensure that 
  you have the best possible scaffolds ready to go 
  to your outside testers. 
  This is the hardest phase in which to recruit other 
  testers. A player is not getting the full game 
  experience since everything is written in 
  shorthand, and the excitement of combat is 
  probably not there yet either. Interest from 
  potential players will therefore be low, and their 
  testing will be a less enjoyable process than in 
  later phases. 
  Other creators, those working in the same or 
  similar genre, are your most likely testers. The 
  way to get these testers onside is to engage with 
  the community, build relationships with other 
  creators, and test their stuff when they need 
  testers too. Collaboration takes a commitment of 
  time and interest in your fellow creators, but the 
  benefits go far beyond testing assistance. 
  The best elements to direct testers toward in 
  this phase are whether the ideas are interesting 
  (“I don’t like goblins!”), which forks are missing 
  (“Can’t my aarakocra just fly out of this pit?”), and 
  where the routes are broken (“Where’s the 
  missing text part to go to after this prompt?”). 
  Integrating these results is harder than it sounds. 
  Adjusting scaffolds is where the majority of your 
  systemic (routing) errors will be introduced, thus 
  you should do it as little as possible. 
  The most important advice for integrating 
  tester results is to wait for all the feedback on 
  each round of testing before you look at any of it. 
  Changing scaffolds often means deep, structural 
  adjustments that are time-consuming. You don’t 
  want to recreate a scaffold only to have another 
  tester point out something that requires the same 
  scaffold to be adjusted again. All feedback should 
  therefore be considered together, and all 
  resulting changes considered at once. 
  Any time you change a scaffold from here out, 
  you must do so with great care, referencing and 
  updating your diagram as you do. If you make a 
  lot of changes, your scaffolds will lose the benefits 
  of having been tested by outside testers and may 
  require another round of testing. 
  Do not send out your scaffolds for testing in 
  anything less than full rounds, where every tester 
  gets the new material with instructions to start 
  over if testing was not complete on the previous 
  version. Further, instruct the testers to delete the 
  old material. You cannot risk having your testers 
  testing different versions at the same time, lest 
  feedback be more confusing to you than helpful. 
  When each of your combats is fully (or mostly) 
  fleshed out, it’s time to do some stress testing. 
  Fighting is such a critical aspect of the D&D 
  experience that it is worth testing in its own 
  phase. The testing cases described here are called 
  combat runs. 
  A combat run is the sequence of combats a 
  protagonist will face between long rests. Your 
  adventure might include only one combat run, 
  but it probably has several. It is important to test 
  these sequences together, because your story is 
  not flexible enough to allow the character to 
  insert long rests where it needs them; unlike in a 
  normal game, your protagonist will be stuck with 
  the combat sequences you dictate. 
  To identify your combat runs, first find each 
  opportunity in the story for a long rest. Between 
  these events, list every combat a character may 
  get into, including those that could be bypassed 
  by other means. Where multiple branches take 
  the protagonist through different combat 
  sequences, mutually exclusive of one another, 
  each sequence is its own combat run even if some 
  of the fights are shared among multiple routes. 
  Within each combat run, assume that every 
  opportunity for a short rest has been taken. This 
  will mean a lot for character types with short 
  rest-refreshing abilities, but less for characters 
  whose features are recovered only after a long 
  rest. 
  
   
  FINAL TOUCHES | 112 
  For your own testing purposes, create a series of 
  characters, at least two, which span an array of 
  combat-readiness. Put each character through 
  each of your combat runs and examine the 
  outcomes. 
  At its simplest form, your character set should 
  include a “strong” combat-ready character and a 
  “weak” character focused on non-combat 
  capabilities. The size of your set of test characters 
  directly relates to the effectiveness of your 
  overall combat testing. The best set of character 
  sheets includes a variety of capabilities. For 
  example, a spellcaster plays differently than an 
  archer or lancer, even if they are all “strong” 
  characters. 
  Present your combat writeups to your outside 
  testers along with clear instructions for what 
  sequence the fights appear in and when a short 
  rest can be had between particular fights. 
  It is important that you don’t hand-hold your 
  testers during combat runs, nor should you act as 
  the DM for such testing in order to save time. Part 
  of the process is testing the understandability of 
  your combat writeups when playing alone. If a 
  player, newly introduced to your mechanics for 
  self-moderation, cannot use them in their current 
  form without further explanation, you need to 
  know that! As the creator, you might make a lot of 
  assumptions about how things work or forget to 
  include steps that, while in your head, fail to 
  make it into the text. You cannot risk tainting the 
  tests by inserting yourself (and your 
  assumptions) into the process. 
  Avoid asking combat testers to play through the 
  combat runs with more than one character. 
  Truly-interested helpers may do so on their own, 
  but combat runs are sufficiently tedious when 
  decontextualized from the story that asking 
  players to double or triple the experience can 
  cause burnout. 
  The best elements to direct testers toward in 
  this phase are whether combat systems were 
  difficult to understand, whether any of the 
  combats are too complex or have too many 
  moving parts, whether the combats were too easy 
  or too difficult, and how much time each combat 
  took. If you can get it, a round-by-round 
  description of what occurred (character and 
  monster actions, plus dice results) is ideal. 
  Particularly ask testers to call out when a feature 
  or trait allows the player to utterly dominate a 
  combat or makes the player utterly powerless to 
  defeat it. 
  Integrating feedback here is usually a matter of 
  tuning the power of enemy creatures (replacing 
  too-strong monsters with weaker versions), 
  shoring up unexpected weaknesses (adding 
  something with a ranged attack to challenge 
  flying protagonists), and altering the availability 
  of healing (more rest opportunities or healing 
  potions to be found along the way). 
  Remember that some of the adjustments you 
  make to a combat can appear in the form of pre-
  combat parts to bypass battle rather than 
  weakening the fight. Particularly for a protagonist 
  with a non-combat focus, alternate ability check 
  roll gates can make your combat sequences more 
  manageable. The “weak” (non-combat focused) 
  characters you use in your test run might give 
  you clues as to which features could be the key to 
  getting around a particular combat. 
  Gauging combat difficulty is a tricky business in 
  single-player adventures. When you adjust a 
  combat round, send it out for another round of 
  testing. Particularly make sure that testers get a 
  chance to re-test adjustments based on their own 
  feedback and try to get an update as to the 
  effectiveness of such changes. 
  Testing your writing is sometimes called 
  “editing,” a practice for which there is a whole 
  
  113 | SOLO CREATOR’S GUIDEBOOK 
  lively industry that goes beyond the spellcheck 
  button. Our approach considers this testing, since 
  writing quality is one of the features that will 
  affect your product’s success. 
  Testing your writing is a method that takes two 
  forms. The first is determining if your story 
  elements are engaging, or whether they are tired, 
  lifeless tropes. This is often just called “editing.” 
  The second is correcting for errors of typography 
  and syntax. This is often called “proofing” or 
  “proofreading.” Some editors will test for both, 
  and others will test for only one of these factors. 
  In order to self-test (edit) effectively, make sure 
  to allow time to pass between writing and 
  editing. Self-testing should occur only after two 
  or three days of not looking at the text, or after 
  several weeks if your production schedule allows 
  for such gaps. Otherwise, residual understanding 
  of what sentences are supposed to mean will 
  block your ability to read them for what they 
  really say. 
  Other than time away from the project, there 
  are several ways you can force your brain into 
  proper editing mode. First, try changing the 
  medium in which you read the work. Many 
  experienced editors prefer to print out a 
  document and mark it up with a red pen. You can 
  achieve similar results by reading your work on 
  your smart phone instead of your desktop screen. 
  Experiencing the data in a new way requires your 
  brain to reset expectations and process on a 
  deeper level. 
  Some people like to read their work backwards, 
  starting with the last sentence and reading each 
  in reverse-order. In addition to avoiding your 
  brain’s shortcutting processes, this can also help 
  you spot inconsistencies in syntax and style. 
  Verbalizing can also force your brain to more-
  accurately process every word in the sentence 
  rather than skipping over fast-processed data. If 
  you are composing in Microsoft Word, your 
  version might have the Read Aloud function (Alt + 
  Ctrl + Space) that will read your work back to you. 
  Other word processors may provide similar 
  functions. This can be far more effective than 
  trying to read your work aloud by yourself; it 
  takes intense concentration to read slowly 
  enough to notice errors but quickly enough to 
  avoid losing focus. 
  While self-testing your own writing, you can 
  improve your editing and your future writing by 
  keeping track of your errors. For example, if you 
  see an incorrectly-used homophone, do a word 
  search through your document to see if it was 
  used incorrectly elsewhere, and make a note of 
  the error somewhere, perhaps another document 
  that tallies the errors you want to avoid in the 
  future. 
  For best results, do not edit your document all 
  at once. When you get bored, your brain starts to 
  disengage, and you miss things. Instead, 
  designate blocks of text for testing (perhaps 
  individual chapters) and proofread them in 
  between other activities. If you are short on time, 
  prioritize recently-written information, as it will 
  be the least-processed work, the most likely to 
  contain errors. 
  And finally, know where your style is weak and 
  forgive yourself for errors that persist even after 
  editing. Do not over-edit your own work. It will 
  never be perfect, and you can find yourself 
  wasting a lot of time for achieving very small (or 
  diminishing) returns with additional editing 
  passes. You are better off producing more 
  products than you are trying to make every 
  product absolutely perfect. 
  Players who pay money for your adventure can 
  be demanding; they will expect a somewhat-
  professional product. If you can afford it, hire a 
  professional editor for this phase of testing, 
  someone in the creator community or otherwise. 
  The return on such an investment should not be 
  underestimated. 
  
   
  FINAL TOUCHES | 114 
  For non-professional testers, the best ones are 
  those you have not involved in the other phases 
  of testing. Having already consumed your story in 
  its shorthand form, testers might tend to gloss 
  over story text when they should be focusing on it 
  for this phase. 
  Whatever the case, this is the phase during 
  which outside editing is the most valuable, and 
  you should not pass up any opportunity to hear 
  feedback or get fresh eyes on your product. 
  Outside testers should be directed based on 
  their intended roles. A copy editor, one who only 
  tests for spelling, grammar, and style, might be 
  better deployed reading all of your text parts in 
  the order they are given, completely 
  decontextualized from the distraction of the 
  story. This approach is faster and makes better 
  use of the editor’s time, something particularly 
  important when paying a professional. Although 
  editing contracts are often word-based, making 
  an editor go through your parts in “play-order” 
  may require some text parts to be processed 
  multiple times (at higher cost) and will probably 
  overlook other text parts. 
  A tester who edits for story and design will 
  need more collaborative instruction. Expect a lot 
  of back-and-forth as you convey your vision of 
  the product. At this point in the testing, your 
  work is almost entirely finished. There will be no 
  need to direct testers toward certain aspects (and 
  thus away from unfished aspects), so nothing 
  more is needed beyond the general instruction to 
  test the “writing” of the product. 
  This is usually the easiest phase for which 
  feedback can be integrated. An editor, 
  particularly a professional who corrects for 
  grammar and style, may simply return a fully-
  edited version, or return a document marked up 
  with editing notes or change-tracking features. 
  Feedback on the story itself can be more 
  involved. It may come down to adding additional 
  exposition at key points on your map of text 
  parts. Or it might require you to change the 
  observations or point-of-view expressed by the 
  protagonist to make the character more neutral. 
  The most complex integrations here are those 
  that call for a change in pacing, since these far-
  reaching changes can affect all the underlying 
  structure of scaffolds and gates. 
   
  ■ 
   
   
  
  115 | SOLO PLAYERS GUIDEBOOK 
  SOW THE SEEDS 
  OF ADVENTURE 
   
  This guide helps creators design the stories and 
  underlying systems necessary for exciting single-
  player interactive adventures. 
   
  Build your story from the seed of a single idea, 
  growing its branches into a fully-developed, exciting 
  single-player experience. 
   
  Create and moderate challenges, rewards, and 
  character growth. Test and improve the quality of 
  your work on your own and provide a useful 
  environment to facilitate outside testers’ feedback. 
   
  Create adventures of your own style or use the 
  SOLITAIRES system to make adventures compatible 
  with those made by other creators. 
   
   
   
   
   
  For use with the 5th Edition Player’s Handbook ®, 
  Monster Manual ®, and Dungeon Master’s Guide ® 
   
  Best when used with these additional supplements: 
  Sword Coast Adventurer’s Guide ®, Volo’s Guide to 
  Monsters ®, and Xanathar’s Guide to Everything ® 
   
   
   
  
SOURCE: textdata/thevault/Dungeons & Dragons [multi]/5th Edition (5e)/3rd Party/Wraith Wright/Wraith Wright - Solo Creators Guidebook.pdf