So I do this ask me thing on the tumblr thing, and this came up yesterday:

methodoflogicalmadness asked:

Which format of D&D would you recommend for a new playgroup? I have previous experience with Pathfinder, but we are considering jumping into 5th ed. From what I’ve gathered, 5th ed. streamlines many features with its advantage/disadvantage system, but I was wondering if there are many flaws in the mechanics. I would hate to learn 5.0 only to learn that the game is dysfunctional or beyond repair. Do you have any advice toward which version is better?

I answered:

I love 5e, and I think it’s a great place to start the hobby. At the moment, there are two main forks of the RPG experience (someone who works in the industry may disagree, or may be able to expound on this): the minis-on-the-map game, and the storytelling game. D&D 3.5, 4E, True 20, and Pathfinder are heavily into the minis-on-the-map thing. That’s fine, if that’s what you want to do, but if I’m going to do minis-on-the-map, I’ll just play Warhammer. The storytelling games are the focus in Savage Worlds (though it also supports minis-on-the-map), FATE Core, Fiasco, Primetime Adventures, the AGE system, and D&D 5E (at the moment. I’m sure it’ll go minis sooner than later).

But, look, the important thing is that you play, not what you play. Don’t be afraid to try out some different systems (they all have free quickstart rules online) and discard the ones you don’t like. And, once you have some experience in the hobby, don’t be afraid to take something from one system and drag it into another system. Don’t be afraid to modify stuff from one setting so that it will work in a different one, because the whole point of playing is to explore worlds that exist because the DM/GM and players all agree to make them.

I hope this helps. Have fun!

I remember how intimidated I was when I was learning how to play RPGs, and that was way back in the 80s when there were only a few to pick from. Now, there are hundreds. I’m sort of making it part of my mission in life to help get more people playing more games, and part of that is taking the fear and intimidation out of the hobby as much as I can.

Patrick Stewart and I were participating in a charity auction. We both had our TNG uniforms to put on the block, and a room filled with over a thousand people was waiting for us to bring them onto the stage … but I couldn’t find mine. I searched a seemingly infinite number of closets in a hotel room that seemed to change size and configuration, thwarting my increasingly harried efforts to find it.

Then I was on the street in front of a different hotel. I needed to check out, but my suitcase was locked inside my room, and I didn’t have a key. I climbed a precarious fire escape and made my way across a cavernous lobby atrium — looking and feeling like something out of Angel Heart — to finally get inside the room.

When I got into the hotel room, I realized that I had to change out of my clothes. I didn’t know why, but I knew that it was incredibly important that I do it. I began to change my clothes, but when I took off my shirt, it revealed another shirt beneath it. When I took off that shirt, it happened again.

I had to check out of this hotel room, or I was going to miss my flight to Australia, but before I could leave, I had to take a shower. But I couldn’t take a shower until I changed out of my clothes, and the clock was ticking down. I began to panic.

I opened my eyes and saw my bedroom dimly lit by the faintest grey light of dawn through my blinds. My heart was pounding, my body was covered in sweat. Cold terror washed over me as I woke up, and I realized that I was in the middle of a panic attack.

This used to happen to me on an almost nightly basis, but it hasn’t happened for years, until this week. This week, it’s happened every night. I’m starting to dread going to sleep, creating what I think is a self-fulfilling prophecy, an orobouros of anticipation and terror.

I breathed as deeply and calmly as I could, willing my heart to calm down. It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real. I repeated, in my head. Just stress dreams. You’re okay. You’re okay. You’re okay. You’re okay.

I’m not okay.

By any objective measure, I don’t have a good reason to feel stressed or worried or even mildly upset about anything, but my brain is broken and it does this to me when I least expect it. Like it’s waiting for to me work long and intense days, so I’m tired and weak when I climb into bed, so it can launch a sneak attack when I’m least able to defend against it.

My heart settled down. I realized that I hadn’t had any feeling in my hands, when feeling began to return to them. I sighed heavily, and frowned. This isn’t fair. I should be able to go to sleep without fearing what is waiting for me when I get there. I was frustrated. I was a little angry. I was really, really exhausted, even though I’d been in bed and sleeping for close to eight hours.

I was filled with a mixture of adrenaline and dread, and I knew that I wouldn’t be able to fall back asleep. Though I didn’t technically need to be up and out of bed for another hour, I angrily kicked off the covers, and got out of bed.

This isn’t fair, I thought. This isn’t fair.