Last weekend, I managed to panic members of my Call of Cthulhu table. During the Christmas period, we’re not running D&D Adventurers League games as normal, as people (and DMs) are away, but we’re instead running any old game that amuses the available DMs.

Which means that I’m running Call of Cthulhu, Josh is running D&D: Acquisitions Incorporated, and Fynn is running Star Wars (the FFG version).

The scenario I ran was The Derelict by Sandy Peterson, found in Petersen’s Abominations, a collection of tournament scenarios that Mr Petersen wrote to run at conventions. Which is to say that they’re designed to play in 3-4 hours, and they’re pretty deadly. In other words, perfect to introduce people to the wonder that is Call of Cthulhu.

J

Now, the plot of this adventure finds the characters being stalked through a derelict ship by an invisible monster. At some point, they found themselves “cornered” in a room with a bulldozer, which they tried to get working. They weren’t that cornered – there was a ladder leading out in addition to the corridor the monster was coming along.

To scare the creature, they used a canister of diesel fuel to set alight the centre of the room while they continued trying to start the engine. The trouble was that the room was sealed, so soon they were choking on thick smoke. My on-the-spur rules for suffocation were these:

• The characters got a warning that it was hard to breathe.
• The characters needed to make Constitution checks each round. On a failure, they advanced to Stage 2 of suffocating.
• A character on Stage 2 of suffocation needed to make a Consitution check with a penalty die (effectively disadvantage). On a failure, they slipped unconscious.
• Unconscious characters would eventually die.

There may be actual rules for this in the Call of Cthulhu rulebook, but I couldn’t remember them, and it wasn’t worth pausing the game to look them up. I wanted to keep the pressure upon the players.

And it worked exceptionally well. The characters kept trying (and failing) to start the bulldozer, and, one by one, all fell unconscious. And, because no-one was left, suffocated to death.

Meanwhile, I was wondering why none of them tried climbing the ladder out of the room or tried leaving by the main corridor as I’d described the creature leaving.

But this behaviour I’ve seen from a lot of players: they get obsessed with one thing and don’t think about alternatives. (See my Ettin story).

If this happens to you, or you’re not good at thinking on your feet, then here are my suggestions for getting out of the trap:

• First, stop whatever you’re doing.
• Second, get the GM to describe what you can see. You may have missed something previously.
• Third, ask for clarifications of things about which you’re unsure. Most GMs are more than happy to provide further details.
• Fourth, work out a new approach. (You might not have that much time to do so, but that’s okay). And ask the GM if it sounds reasonable. Again, the GM can provide valuable feedback.
• Fifth, try the new approach.

During this incident, one of the players tried to melt an ice wall with the second canister of fuel they had with them. I found this very amusing because they’d only just emptied that canister into the bulldozer to get it to work! So, only a dribble came out. It was entirely the sort of thing a panicked civilian would do, so I let it stand.

However, there was a basic problem with the plan: it wasn’t an ice wall; it was the side of an iceberg! (The ship had rammed into an iceberg, and part of the hull had been ripped through, exposing the ice outside). The player had misinterpreted the earlier description. In these situations, I don’t like correcting misconceptions – partly because I may not be aware that it’s a misconception! But when the player made the new plan, he could have asked me “Do I think I could melt the ice wall so we could escape through it?” and my answer may have been “I don’t know; try it and see”, “Yes, it’s worth a shot” or – as it would have been in this instance – “No, it’s an entire iceberg. You’d never do it!”

As the GM, you’re the conduit of information to the players. You want it to be accurate (well, as far as the characters’ perceptions would allow). And you also want to communicate how the world works to them. There are assumptions you make about how things work that aren’t obvious to the players. So, finding a way to tell them those is vital. It’s a lot easier when the players ask you!

As against this, you don’t want to dictate what the players do. You want to see the players decide for themselves. The point is that you don’t want them deciding on bad information.

So, what’s the balance? It depends on the situation, but the players can certainly help the process by asking questions!