Let's face it, D&D is intrinsically a dark game. The acronym doesn't stand for Daffodils and Daylight, and for a good reason. While a system with that title would be fun to play*, it isn’t what most people want from a game as it doesn’t sound very challenging. Daffodils smell nice, and daylight makes them grow! While that is just delightful, it doesn’t set the scene for something that is captivating and dramatic.









Dungeons and Dragons, on the other hand, paints an image of dark, dank corridors, that bend out of sight, terminating in the lair of something great, powerful, mythical, and horrifying. That image breeds a feeling of fright and anticipation in a player, but also one of excitement and engagement. There is real possibility of failure; a chance that you might not make it out alive…or at least whole. The name Dungeons and Dragons suggests that there is something to be vanquished, and while there is a price for failure, there is an equally alluring prize for success.





While light-hearted games have the same root structure of overcoming obstacles and solving problems, they generally don’t make us feel the same way as do traditional TTRPGs, the most obvious example being D&D. Ultimately, we chose to play a roleplaying game like D&D because we want to populate characters whose abilities are beyond the realm of our own, and who confront challenges and obstacles that we would not find in our real lives. We also want these obstacles to force us to make difficult choices wrought with consequence, but we want these consequences to be meaningful. That’s not to say that a game rooted around friendship and flower-tending wouldn’t be meaningful, but that specific tone significantly constrains the emotional range of the story, both in intensity and diversity. Dungeons and Dragons provides the opportunity for not only immense joy, but also deep sadness; a sense of desperation, but also of hope. A mountain is only made majestic by the valleys which surround it, the warmth of the summer is not appreciated without the chill of winter. There is no light without the darkness lingering beyond its shine. For this reason, grim, ultra-dark settings and systems struggle to span the entire emotional spectrum in the same way light-hearted games do.









Rooting around a haunted crypt, stumbling across dismembered corpses (and creating some of your own) is dark work. A good GM will convey the emotional weight of the experience, and the players will feel the heavy load of it. While dungeon crawls, combats, and confrontations with evil are the meat of the game, a good meal has more than just one dish. Eventually the players will either emerge from the grim crypt, or not. If the latter option turns out to be true, then the game stops, and there is a real-life pause in the action. Next steps are considered among players, who are now characterless, of how to proceed. Often new characters will be drawn up and introduced in one way or another, but that takes some time. At any rate, there is a respite after the tension and action for everyone at the table to decompress and take a breather. Maybe hash out what went wrong, crack some jokes about it, and allow that humor to wash away the feeling of peril and uncertainty. The new characters that are created will eventually be introduced, and that introduction will wash away some more of the dread from the previous adventure. On the other hand, if the characters survive, they are thrust out into the world, with the weight of the previous conflict on their backs. They may have lost members of their party or have experienced other traumas. Where do they go next?





If I want to take advantage of the full unabridged range of emotions that a system like D&D makes available, the only answer to the question is to oppose the previous adventure with something on the other end of the spectrum.





“Even the darkest night will end, and the sun will rise”**

-Victor Hugo, Les Miserables





I think my point will be better conveyed from now on in the form of an example. I was recently running the Lost Mines of Phandelver scenario for my friends (a venture which has transformed into the campaign I currently run). They had completed most of the material in the scenario, and basically all they had left to do was go to Wave Echo Cave and defeat the forces that had taken hold there. I won’t spoil what exactly is inside for people who haven’t played it yet , or are currently playing it, but the way I portrayed the interior of the cavern was as a dark and twisted place, with ghastly creatures corrupted by the magic within. They spent a few sessions in the cave itself working their way through it, spending almost a week in-game underground in this unwelcoming cave. They managed to make it out alive at the end, just by the skin of their teeth***. They returned to Phandalin, victorious, but weary . I sensed that they were drained from the adventure and seized the opportunity to capitalize via emotional acceleration. Their characters had been through the ringer, but they succeeded! This was an opportunity for celebration, for enjoyment, for…a festival!





I don’t know exactly what it is about running festivals that I love so much. Maybe it stems from my fondness for the Minnesota State Fair from an early age on. I also always loved holidays as a kid, more than most of my peers. Whatever the reason may be, festivals embody happiness and joy to me, and I think they fit well into the structure of D&D. Not only are they an opportunity for the characters to spend their new-found wealth from the last adventure on expensive and exotic wares, but they are places to meet NPC friends both new and old, to participate in contests and events, and to be reminded to remain hopeful for the good and joy that exists in the world, which is hopefully what they are fighting for (maybe not all the time). Festivals and events of group celebration akin to them allow the game to transition smoothly from one plot to another, as the GM can drop new hooks in front of the players, or give them time to discuss some of the hooks they’ve already nibbled at, without the pressure of limited time or imminent danger. A festival gives the players time to grow hungry for the next adventure that will pitch them downward to face the unseemly side of the world once again; to pillage vast dungeons, and slay ancient dragons.



Some things I recommend including in a festival:



Contest/Competitions that the players can use to compete with one another with little to no stakes involved:

Feats of Strength/Athleticism:



Arm-Wrestling





Tug-of-War





Log Pitching





Boulder Toss





Climbing Contest





Foot-Race





Gymnastics Competition





Downhill Running





Obstacle Course





Long Jumping





High Jumping





Wife Carry



Tests of Skill:



Hunting Competition





Bobbing for Apples





Archery Competition





Music Competiton





Dance Competition





Drinking Competition





Pie-Eating Competition





Baking Competition





Find-the-Gnome



Luck-Based:



Guessing Games





Raffle





Ghoul Dice

NPC's:

People that were involved in the adventure and contributed in some way, who they can reunite and talk about their success with.



Notable persons from around the area.



People from PC's past who are passing through the area, who present some connection, and opportunity to engage with a backstory.

Opportunites:

Plot hooks to continue the story.



Momentos of the adventure and physical manifestations of the impact it had on the area and community.



Time for the party to spend reflecting.



The arrival of someone important.



Vendors traveling through the area peddling exotic and rare goods.





Here’s the schedule for the festival in Phandalin that I ran after Wave Echo Cave. Feel free to modify it or use it straight up!



-Squash









*I’m thinking every player is a bunny who lives in a small, diverse community, where everyone’s sole purpose is to tend to the daffodils and make friends. The only adversity is when it rain too much, so they have to hold little umbrellas over the daffodils, sitting on each other’s shoulders to get the umbrella over the petals, or construct water diversion structures that route the floods around the flowers. They also sometimes have to resolve social issues, but everything always works out in the end. (I’m thinking a combination of Mouse Guard, and Golden Sky Stories)







**Most of Les Mis is super depressing and everything feels very futile for much of it, and then eventually everyone dies, but then comes back to join in the chorus singing the song of hope which this line is taken from. Maybe this isn’t the best example to fit with my point, but jeez I just couldn’t help throwing a Les Mis quote even if it confuses people.







***Actually there was only once they were really in danger of a TPK, but still, there were a couple pretty close calls.