Maybe Split the Party
“Don’t split the party” is the kind of advice spouted by wizened referees and players alike to foolhardy TTRPG whippersnappers. It isn’t bad advice either. The wizard and rogue are wont to be roasted and eaten if they invade a dragon’s lair while the cleric and fighter are in town on a shopping excursion. Another piece of sage advice oft-trotted out is an admonishment against PvP (player-character versus player-character). This advice has even more merit. Not only can PvP breed animosity within a gaming group, it is also terribly boring for the players not engaged in such shenanigans. D&D-derived, turn-based combat can be a slog even when all the players are involved, but when the table has to watch two players miss attack roll after attack roll against each other, they players (referee included) are going to tune out. Maybe those greybearded grognards are right to warn against such temerity!
Splitting up the party and PvP can each be fun, if the referee has the right tools. There wouldn’t need too be any admonition if it wasn’t something players, for both good and ill motives, sometimes gravitate toward. However, the first step in making splitting the party or PvP fun is for the referee to suss out such motive and make sure all players are on board. If the players’ desire to engage in PvP is motivated by something in the real world, entirely divorced from the characters and the fiction, it is something the group should discuss calmly and resolve. Swinging imaginary swords won’t solve any personal beefs and involve the danger of swinging non-imaginary fists. Nothing good will come of this. PvP or splitting the party only works if it is the characters, and not their players, driving the action. But the referee should always check-in with all the players, even and especially the silent ones, to make sure everyone is enthusiastic about the direction. Both splitting the party and PvP requires group buy-in, but they each require a different set of tools to pull off.
When the party is split up, the referee should think of themself as a director, cutting between scenes to establish pacing. I have rarely had any type of PvP at my table, but I run for split-parties all the time. I keep everyone involved by sensing the mood of the players and running the adventure more cinematically. Let’s take the example above, where two players are recklessly assaulting a dragon’s lair while the rest of the party is on a shopping spree. The coils of the dragon slithers amidst its mountain of coins, jewelry and precious gems, as it notices its unwelcome company by the sound of their footsteps. A dragon’s claw cuts through chainmail like so much soggy cardboard, so the rogue and wizard’s primary protection is an invisibility spell (Unseen Shroud) they cast before they entered. The dragon sniffs at the air, but its senses are dulled by the smell of gold all around. The invisibility spell is only temporary so the rogue gets into position to strike the dragon’s underbelly, and the wizard prepares to cast Entangling Hands of Steel to bind the dragon’s limbs. As the rogue nears the dragon, Unseen Shroud wears off, and a sort of grin creeps across the dragon’s face just as inhales deeply, opening its toothy maw. And this is when I would cut to the fighter and cleric. We cut to the shopkeep, inhaling deeply to yawn to show they are unimpressed by the cleric’s offer.
When cutting between one half of the party to the other, do it when tension is at its highest. This keeps the players who aren’t in the next scene more engaged. The dragon is about to spew fire, so the rogue’s player is on the edge of his seat as the fighter convinces the cleric to do a bit of shoplifting, because right as that scene’s tension ramps up, they get to find out what happens next to their own character. I also like the cut-away scene and the cut-to scene to mirror each other in the action (e.g., the dragon inhales to breathe fire and the shopkeep inhales to yawn) or the theme (e.g., we cut away from the soldier character reading a letter from home that their parent has died to the investigator character standing in a street overlooking the cemetery, rain pouring all around), but this is more a matter of taste. The key thing is to keep the tension high in both scenes and to share time as equally as possible between the players, giving everyone their moment in the spotlight. Splitting up the party in this way has the added bonus of allowing for comedic effect. More often and not, I am cutting back-and-forth between a gritty adventure (e.g., fighting a dragon) to slapstick comedy (e.g., a shopping trip gone terribly awry).
Even if splitting the party is fun, it is still dangerous for the player-characters. In most games, player-characters team up because it’s a hardscrabble world and solo adventurers aren’t long for this world. One of my most memorable experiences of a split party ended with half the party eaten alive by ghouls in a tropical jungle. I was running by own version of Isle of Dread when the party became very invested in capturing the leader of the pirates, the dread Captain Redscale. They had already dispatched several of Redscale goons and Redscale was on the run, just as the sun was setting behind the island’s volcano. The party decided to split up so they could corner Captain Redscale. All agreed it was a swell idea and nothing could go wrong, each half (one half with three players, the other with two) made arcs through the jungle. However, navigating through the jungle is no small feat, particularly as the sunlight faded from view. One group got lost. The other group found the footprints of Captain Redscale (unmistakable from the one peg leg and the other clawed lizard-foot). As the second group cornered Redscale on a sheer cliff-face, the first group was in a horror film, one-by-one dropping to unseen, undead predators. The second group discovered, much to their chagrin, that Captain Redscale wasn’t just a lizardfolk but a draco lizardfolk, as he jumped off the cliff, revealing their connective membranes they used to glide to safety below. The first group, three members dwindled to one, made it out of the jungle with one fewer leg than they had when they entered.
Keeping PvP engaging for the table requires more than just directorial tricks. Because the biggest problem with PvP is mechanical, it requires a mechanical solution. In games where combat has a lot of rules, it has a lot of decision points and a lot of rolls to make. Such games are usually designed for a handful of players to fight a number of baddies ran by the referee, not for PvP. PvP is mostly really boring for all the non-participants (referee included). The 15 or more minutes required to play it out deflates all the rightfully dramatic tension of two player-characters so at odds that they are willing to draw blood. Well, you are in luck. I have a quick, simple PvP resolution mechanic for any system that uses HP (or an equivalent):
Yes, this blogpost began life as a tweet.
This PvP system is quick, more fun for non-participants, and determines outcomes based largely on which player-character is more invested in winning, even at a cost. PvP only takes a matter of minutes (or less) to resolve. Because it is quicker, it is more fun to watch, especially with the added drama of it being a bit like poker—watching the participants size each other up, bluff, and try to read the other. It also scales for multiple participants. If there are more than two participants on either side, each bets separately, but the cumulative total of the dice bet is used to determine a winner. There could even be a free-for-all with more than two sides: whichever side bets the most still wins. But the betting is not purely reckless. The player more willing to risk their character in pursuit of victory is more likely to win. The result I haven’t seen, but would love to witness, is the Pyrrhic victory. The character wins the fight, but takes so much damage in the process that their character is going to die from their wounds. That player would tell that story for the rest of their life.
Splitting the party or PvP can be disruptive to a game, but if all players are enthusiastic about it and the referee is equipped with appropriate tools, it can produce meaningful stories and engaging gameplay. Players may be wise to strive for party cohesion, but it need not be maintained at all costs. When only half the party wants to fight the dragon, let the other half shoplift potions if they want. If two player-characters decide to duel, at least make it interesting for everyone at the table. Experienced referees and players aren’t wrong to caution against such behavior, but I prefer a set of tools over a word of warning.
