Dungeons and Dragons is a marvelous thing. As a cherished pastime, it never ceases to amuse, and no single experience is quite like another. With a capable dungeonmaster at the helm, a single spelunker or a party of ten is guaranteed a night of merriment, excitement, and intrigue. During my early days as a player, I often marveled at the artistry with which our weekly storytellers wove our fiction into a palpable narrative. Giving equal attention to the both the fanciful microcosm and macrocosm, the tabletop teller of tales is the vital glue that holds the game together. In the beginning, I thought the appeal might have rested solely with the dungeonmaster's drive to spin stories and craft settings beyond belief. However, having run the game myself for some time now, I've come to understand a very different motivation.

In truth, I had felt no great tug to undertake the art of my own accord. Originally, some pals of mine had expressed an interest in playing fifth edition, but by no means did they want to run the operation themselves. Hence, they rather quickly deemed that I should be the one to undertake the task of bringing their whims to fruition. Not one to back down from an appealing challenge, I accepted, and thus began my training. Sleeping with manuals crooked comfortably underarm, and meditating on the finer points of the D20 system under torrential waterfalls, I found the road to tabletop enlightenment both laborious and rewarding. And, just when I thought I'd learned it all, one intrepid YouTuber arrived to present me with a lasting kernel of wisdom.

The architect of my revelation was Matt Colville, an independent author and game designer, who also happens to host a series of web videos intended for the young and aspiring dungeonmaster. Amidst one of his many mini-lectures, he reintroduced a question I believed I'd already learned the answer to: why was I aiming to run this game? My immediate answer would have been for my colleagues and companions. However, as I looked over my copious notes of self-authored lore and political intrigue, I began to realize that in building a sturdy platform from which to launch my campaign, I had almost forgot the players that would be scurrying atop it. It was then that I understood matters with complete clarity; we play dungeons and dragons for ourselves, but we must acknowledge that we run it for others.

Preserving some elements of your fantasyscape are to be expected, and keeping a semblance of narrative may be a priority, but no matter how vivid a world you dream up, without players it will remain a distant figment of imagination. When in doubt, do not struggle to tailor your stories to your players; rather, inform the narrative based on the actions and motivations of your players. Let them poke and prod, let them work to establish their name, let them play the game for themselves, as you would in the reverse situation. You'll quickly find this not only colors your world in ways you'd not previously considered, but it maximizes your players' opportunities to immerse and enjoy themselves within your setting. They will appreciate your work, and you will appreciate doing it. I promise you, if your party is having the time of their life, you shan't be far behind.