Last week, Wizards of the Coast sent the online Dungeons & Dragons community ablaze with the first installment of “One D&D”: the official playtest for the next “edition” of Dungeons & Dragons.
This first installment contained a number of features, from new races to new backgrounds and even new feats—but the piece that really set the discourse on fire was a new subrule nestled under the innocuous heading, “Rolling a 20.”
The rule reads as follows:
“If you roll a 20 on the d20, the [skill check] automatically succeeds, regardless of any modifiers to the roll. A player character also gains Inspiration when rolling the 20, thanks to the remarkable success.
“Rolling a 20 doesn't bypass limitations on the test, such as range and line of sight. The 20 bypasses only bonuses and penalties to the roll.”
This proposed playtest rule represented the first time in D&D history that players could achieve an automatic “critical success” on a skill check—as opposed to an attack roll—regardless of the DC.
Naturally, the conversation surrounding this rule immediately fractured into a fractious debate.
The Factions
There are four factions in this debate. Each faction has a different rule they’d like implemented regarding natural 20s:
The Anarchists want the following rule: “If you roll a 20 on the d20, you automatically succeed on the d20 test, regardless of any modifiers to the roll. The DM may also decide that your attempt receives some minor, unrelated benefit or was completed with impressive flair.”
The Dramatists want the following rule: “If you roll a 20 on the d20, you automatically succeed on the d20 Test, regardless of any modifiers to the roll. The DM may also decide that your attempt receives some minor, unrelated benefit or was completed with impressive flair. However, you can't make a d20 Test if you lack the appropriate physical or mental faculties to make the attempt in the first place.”
The Realists want the following rule: “If you roll a 20 on the d20, you receive the best possible outcome for the d20 test, regardless of any modifiers to the roll. You can’t succeed if the target DC exceeds your result, but the DM may decide that your attempt receives some minor, unrelated benefit or was completed with impressive flair.”
The Simulationists want the following rule: “If you roll a 20 on the d20, you add your modifiers to the roll and compare the result to the target DC. You succeed if the result meets or exceeds the target DC.”
(All factions agree—except, perhaps, the Anarchists—that you can’t roll for a task that’s physically impossible, like jumping to the moon or hiding in an open field.)
The One D&D rule, as printed, is somewhere in-between the Anarchists’ preferred rule and the Dramatists’ preferred rule. (Instead of giving a narrative bonus, it hands out Inspiration instead.)
But what does each faction actually want, and why do they want it? Let’s go through each one in turn.
The Anarchists
An Anarchist believes that rolling dice is fun, that everyone should be allowed to roll dice, and that the only thing more fun than rolling dice is rolling dice and getting a natural 20.
An Anarchist doesn’t play Dungeons & Dragons for the sake of immersing themselves in a fantasy world. Instead, an Anarchist plays the game to express their creativity—to see exactly how far they can push the bounds of this fantastical realm.
At times, this might involve creating obviously absurd results. An Anarchist thinks that this is fine, and even something to be celebrated! (After all, mundane events aren’t particularly memorable, are they?) If a character who’s been polymorphed into a toad wants to push a cow over, they’re certainly welcome to try; if they succeed, the group will be talking about “steer-tippin’ Lilypad Joe” for years to come.
But for an anarchist, a natural 20 should always feel special, even if it’s not allowing you to do something absurd. As such, if a player rolls a natural 20 on a mundane check—something that they probably could have done anyway—then they deserve something extra-special for their trouble.
Digging a fortification? You strike gold. Recalling a historical fact? You figure out part of the villain’s evil plan. Trying to convince a nobleman? He’s convinced, and more—he’s absolutely smitten with you!
To a Dramatist, an Anarchist’s rule is preposterous, and destroys the verisimilitude that powers the entire escapist fantasy.
To a Realist, an Anarchist’s rule makes the concept of “luck” meaningless—if you find buried treasure once out of every twenty times you dig a hole, are you “lucky” or a reality-warper?—and leads to ludicrous outcomes that are too easily abused.
Meanwhile, to a Simulationist, an Anarchist’s rule is sheer, absolute chaos—an unforgivable sin, visited upon an otherwise perfect world.
The Dramatist
A Dramatist believes that D&D exists to let people pretend to be heroes, and that it’s important that everyone gets to feel like a hero, even when they haven’t “optimized” their character in certain ways.
A Dramatist wants to immerse themselves in a fantasy world, but understands that things may be possible in “fantasy” that could never be feasible in real life—especially for heroes, the protagonists of that fantasy world. As such, a Dramatist strives to find moments when characters can go above and beyond—when they can break their limits through the power of will and fortune alone, and do something truly extraordinary.
At times, this may lead to “unrealistic” scenarios, in which a character who seems incapable of succeeding at a difficult task magically pulls out a victory through sheer luck and grit. A Dramatist thinks that this is fine, and even the entire point of playing D&D in the first place. After all, there’s a reason it’s called Dungeons & Dragons and not Condos & Cubicles!
Under ordinary circumstances, that scrawny wizard could never break down that reinforced door—but when everything is on the line, and when the moment is right, they can channel power they never knew they had. Under ordinary circumstances, that slow-witted barbarian could never recall that piece of obscure knowledge—but once in a while, their thick skull will remember something they heard in passing from a parent, an acquaintance, or (even) a book.
Does that mean anyone can do anything, so long as the thing in question is physically possible? Not at all. If you’ve never been to Barovia, and you’ve never heard of Barovia, you’re not allowed to make a check to recall knowledge about Barovia; even if you have +11 to History checks; that’s a line that you’ll never be able to cross. (Meanwhile, a native Barovian with -2 to Intelligence checks can make all the rolls they like, automatically succeeding on a natural 20 regardless of the DC.)
To an Anarchist, a Dramatist’s rule is ridiculous and cowardly—why let some people do impossible things if you’re not going to go all the way with it?
To a Realist, a Dramatist’s rule diminishes the importance of letting different characters specialize in different things—what was the point in the barbarian investing five ASIs into Strength if the wizard can compete with them five percent of the time?
To a Simulationist, a Dramatist’s rule is nonsensical: a weak or stupid character, by definition, can’t do something that exceeds their limits. That’s what having limits means.
The Realist
A Realist cares about creating a fair gaming space. That means creating an equal playing field that everyone can compete on, while also allowing certain characters to specialize in certain ways that allow them to do things that others can’t.
However, a Realist also cares about keeping the game fun. It’s no fun to let the wizard roll to remember an obscure historical fact if the fighter can’t also make the roll! An equal playing field means an equal opportunity to participate.
Of course, we can’t let the fighter actually remember that obscure fact—that would effectively trivialize the wizard’s efforts to invest in Intelligence and History! As such, the fighter gets a consolation prize: they don’t recall the fact in question, but they do recall a fun piece of trivia that might prove entertaining or tangentially helpful. (Maybe it even jogs the wizard’s memory, allowing them to make their own check with advantage.)
Did the bard just try to seduce the dragon, or ask the king to give up his crown? The DC is far too high for them to succeed—but maybe “success” here just means “the best possible outcome under the circumstances.” You don’t seduce the dragon, but she’s impressed by the audacity—enough not to eat you for insulting her, anyway. Meanwhile, you won’t get the king’s crown, but he might find it an uproarious joke, clapping you on the back instead of summoning the headsman.
At times, this can lead to unsatisfying scenarios, especially when a Realist DM is running the game for a Dramatist or Anarchist player. “Why did you let me roll if even a natural 20 wasn’t good enough to do what I wanted?”, the player might ask. “Because I knew that you’d feel unsatisfied if I didn’t let you roll, and I thought you might find this outcome fun, even if it’s not what you were looking for,” the Realist DM might reply.
To an Anarchist, a Realist’s rule is manipulative and cruel—it’s a bait-and-switch in the crudest sense.
To a Dramatist, a Realist’s rule is understandable, but disappointing. “I know I’m a scrawny wizard,” a Dramatist might say. “But just this once—just this once!—couldn’t I get to break down the door to the villain’s lair, just because of how important it is?”
To a Simulationist, a Realist’s rule is interesting, but unsupported—an arbitrary break from the rules that improves nothing and diminishes much.
The Simulationist
A Simulationist cares about creating a self-consistent alternate universe. “I know that dragons can’t fly in real life,” a Simulationist might say. “But if a dwarf biologist cut open a dragon and ran tests on it, they’d be able to scientifically understand the physical principles that allow a dragon in this universe to fly.”
To a Simulationist, the idea that “fantasy worlds” are fundamentally different from “the real world” is a complete non sequitur. Faerun and Eberron operate under the exact same principles as Earth—they just have slightly different laws of physics.
If you’re weak and untrained, you’ll never do anything strong. If you’re stupid and uneducated, you’ll never do anything smart. If you’re uncharismatic and unread, you’ll never say anything eloquent.
It’s nothing personal. To a Simulationist, that’s just life.
And if the entire point of playing D&D is to create an alternate version of life where dragons exist, and wizards cast spells, and the gods sometimes play chess or checkers with mortal lives—it’s all the more important to make sure that meaningful, skill-based limitations are accurately replicated as best as possible.
This doesn’t mean, of course, that the ground rules can’t be changed! In Avatar: The Last Airbender, even civilians can get flung fifty feet into a brick wall without having their spine snapped. To a Simulationist, that’s just part of the biology in this world; so long as you write it down in the rulebook and apply it fairly, that’s totally fine. Internal consistency is what matters; as soon as the Dungeon Master’s Guide or a campaign module sets some sort of benchmark, it’s vital that this benchmark be extrapolated and followed as faithfully as possible.
To an Anarchist, a Simulationist’s rule is the Anti-Fun—the antithesis of freedom, and the death of the game.
To a Dramatist, a Simulationist’s rule is spitefully destroying the entire escapist fantasy of D&D, all in pursuit of some ill-conceived notion of “building a physics engine” for a world that doesn’t exist, will never exist, and cannot exist.
To a Realist, a Simulationist’s rule is uncharitable and unkind—refusing to grant even a token of recognition or respect to players who want to attempt something difficult.
Where Do We Go From Here?
If I had to make a (wild) guess, I’d estimate that most new-school DMs are Realists, most old-school DMs are Simulationists, most players are Dramatists, and Anarchists are a very small minority that either keep to themselves or get kicked out of other people’s tables for making rolls that the DM didn’t ask for. (If I had to bet, I’d say that most Realist DMs would personally prefer to be Simulationists, but have intentionally “compromised” to stop Dramatist players from complaining about the lack of natural 20s: “You want to make a roll anyway? Fine, but I get to say what success means—not you.”)
However, a non-negligible amount of DMs (both old-school and new) are Dramatists, and those DMs tend to be the most passionate about installing an official “critical success” rule in their own house rules. (It’s easy for a Realist DM to unofficially add a little bit of flair to an unsuccessful natural 20; it’s more challenging for a Dramatist DM to allow those checks to succeed without getting the entire playgroup on-board with it first.)
Now, with One D&D finally offering a chance to turn that house rule into Rules-As-Written, many Dramatist DMs are (understandably) chomping at the bit to make that happen. Moreover, given that the Dramatist rule graciously precludes characters from doing nonsensical, impossible things, most Dramatists just can’t understand why anyone would object to their rule. “If you don't think the character should be able to succeed, then just don’t let them roll!”
Meanwhile, because the One D&D playtest rule says that natural 20s on skill checks “automatically succeed,” but doesn’t explicitly define what “success” means,” many Realist DMs firmly believe that the playtest rule endorses their preferred model—where “success” can include “You might not get what you want, but you get the best possible outcome given your limitations.”
Could the Realist DMs and Dramatist DMs realize that their interpretations of the rule are actually distinct? Possibly—but instead, they’re too busy fighting off the Simulationists, who have enjoyed nearly fifty years without critical successes on skill checks and aren’t ready to give that up now.
According to a very unscientific survey, it looks like the Realist rule is probably the easiest consensus position, assuming One D&D dramatically clarifies the way the rule is worded. Dramatists get to declare victory because critical successes are now an official part of the game. Simulationists get to declare victory because you still can’t complete tasks if the DC is too high for you. Meanwhile, Realists get everything they want. (Only Anarchists are left out in the cold, and the original rule excluded them anyway.)
Is this the path that Wizards of the Coast will ultimately take? I honestly can’t say for sure; we’re in uncharted territory. This might be a case of “design to failure,” in which Wizards is trying to see how far they can push provocative ideas and which radical proposals will prove to be unexpected winners. Alternatively, this might be a case where Wizards wanted to try and switch things up, sees the backlash, and immediately pulls the entire idea. There’s no way to know!
But I think it’s important for all of us to be on the same page—for us to clearly know what we mean when we say things like “automatic success,” and for us to graciously and empathetically understand each other’s positions, rather than offering platitudes like “Don’t like it, don’t let them roll,” or “Just ban it at your own table.”
At the end of the day, it’s important for One D&D to represent a set of rules that the entire community can join around. Not everyone will use those rules, and that’s okay—but what matters is that we can all respect them as the official rules, and understand that our personal decisions to diverge are due to the special needs of our own playgroups, rather than a need to reject a rule that we find unpleasant or unreasonable.
To that end, it’s vital to have these (respectful) conversations—and, when the playtest feedback form opens, to give our honest, reasoned, and constructive criticism or support.
It’s impossible to know what’s on the other side of this tunnel—but it’s sure to be a hell of a ride.
Cover image credit to Wizards of the Coast.
DragnaCarta is a veteran DM, the author of the popular “Curse of Strahd: Reloaded” campaign guide, a guest writer for FlutesLoot.com, the developer of Challenge Ratings 2.0, and the former Dungeon Master for the actual play series “Curse of Strahd: Twice Bitten.”
To read more of Dragna’s articles about D&D design theory, DMing tips & tricks, and principles of storytelling, subscribe now to receive new articles in your inbox.
To support Dragna’s work and get DMing resources and mentoring, you can click here to check out his Patreon.
To get Dragna’s hot takes and commentary, you can click here to follow him on Twitter.
Interesting article, this paragraph especially stood out to me:
> At times, this can lead to unsatisfying scenarios, especially when a Realist DM is running the game for a Dramatist or Anarchist player. “Why did you let me roll if even a natural 20 wasn’t good enough to do what I wanted?”, the player might ask. “Because I knew that you’d feel unsatisfied if I didn’t let you roll, and I thought you might find this outcome fun, even if it’s not what you were looking for,” the Realist DM might reply.
I think this might be the reason that pushes me towards the simulationist camp.
You should consider the aspect of anchoring. Plenty of people play with 1/20 auto fail/succeed now despite those not actually being the rules. So the anchoring for this idea is very common.
But it's really hard for a DM to claw back a rule which was added, especially if it's seen against the player's favor. If the rulebook is mute on the topic, than the DM can simply enforce their preference. But the mute perspective is the simulation's perspective. To make a skill check succeed or fail even when it doesn't meet the required DC necessities addition rules be added to the game.