A Comedy of Errors - The State of My Current 5e Campaign

It began with the best of intentions. I knew more than one player in my area who clamored for a D&D experience that was nontraditional to say the least. My wife lamented how combat-oriented the games she and I had been involved in tended to be. So, in the manner of Toni Morrison's famous quote, ("If there is a book that you want to read, but it hasn't been written yet, you must be the one to write it.") I said "Fuck it, let's make this happen."

My newest player suggested that it would be interesting to run a campaign based around a troupe of traveling performers. I loved this idea! It sounded brilliant for an episodic, mostly social approach to the game. I started hastily constructing a setting that I thought would be fresh and interesting, something fitting for a high fantasy, high magic system like D&D 5e. My often low-fantasy oriented passions were greenlit for bizarre amalgamations of historical analogues and subgenre bending fantasy tropes. I landed on a Steampunk/Victorian age Imperial Rome where entertainment is subsidized by the state to keep the rabble happy. I compiled a campaign flyer, laid down the character creation guide, and set a date for the session zero.

Session Zero came, and my first, biggest problem arose. Not only had they already made elaborate characters, but only two out of five players made characters that were performers. "Shit," I thought. "I'm going to feel like a prick if I tell them to start from scratch. Let's just make it work."
NO! BAD AARON! WRONG!

It probably would have been fine if things played out as I expected them to. There was a nice cadence in having the non-performers handle various challenges pre-performance and during performances. The bodyguard had the opportunity to settle drunken patrons who threatened to cause disruptions. The propmaster sold various bits and bobs after the show. The fortune teller.. told fortunes. It was nice.

Then the performers started dying off. My wife, God bless her, was just too tired from work to continue playing after a couple sessions. The fortune teller's player had too much work to handle and dropped out around the same time. This happened around the same time that a very pivotal, life altering performance happened in the game, and unfortunately, not a damn one of them did very well aside from the wife. I even said "You can take the average," but everyone wanted to "go big or go home." Additionally, the players' interest in the general setup seemed to be waning. They sprang, unflinchingly, into every single fight that was reasonably possible.

Considering all of these things, I did the only thing a responsible DM could do. I murdered the entire troupe, except the PCs. Seriously. It was a bloodbath.

To be brief, their boss borrowed money from the mafia to get them a shot at doing the big performance. The PCs knew this. They all blew the performance except for my wife's PC, who is obsessed with fame. So why wouldn't she get an offer to join another more successful troupe, why wouldn't she accept, and why wouldn't the mafia see the remainder of the troupe as worthless aside from their quite well proven battle prowess? Why not, indeed.

The PCs returned to find their friends murdered. I don't know what I expected, but apparently it was something in the realm of "when they find the mob enforcer in their tent with all of their friends dead, surely they'll hear him out." Why in the seven hells I thought this with their track record, I'll never know.

At level 5, they managed to butcher well over 8 CR 3 minions and defeat a level17 NPC decked with a trove of magic items. He barely escaped. Had he been trying to kill them, they would have lost a few PCs. But, he saw them as an investment. They were capable fighters that could be leveraged to handle problems. He aimed to subdue. This was his error.

In these few sessions, the campaign went from a happy-go-lucky social-oriented high-fantasy experience to what is now a campaign of stabhappy fugitives seeking to upend the mob's secret plot to bring an Archdemon to the material plane, a seed that was buried and meant to be unearthed MONTHS down the line, if at all. Basically, standard D&D 5e. I love it for what it is, but it's undeniable that my campaign as I envisioned it is long dead.

What have I learned from this process?
Be picky, I guess. Don't let players derail your campaign premise just to be nice. If the thing people are trying to make happen isn't what you want to run, don't run it. Probably some more things, but it's time for rest. Goodnight, cruel world. I have a Zoom meeting in the morning.

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