Whether you’re playing dozens of NPCs as a Dungeon Master or playing a single character as a player, learning the basics of improvisation will make you a better D&D player, and will help you have more fun playing the game. Some of these tips are drawn from my personal experiences as an actor, some are drawn from formative books by theatrical and gaming professionals, and others are from revelations my players and I have had while playing D&D together.
Before we get started, I want to clear the air about one particular improv tool that gets thrown about a lot—perhaps too much. Nearly every Improv 101 course starts with an explanation of “Yes, And…” a phrase that suggests that good improvisers should never shut down a fellow performer by telling them “No.” Instead, a good improviser should build upon their partner’s statements by instead agreeing (“Yes”) and then expanding upon the idea (“And…”).
This isn’t bad advice. It can keep you from hogging the spotlight and frustrating your fellow players, but it’s not universally applicable. Nowhere is that more true than in tabletop roleplaying games—especially when the Dungeon Master is concerned. The Dungeon Master needs to be empowered to say no to their players and characters when they need to, and players need to be able to tell other players (and indeed, even their DM) no when details about their character that they’ve established previously are being ignored or revised without their input.
This is because D&D is a game that establishes certain concrete details about its characters. It’s also a form of long-form improv that gradually gains layers of context and characterization over the course of a campaign. Players expect a level of continuity that blind adherence to the principle of “Yes, And…” can’t provide. Good alternatives to “Yes, And…” in this form are tools that I call “Yes, But…” and “No, But…”.
“Yes, But…”
Whereas “Yes, And…” requires you to accept any premise another performer (let’s call them players, since we’re talking about improv in a roleplaying context) and then build upon it, “Yes, But…” allows you to accept the player’s premise, but then subvert it to support previously established continuity. This is a great tool for players who are collaboratively building a world together through play, rather than playing in a world that their DM created for them.
For example, Player A might say, “Player B, your character is a mercenary, right? I heard that there’s a fortress full of unscrupulous mercenaries in the desert of Anauroch. Did you come from there?”
If Player B hasn’t created a fully fleshed out origin story for their character, and likes Player A’s idea, B might say, “Yes! That’s right, my character did come from Fort Doom in Anauroch.” Now, Player B likes the idea of coming from a fortress, but they had the idea in their head that their character was a noble-hearted mercenary who only offered their services to compassionate people. B might then say, “But, I left a long time ago. The mercenaries in Fort Doom and I didn’t see eye to eye.”
The difference between “But” and “And” is subtle but important. In this example, Player A’s example carried an implicit assumption that Player B didn’t agree with: “You are one of the mercenaries from this fortress.” While Player B didn’t have a specific backstory in mind for their character, they did have an idea of the character’s temperament and personality, and that assumption clashed with it. So, though they agreed with Player A’s text (and said “Yes,”) B chose to subvert its subtext (“But) instead of building on top of it.
“No, But…”
This tool is useful for Dungeon Masters who like to give their players a bit of free reign in designing the game world, but still want to have final say in what gets added to the setting or the story. Rather than agreeing with a player’s assertion, you are empowered to reject it (“No”). However, in order to keep the game moving (and to keep the player’s feelings from being hurt by a flat refusal), you present an alternative option (“But…”).
For example, the DM might establish a character in a scene. “Before you is Lady Morwen, Duchess of Daggerford. She is busied with couriers and other affairs of state, and she pays you no interest.”
Player A wants to interact with the duchess, and sees an opportunity to both deepen the story and get what they want at the same time. A says, “Oh, I’ve met Lady Morwen before! She’s incredibly pious, and we worshiped at the same temple of Lathander together a long time ago. I’ll go up and talk to her and see if she recognizes me.”
The DM likes how their player has creatively approached this problem, and thinks that it will lead to a good scene. But the DM knows that an important part of the adventure they’re running is that while Lady Morwen professes to be a devout Lathanderite, she actually only worships in a secret shrine of the god of war, Tempus, within her castle. The DM says, “Actually, you’ve never seen Lady Morwen out in the local temples. But I like that you know her from somewhere; what’s another place where you could have met her before?”
This approach allowed the player to get a scene similar to the one they wanted, and also allowed the DM to keep an important aspect of their adventure intact. I love allowing my players to flesh out the world in tandem with me (though my current campaign, Worlds Apart, has such a strong mystery element that it’s been difficult to be as collaborative with my worldbuilding). However, there are times when a player’s contribution steps on an important detail. Sometimes, I can justify letting that detail go and reworking the structure of the adventure, but other times it’s important for me to tell my players, “No.”
I try not to do it too often, since it can be stressful for my players to hear their (usually quite good) ideas struck down simply because it disagreed with a story detail they hadn’t learned yet.
Get into Character by Leading with your Physicality
Matthew Mercer, the Dungeon Master of Critical Role, is a huge proponent of physically embodying a character. He’s explained on Twitter that “physicality can change everything,” and that you can get into character as an NPC just by changing “how you hold yourself.”
Getting into character makes it a lot easier to improvise. If you’re in your own head and trying to pretend to be someone else, then you have to work hard to make that other personality shine through. This is especially difficult because your own brain—if it’s anything like mine—will be constantly critiquing itself and trying to edit your own performance on the fly. If you lose yourself in your character, it becomes easier to silence your own noisy mind and let the character express itself through your mouth unfiltered. Try watching this fan-video and seeing the different ways Matthew uses his body to differentiate his NPCs.
Improving your Improv through Games and Exercises
The best way to learn a skill is to try it. Go out and try and to implement these tactics in your own gaming. If you want to build these skills outside of your regular home game, though, you might want to read a book and practice actual improv exercises.
There are several expertly researched primers on how to become a better roleplayer through mastery of improvisation, but the definitive text is Improv for Gamers, a book written by Karen Twelves and published by Evil Hat Productions. This book helped me bridge the gap between my own theatrical background and my D&D games. It's mostly a toolkit filled with improv warm-ups, games, and exercises aimed at gamers who want to pump up their improvisational muscles, but there are also words of wisdom—sort of like the ones I provided throughout this article—that will help you wrap your head around the “tricks” of becoming a better improviser.
Are there any improv tactics that you’ve applied to your characters or NPCs? Share them with your fellow D&D players in the comments!
James Haeck is the lead writer for D&D Beyond, the co-author of Waterdeep: Dragon Heist and the Critical Role Tal'Dorei Campaign Setting, the DM of Worlds Apart, and a freelance writer for Wizards of the Coast, the D&D Adventurers League, and Kobold Press. He lives in Seattle, Washington with his partner Hannah and their feline adventurers Mei and Marzipan. You can usually find him wasting time on Twitter at @jamesjhaeck.
@MagicalMedic, So glad you shared. Great advice, thanks!
That's actually how I explain D&D to people who ask me the infamous question "What is D&D?" It's improv acting meets storytelling with a board game type setting.
Good point on soliloquies! It wasn’t uncommon in one of the campaigns in my group that we started running into issues where the party members would feel like they each had to compete for the spotlight.
As one of the players said, “guys, we’re all trying to out-edge each other and it isn’t working.”
The party dynamic there is a WIP, but a different campaign we run lacks that problem because our characters - like yours - constantly have or come up with a reason to talk with each other.
Party dynamic is an issue in our game too, as we're only level 5 and have had 2 players reroll (but I think it's settled down now, and we got a cool villain out of it besides). My character's story is progressing, but it's with some new faces in the party every few weeks. Whereas I had originally thought Celiel (my Drow Bard) would become more relaxed around the group as a whole when they were alone and she was sure there weren't any spiders, she now views them all as a self-security risk. She's gone from willing to tell her story with some coaxing to refusing to explain herself or her choices unless pressed. This caused some problems outside of Westruun, though before I get to that part of the story I should lay the foundation.
We were paid a large sum up front to throw some squatters out of a young noble's mansion. He told us his family had fled when the Chroma Conclave took over and he was returning to reclaim his birthright. We should have been suspicious of him from the start, but he seemed legitimate. A handful of us (including myself, being the most far-sighted at night) rode out of town to stake the place out overnight and see what we were up against, and soon put together that there were at least half a dozen Drow holed up inside. Obviously this made my character nervous, and she insisted we walk away from this contract. The others were insistent that we finish the contract as intended. So we raided the place, first showing a sketchy-looking human man at the door the copies of the landowner's claim we'd been given and then forcing our way in when he refused to budge. We were raiding in daylight, so I was at a disadvantage. The team cleared the foyer and then had a debate on where to go next, as there were multiple floors. I insisted the Drow would be below ground, but the party ignored my assessment and proceeded to clear out the upper floors, tearing down the blinds as we went. When they were clear and we'd found some interesting items the Druid shifted into a spider (nearly got herself squished by me on principle) and crawled downstairs to scout. Sure enough there were 4 male Drow in the cellar who had barricaded themselves inside and were obviously alert to our presence.
The others wanted to charge in, but I reminded them we'd have an easier time on the ground floor than in the dark, and we'd counted more than 4 besides. So I did what Bards do best: disguised myself and headed downstairs to talk to the enemy. At this time I was disguised as a human, so another casting of Disguise Self made me look like a different Drow female than myself. I descended and pounded on the door, demanding in first Elven and then Undercommon to be let in so the other party members wouldn't understand me. They opened up and I sneered at their captain, telling him I'd taken care of their problem above and wanted to speak to who was in charge. He didn't question who I was or what I was doing there (I'm good at playing the, "Haughty, demanding noble female," angle), but he wanted to be certain I had before taking me below. He and his men started following me out into the dining room when our ambush was discovered and they tried to flee back downstairs. Fearful of an ambush below I insisted we at least capture one, and while the rest fled to the dark we grappled and tied up their leader. I led the interrogation, speaking in Elvish for most of it so at least someone in the party would understand and translate and then switching to Undercommon when it came time to ask some... sensitive... questions. Chiefly, I didn't want to kill him. At this point my character was done with killing her own kind for Lolth's pleasure, and while she wants nothing to do with Drow society she's not blind to thinking others might want the same. I told him we'd leave him tied up until we returned from below, and he should pray we did return.
Cue us heading downstairs, and the shit-show starting. As soon as we left the dining room we heard feet running hard out of the front door. The Druid shifted into a Crag Cat and ran him down, taking a badly wounded man who was fleeing and bringing him to the brink of death. I just about attacked her when I caught up: he was unarmed, unarmored, running out into a sunlit woodland in a world that would either imprison and execute him or kill him outright. I chewed her out, making a big show of it while I pushed him toward the front door, and once I had my back to the team I slipped him a Potion of Healing and a Dagger (to keep this action secret I scribbled it down on an index card and handed it to the DM). I succeeded my Sleight-of-Hand check to keep this secret from the group, and left him in the doorway with a warning that he would die if he followed us down. I also told him to find our employer (not the noble: the man who had brought us together, who happened to be in the city at that time), as he'd given me a chance and could perhaps find work in his network for this Drow. When I returned to the others I was asked (by the Druid) why, if I cared so much, I didn't give him a Potion of Healing or something. I agreed that that was a wonderful idea, and I wish I'd thought of it.
Later, we wound up slaughtering every Drow down there, and while Celiel fought as hard as the others (harder, once we came up against a Drow Priestess summoning a demon) she resented the necessity. There was evidence they were the spearhead for something larger coming up from below, so we collapsed the tunnel they were using and returned to the city. We met back up with our employer and who should be waiting for us there but the Drow captain, alive but clearly having had a rough time. He thanked me for taking a chance on him, and when it became clear to the rest of the party that I'd armed him some were upset. My character had endangered the group trusting an enemy at our back with a weapon. It grew into an argument where Celiel wound up standing by her decision, insisting that they wouldn't have let her arm him if they'd known and she wasn't going to be responsible for his death.
That's the session when, instead of being only out for herself and the defense of the allies keeping her hidden and alive, she determined to go out of her way to save whatever Drow she encountered (even from themselves). A kind gesture born of mistrust, stubbornness and self-righteousness, and all of it roleplayed out without a single soliloquy.
Thanks for the improv advice
I love improvising with my players! For example, in a small town along the road the party met with the Pastor of a local church, and in describing his home with his small children, one of my players remarked that the mental image they couldn't get out of their head was Jack Black from the movie Nacho Libre. At that remark, Gone was Father Benedict, and Pastor Black was born! Along with a subplot of a luchador vigilante that protected the small hamlet from evil.