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The words 'd12GO!' and 'The universal RPG' over a pink sky with the tops of pink mountains.

Catch Brad running a game of d12GO! as a part of KiwiRPG Week 2026 live on our Twitch on Thursday 9th July, 6pm-9pm NZST / Thursday 7am BST / Thursday 2am EDT. The VOD will be linked here after the panel.

Designer Brad Zimmerman leads a game of the flexible and fun d12Go. A completely randomly-rolled game: what will the dice bring, and how will a team of brave players handle it?

 

Hey there, Kiwi RPG folks!

My name is Brad and I am the creator of a game called d12GO! The elevator pitch for d12GO is that it’s a universal system for running roleplaying games in any genre or setting, without having to spend a lot of time learning new games for each.

For this reason, it has been used by a lot of people who want to play a quick one-shot session, with minimal prep.

I love running improvised game sessions, but I also understand that these can be very daunting, especially for people who usually run pre-written modules or supplements and aren’t used to stretching their improv muscles.

In this post, I thought I would whip up a few things I’ve learned about running unprepped one-shot games, that hopefully you may find useful.

Once the group has decided on a genre and a system (e.g. playing a “Teen Detective Story” using “Monster of the Week” by Michael Sands, etc.), whip up some characters, then jump into the below steps.

 

1. Outline the Story Together

Ask the players for ideas about things to include in the story (unless you already have a pretty firm idea yourself). Maybe you’ve thought of WHAT is happening, but not WHY it’s happening or WHO is behind it. The players are just as responsible for worldbuilding as you are, so don’t feel like it’s all on your shoulders. 

Scribble down a few brief notes (for yourself), describing:

  • Where a story like this would likely start
  • What kind of events might take place in the middle
  • What the climax may look like

It’s important to remember that everything you outline for an improvised game can be vague and unpolished. Nobody in your group expects perfection!

 

2. Make Quick Character Intros

Longwinded character explanations and backstories are great when you have a whole months-long (or years-long) campaign ahead of you. But in a short game, they only serve to slow everything down and chew up valuable time at the table. 

Get the players to describe:

  • One or two key points about their character’s outer appearance
  • One or two key points about their behaviour or motivations
  • Whether or not their character is prepared (physically or mentally) for the situation

 

3. Lock in a Firm Starting Point

Once everyone knows who they are and how their character behaves in the game world, put all the player characters into the same place, with them already informed about the “main situation” of the story.

I’ve made the mistake of letting characters “find their own way to the story”, which resulted in a “one-shot” that lasted 8 sessions… I won’t make that mistake again and I hope you don’t either!

A good idea is to summarise to the players:

  • What the main situation of the story is (e.g. “The local theme park is under attack by what reports are suggesting is an army of mutated pumpkins”)
  • Then tell them exactly where they are (e.g. “You are standing together in the parking lot, as parkgoers flee all around you”)

 

4. A Call to Action!

From the established starting point, get the story underway immediately, by forcibly hurling the characters into the fray with a call to action. 

Depending on the type of story, this could take any number of forms, including:

  • An innocent NPC pleading for help (either face-to-face or via a remote means)
  • Signs of an impending disaster (e.g. a rapidly spreading fire, a falling tower, a space station plummeting towards a planet, etc.)
  • A hostile creature chasing them into danger
 
5. A Low-Stakes Challenge

Get the players rolling dice as soon as possible, but keep the stakes relatively low for this first outing. 

This challenge may be something like:

  • A social encounter (e.g. convincing someone to give you access to a location or resource, etc.)
  • A physical obstacle (e.g. a precarious rope bridge, a vine-covered rock wall, a locked mansion gate, etc.)
  • An easy combat situation such as goblins or minion-level creatures of some kind.

Ideally, overcoming this first challenge should grant the player characters access to a new location, a valuable resource, or more information about what’s going on. 

 

6. Check Back with the Players

This is something you can do at any time during the game, but it’s good to get a gauge early on (especially if the first challenge was harder than intended).

Ask how their characters are feeling about the situation that is unfolding. This might help you flesh out the remainder of the story. Maybe they’ve got theories or ideas you never even considered.

Ask them if their characters want to rest, gather resources (e.g. ammunition, safety equipment, transportation, etc.) before continuing.

 

7. A Medium-Stakes Challenge (and a twist?)

When they’re ready, prompt the players to keep moving further into the situation, to the next significant location or point of interest.

There, they should come upon another challenge. This should be noticeably more difficult than the last one, and ideally require a different skillset or strategy (i.e. don’t make this just a harder version of the first challenge).

This is also a great time to add a little (optional) depth or intrigue to the story by throwing in a twist or unexpected complication.

Some ideas for a twist/complication could be:

  • The person or organisation that sent you here was actually trying to get rid of you
  • The main antagonist is revealed and it’s someone from your past
  • A tool or useful resource suddenly stops being useful (either because it’s broken or the problem adapts to make it redundant)
  • The true scope of the situation is revealed and it’s not what you had assumed (either it’s much larger or much more isolated than anticipated)
  • An assumption you made about the situation turns out to be completely wrong

The medium-stakes challenge (and twist) should reveal the narrative path to the final confrontation. This may be a literal path (like a mountain pass or broken trail deep in the jungle) or a guaranteed sequence of events. 

Either way, the endgame should be apparent to the players by now, but they must be given time to prepare, instead of being forced directly into it.

 

8. The Climax

The climax of the story is heavily dependent on the type of story you’re telling, but may be:

  • A boss fight. This could be a singular powerful enemy, or a large group of enemies that need to be defeated or overcome. In either instance, it should be more difficult than the medium-stakes challenge, and the players should be made very aware of that fact. 
  • A large-scale disaster (e.g. a nuclear reactor counting down to explosion, a dam bursting, a high-speed chase, a thrilling escape scene, etc.)
  • A very difficult physical obstacle to overcome (e.g. climbing an icy cliff while being bombarded with attacks from above, piloting a malfunctioning spaceship as it hurtles towards a city, etc.)

Whichever of these climaxes your game includes, try to incorporate multiple phases to add depth and get the players to try out different skills. 

For example, the boss fight could start with weak enemies that are only trying to slow you down while the big bad gets ready. If the players somehow manage to circumvent the weaker enemies, reward them by letting them know the big bad isn’t at full strength. 

Or the nuclear reactor escape requires a set of keys in order to get to the outside (fetch-quest-style), and then you enter the fleeing phase. 

 

Important Things to Remember
  • The entire point of the game is to have fun. You know this, and so do your players.
  • Checking in with your players for ideas is always valid. This can be especially helpful with fun little details that don’t really affect the story (e.g. “There’s a person cornered by the monster and screaming for help. What does this person look like?”)
  • Drawing inspiration from existing media is absolutely fine. If you want to take some plot points from The Terminator or Power Rangers or Dragonball Z, no one will stop you.
  • Say “YES” more than you say “NO”. Obviously there will be times that a no is required, but if you err on the side of yes, your players’ ideas will help create something truly unique and memorable.
  • A one-shot game means there is no larger narrative at stake. You don’t need to worry about accidentally setting up a huge problem later on because THERE IS NO LATER ON.

 

So, yeah, those are my thoughts about running improvised one-shots. Please remember these are opinions based on my own experience and will almost certainly be contentious and downright incorrect to some game masters. 

Regardless, I hope you can take something useful away from this and go have some fun.

 

SUMMARY
  1. Outline the Story Together
  2. Make Quick Character Intros
  3. Lock in a Firm Starting Point
  4. A Call to Action!
  5. A Low-Stakes Challenge
  6. Check Back with the Players
  7. A Medium-Stakes Challenge (and a twist?)
  8. The Climax

 

Thanks for reading!

Brad Zimmerman

 

Watch d12GO! as an actual play stream, Thursday 9th July: 6pm-9pm NZST on KiwiRPG’s Twitch.

The words “TTRPGs Are Just Pōwhiri” beside a drawing of a figure with pink hair spray painting the words “F**K OFF”

Catch Iwā running a session of her game ‘Yous are Broken Too?’ as a part of KiwiRPG Week 2026 live on our Twitch on Saturday 4th July, 1pm-4pm NZST / Saturday 1am BST / Friday 8pm EDT. The VOD will be linked here after the panel.

Telling a story of the story of how even when broken, we can find connection and meaning. Through narrative based discussion, “Yous are Broken Too?” guides the players through complex themes, and seeks to understand them from a holistic indigenous perspective.

 

This blog post uses te reo Māori throughout. There’s a glossary at the end, or you can find Te Aka Māori Dictionary here.

 

It’s a wild idea, that something so mechanical, western, and focused on entertainment can emulate something so ancient and cultural. But it can. Because while pōwhiri are super cool and cultural, they’re not ancient; culture evolves, shifts, and is fluid. Culture is meant to change with the times. Its meant to grow with those it is intended to be used by. As a takatāpui Māori wahine, its difficult for me to not embed myself and my people in the games I play and create. So when I play D&D, yeah for sure, it’s a Māori game just for the simple fact that I am Māori and thus everything I do is Māori. But the idea I’m attempting to posit is that the whole structure of TTRPGs as a whole is as ancient as any form of story telling that has ever existed, we just took the tried and true formula and added dice.

During a pōwhiri, there are multiple stages, each one dedicated to a different bit of the welcoming ceremony, each one existing in a different bit of Te Ao Māori. And like a pōwhiri, the TTRPG tables are the same; there are different parts to the structure that guide the flow of play. To explain everything, I’d need to write a whole new masters thesis, so I’ll only cover a few pieces of the overall puzzle; just the parts that sing out to me most as a GM.

Part one: The Carpark.

The Carpark exists as a funky new space. It never really existed until recently when communities became less of a group that traveled around together. In western society most people live individual lives, and arrive separately as opposed to the old days when we wandered around as one big group. In the old days, prior to arrival at a marae, you could talk at length about who does what during whatever part of the pōwhiri, cause you had the time. In our modern day, sometimes there just isn’t time, or sometimes the aunties aren’t on facebook or whatever, so the only opportunity to actually discuss what to do is the twenty minutes before you step through the waharoa; the time you spend in the carpark. It shows a certain level of cultural competency, to rock up on the day and be able to decide which of those gathered has the most mana? Who can karanga or whaikōrero? It takes a lot of courage, confidence, and knowledge to just wing it and decide twenty minutes before go time who the heck can lead you in a badass as hell ritual.

Some people think pōwhiri are boring, they just don’t know whats going on though. Cause if they did, theres no way they’d think that. Imma explain it to you.

Let me preface this: a lot of what I’ve learned I’ve learned from various aunties and uncles, from various visits to various marae. A lot of what I’ve learned is anecdotal, unique to myself. So my specific understanding, as well as everyone’s understanding of Te Ao Māori, is unique to each person. There is no one way, there is no black and white with Māori culture. Māori people are not homogenous, there are so many ways to do things, as long as we respect the whenua we are on, respect the tangata whenua and their ways of being, then we’re doing alright. Then when it’s your whenua, you can show others how you do things.

This is a long story, and a lot of this understanding can only be taught through story, like so much of Te Ao Māori. But I’m trying to teach you about Te Ao Māori and D&D and them meshing together, so I’m not gonna feel whakamā waffling on a bit, because if I do I’ll just end up not explaining anything particularly well and none of this will matter. I’ll try to keep it concise, but at the same time, there’s no amount of words that could correctly describe all the moving parts of this stuff. Imma try my best, fam.

Part two: Te Kore.

To be called onto a marae is to be called from Te Kore. Te Kore is the void, the great nothing. Beyond the waharoa of a marae, everything is in Te Kore space. In Maōri culture, the void is the best (at least I think so). The coolest baddest bitches come from and rule over the void, namely Hine-nui-te-pō, the goddess of death (I adore her). That being said, most people live in fear of Te Kore, and fair enough too, it is the domain of death. But it is also part of where life is born. In Te Kore, exists all wairua, spirit. When your mama is hapū, when your mum is pregnant, she calls your wairua from Te Kore and brings it into you as a foetus. This is one of the steps to making you a whole person. And when you die, your wairua will return to Te Kore. Only a woman, a mother, can call to the wairua in Te Kore. Which is why only a woman, normally a woman who has given birth, can call to you whilst you stand beyond the waharoa. Only someone that has pulled wairua from the void to create life can call people beyond a waharoa out of the void and onto a marae. At least that’s what I’ve learned. These women, those who call to you during pōwhiri, are known as kaikaranga. I believe all Game Masters to be kaikaranga.

Think about it, all GMs create life. They create narratives from those that have lived, those that are with us today, and those that will be here one day. GMs bring life in from the void, they call to those beyond the normal bounds of reality, and bring them into a new part of the world. Even if that world is built on fiction and imagination, that world still exists spiritually for so many of us who play in TTRPG spaces. To me, that means that these worlds we create around a TTRPG table are not for escapism, they do not exist outside the bounds of reality; they are as much a part of our lives as any other thing that occupies the thought processes of our minds.

Part Three: Tēnā koutou, tēnā koutou, tēnā koutou katoa. It means wassup to those past, present, and future.

The idea that time becomes compacted, that the wibbly wobbly timey wimey fluidity through which time and space interweave between each other means that the ways in which stories have historically been passed from generation to generation and change, either through tone, or context, or content, the story grows to fit the needs of the people that are hearing it. This introduces the idea that the handing down of stories from generation to generation is a collaborative process, one that stretches over potentially thousands of years. D&D is exactly the same, only the process is compounded into a few hours around a table, with people who are all there for one express purpose: to tell a story together.

In essence, people around a table are constantly doing the tēnā koutou, tēnā koutou, tēnā koutou of constantly talking to the past present and future. There is an innate ability, I believe, that is unique to storytellers and thus TTRPG players; most of us can see, anticipate, and are excited for, cause and effect; we love seeing our actions have consequences. It’s a unique part of our medium, we want to see the heroes have impact, we need to see the world change around them and because of them.

That ability to queue up a narrative action, to let it simmer for a bit and let it hit months down the road for maximum narrative impact is that dialogue of the present, becoming past, and speaking to the future. It’s a dialogical style of writing and communing with the many temporal phases of one’s self that makes actions around a TTRPG table really matter; a dialogical style that is so similar to the ways we speak in Te Ao Māori, especially during pōwhiri.

In pōwhiri, we are innately aware we are standing where our ancestors, or someone’s ancestors once stood, and we speak with them, welcoming others or being welcomed, in a way that is culturally appropriate and competent. During a session of a TTRPG, there is a pattern to talking that I believe follows the structure of a pōwhiri so accurately, that I’ll explain in my final part.

Part Four: Tūmatauenga, the god of war.

In a pōwhiri, we start in the carpark, move through the waharoa, the big gate, across the ātea, the grassy bit, to the paepae, the place with all the benches for the whaikōrero and waiata tautoko, the big talks and songs to support. Then to finish off, we have the hongi hariru, the hongi how-do-you-do, then head to the whare kai for some kai, head to the dining hall for some food.

I think the table top space is so similar. We meet in the carpark (the kitchen) to decide who is doing our karanga and our whaikōrero (we hang out, see each other after a long week, catch up, and decide how long we play for, sort out the logistics of the game, get ready for the game). We are then called by the kaikaranga (the GM) to pass from Te Kore (the normal world) onto the marae (into the game world) and walk through the ātea, the realm of Tūmatatauenga, the god of war.

Its here that most of the game takes place. A return to the wahaora, a journey across the area, to be called by the GM to cross the realm of the war god, to be guided by the call of those who know the land. To then sit on the paepae, sit around the table, and talk with one another about how best to solve the situation, to sit and whaikōrero with one another till you know where you are, who you are, and what you’re doing. And then your whānau, your fellow players, stand and waiata tautoko you, they sing in your support.

A lot of this is almost poetry, and can feel almost pretentious. But we’re talking about culture, and pretentiousness is a tool of colonisation, used to remove the beauty of culture and make us feel whakamā about the true nature of our cultural practices.
I think it’s normal to want to see myself and my people represented in the ways I play my game. I think it’s beautiful to do so with people who are not so confident in Te Ao Māori, but are willing to learn. Most people that sit at my table know that there’s going to be some wild mātauranga Māori based holistic practices to the way I’m doing things, they just don’t know exactly how. But they feel it. They know why I do it. And often, my want and need to embed my culture in my game makes them want to do the same; it’s like they see me being cringe about my culture and know that it’s okay to be cringe with theirs, “Iwā is way more cringe about her culture than I could ever be about mine, I’ll just be a lil cringe about my culture”. It’s cool. I like that me being connected to my culture, or seeking to connect in every way possible, even through the new age medium of TTRPGs, it’s clear that me doing things indigenously is good for everyone, for so many reasons. The most important being that it makes me happy to feel closer to my tūpuna, my ancestors, especially in a gaming world.

Anyway, thats probably enough for a blog post. Thanks for reading it, it meant a lot that I got to write it, and got invited to post it for others to see. Ngā mihi nui, ngā manaakitanga e hoa mā, keetz ✌🏽

– Iwā Kingi

 

Glossary of te reo Māori words

Takatāpui – Someone of the rainbow community
Māori – The indigenous people of Aotearoa New Zealand
Wahine – Woman
Te Ao Māori – The Māori world
Pōwhiri – A traditional Māori welcome onto a marae
Marae – a formal meeting grounds in front of a wharenui
Wharenui – Ancestral meeting house
Karanga – A formal, or ceremonial call
Whaikōrero – Formal speech
Whenua – Land
Tangata Whenua – People of the land
Whakamā – To feel shame or embarrassment
Te Kore – The void, land of darkness, the world of death
Waharoa – Entrance or gate to a marae
Wairua – Here is an excerpt from Te Aka (Māori dictionary): spirit, soul – spirit of a person which exists beyond death. It is the non-physical spirit, distinct from the body and the mauri.
Mama – Mother
Hapū – Pregnant
Kaikaranga – The women that lead the call and response during a pōwhiri
Tēnā koutou – Hello! (The three or more people)
Tūmatauenga – The God of War
Ātea – The grassy bit outside a wharenui that belongs in the realm of Tūmatauenga
Paepae – The threshold of a wharenui
Waiata – A Song
Waiata tautoko – To sing in support of someone or something
Hongi Hariru – To hongi and shake hands with someone at the end of a pōwhiri
Hongi – To press noses with another and share a breath
Ngā mihi nui – Thanks a lot
Ngā manaakitanga – To some it means best wishes, but I believe it means to send manaaki to others
Manaaki – Support, care, respect
E hoa mā – Friends
Keetz – A colloquialism, a shortened version of “Ka Kite”, see you