Modules as Touchstones

As a follow-up to yesterday's post about "off shelf" campaign settings, I thought I'd write a bit about a related topic: pre-packaged adventures, often called "modules." Old school RPG lore has it that, at the dawn of the hobby, few people, certainly not the fine folks at TSR Hobbies, thought there'd be any market for pre-packaged adventures. Then as now, referees took pride in crafting their own adventures. Just as worldbuilding is one of the great joys of roleplaying games, so too is the process of developing a scenario tailored to one’s own vision and tastes. Given that, why would anyone turn to a pre-packaged adventure module? Why run The Keep on the Borderlands, Masks of Nyarlathotep, or The Traveller Adventure when one could simply create something original?

The greatest virtue of pre-packaged adventures is the shared experience they foster across the hobby. To put it simply: a great module is a touchstone. It links players and referees across tables, generations, and even continents. There is something remarkable in the fact that so many roleplayers, across decades, have ventured into the Caves of Chaos, uncovered the secrets of Saltmarsh, or braved the alien horrors of the Barrier Peaks. These modules have become part of the collective consciousness of the hobby, a language that players can speak regardless of where or when they first sat down at the table. The mere mention of certain locations, villains, or twists within these adventures can evoke instant recognition, stirring memories of triumph, disaster, and everything in between.

This shared literacy is no small thing. Roleplaying is, by its nature, ephemeral. Each campaign a unique blend of personalities, decisions, and improvisations. Unlike a novel or a film, no two games unfold in exactly the same way. And yet, within that variability, a published module provides a thread of continuity. When two players who have never met before can swap stories about their first run-in with Bargle from the solo adventure in the 1984 D&D Basic Set or how they barely escaped Strahd’s castle, they are engaging in something akin to an oral tradition, passing down tales from table to table, from one generation of gamers to the next. Modules provide the foundation for that tradition, ensuring that, even as campaigns come and go, some stories remain universal touchstones.

This is especially valuable in an era where the roleplaying hobby has expanded dramatically. The old days, where most gaming circles were small and isolated, have given way to online communities and virtual tabletop play. The existence of widely recognized modules gives newcomers a way to connect with veterans. They provide common ground in this expanding landscape. Even for those of us who prefer homebrew adventures, having a few classic modules under one’s belt is a kind of shared literacy that allows one to participate in a conversation that stretches back to the origins of the hobby itself. In a way, running a module is a way of stepping into history, reliving and reshaping the same challenges that earlier players have faced.

Beyond simply fostering camaraderie, shared adventures also provide an entry point for new players. A new referee faced with the daunting prospect of designing a whole scenario from scratch can take comfort in the fact that many have run The Village of Hommlet before him. A new player can look up discussions of Tomb of Horrors and know that he is stepping into something larger than his game – a tradition of play that stretches back decades. Even when a module is adapted, altered, or expanded, it still serves as a bridge between individual tables and the broader history of roleplaying. There is something powerful in knowing that, even as each group makes the adventure their own, they are still participating in the same grand tradition of play.

Consider the sheer number of classic modules that have shaped the way we think about adventure design. The open-ended nature of Keep on the Borderlands, the intricate mysteries of Masks of Nyarlathotep, the faction play of The Enemy Within, each of these has not just provided individual groups with hours of entertainment but has influenced the way the hobby itself has evolved. When someone describes a scenario as "like Keep on the Borderlands but in space" or "like Tomb of Horrors but with political intrigue," they are drawing on a shared vocabulary that allows roleplayers to communicate complex ideas in a few words. In a way, these modules form the grammar of the game, the foundation upon which new ideas are built and communicated.

None of this is to say that referees should rely exclusively on published modules. There is something deeply satisfying about crafting one’s own adventures, tailoring them to the specific interests of a group, and introducing them into a campaign. But, as I said about pre-existing settings, the use of adventure modules is not a lesser choice. It is, rather, an acknowledgment of the rich history and communal nature of the hobby, an embrace of the shared stories that have shaped roleplaying for decades.

There's something deeply satisfying about the shared language adventure modules provide. They can tie your table into the larger tapestry of roleplaying history. They allow players across time and space to say, "Ah, you got your soul sucked by Acererak too?" and know, in that moment, that they are part of something greater. The modules may differ, the details may change, but the experience – the shared adventure – remains. I think that's something worthy of celebration.