The Articles of Dragon: "Playing the Political Game"

Sometimes, an article, adventure, or even an entire game can exert a peculiar kind of influence over you, even though, viewed objectively, it’s not especially remarkable. I don’t mean that it’s bad, only that what it offers is, on the surface, mostly common sense. Most readers would nod in agreement, turn the page, and quickly forget about it – but you’re not most readers. For whatever reason, the author’s words reach you at exactly the right time and something clicks. The ideas linger. They grow. They shape how you see the hobby and, in some small but lasting way, how you play.

That’s what happened to me with “Playing the Political Game” by Mike Beeman, published in issue #90 of Dragon (October 1984). Beeman isn’t a name I associate with any other major contributions to the magazine and, by most measures, this article isn’t a landmark. Yet, when I first read it, just shy of my fifteenth birthday, it was nothing short of a revelation. It was the first time anyone had suggested to me that politics could be the central focus of adventures or even entire campaigns.

Beeman argues that politics isn’t an intrusion into fantasy roleplaying but its natural evolution. After all, nearly everything adventurers do already has political consequences, whether toppling tyrants, slaying monsters that guard vital resources, or flooding a town’s economy with treasure. At low levels, these effects remain background noise. But as heroes rise in power by claiming fiefs, leading troops, and  attracting followers, they inevitably become political actors. So why not embrace that reality deliberately and make politics a conscious part of the game’s action?

He goes further, contending that political play adds depth, realism, and moral challenge to a campaign. Where the dungeon tests courage and cunning, the court tests judgment and restraint. Ruling a realm or maneuvering among rival nobles requires players to think beyond combat rolls and saving throws, to weigh alliances, read motives, and face the consequences of their decisions. Politics, in Beeman’s hands, becomes not a dry digression but a stage for high-stakes, character-driven adventure.

What made the article truly stand out to me, though, was how practical it was. Beeman treats political scenarios as a kind of “social dungeon,” where familiar design principles still apply but in subtler ways. The setting might be a player’s own domain or a foreign court; the plot a brewing war, a trade dispute, or a palace intrigue; and the monsters a web of scheming nobles, rival factions, and hidden traitors. Clues replace traps, words replace weapons, and mystery, not combat, drives the scenario.

Even more memorably, Beeman classifies political adventures into distinct types – military, economic, commercial, internal security, and revolt – each offering a different framework for turning governance and intrigue into adventure. In doing so, he sketches a vision of AD&D that extends far beyond treasure maps and monster lairs. It's a world that feels alive and reactive, where power comes with responsibility and every decision has weight.

I won’t claim that “Playing the Political Game” is a forgotten masterpiece. Most of its ideas are, in hindsight, obvious. But for me, as a teenager discovering what roleplaying could be, it was transformative. It suggested that fantasy worlds could be more than stages for combat. They could be societies, with all the peril and promise that entails. Decades later, politics and intrigue have become my stock in trade as a referee and I can still trace that fascination back to Beeman’s unassuming article. It's a reminder that sometimes, the right words at the right time can change the way you play forever.