In a previous post I discussed how I’ve been using a formula to construct dungeons for D&D. That formula is mainly derived from the dungeon population method described in Moldvay’s Basic Dungeon and Dragons. Under that formula fully one-third of the dungeon will be empty. By modern standards that may seem like a lot of “nothing happens”. Perhaps, even, the scenario level version of the much criticized “wiff” factor. However, I’m finding that empty rooms have immense benefits.

Empty Rooms Build Tension

On my map key, I don’t just write “Empty.” I write down a short description of the room. I don’t overthink these. I just do a bit of day dreaming and whatever pops into my head is what gets written down.

“Waterfalls spring from the walls of this cavern and swirl down a natural drain.”

The net effect is that, narratively, an empty room is, on first glance, indistinguishable from one that contains hidden traps or monsters. There is always the lingering question of, “Am I missing something here?” And even if they aren’t, there’s always the lingering question of, “Did I miss something back there?”

Every empty room is one more crank on the Jack-in-the-Box that didn’t make it pop open. If the danger isn’t here, where is it? Did we really pass through three empty rooms, or is something sneaking up behind us? Where there secret passages behind those water falls?

Empty Rooms Provide Intermittent Rewards

According to the formula, one-sixth of these empty rooms will contain treasure. Unguarded treasure. No traps. No monsters. Treasure free of the taking.

“This long hall was clearly once a dining room. What remains of the furnishings is dust covered and rotting from disuse. On the table sits two silver candlesticks worth 25gp each.”

These intermittent rewards drive exploration. Having something of value just laying around unguarded incentives looking around for what else might be available.

Empty Rooms Provide Tactical Options

Just because a room is empty, doesn’t mean it’s useless.  Players have a way of turning everything around them into tools. Every empty room is a toy chest of mundane objects waiting for clever players to put them to work.

A group of players may want to lure enemies back to that waterfall room. That way they can hide behind the waterfalls allowing them both the chance at ambush as well as the ability to fight from a position of light concealment. They may even be able to leverage the water flow to help knock enemies prone.

I should note, I don’t bother to think these options through when writing my descriptions. I just write down what I see, but also know that the players may come up with “off brand” uses of these descriptions.

Empty Rooms Make Good Resting Spaces

Finally, empty rooms often indicate areas of low traffic. They can be a good choice for grabbing a short rest or even setting up camp with enough precaution. Frequently if the position is good, I will roll for random encounters either less frequently during the rest or lower the chances of a random encounter occurring.

Breathing Room

Modern game design is moving toward a more rapid pace. More games use scene framing techniques to move from conflict-to-conflict, from action-point-to-action-point as swiftly as possible.  Games that are specifically designed to wrap up in a single session are more prevalent. And that’s all fine. I play a lot of those games too.

However, I personally, am finding a lot of joy in giving some games more breathing room. One way, I’m currently doing that, is by learning to appreciate empty rooms in D&D.