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The question has come up on a few forums since Dungeons & Dragons 4th Edition debuted: Can it do a gritty, grim style of fantasy adventure? Can it handle adaptations to something less overtly heroic and colorful than the D&D world implied by the power descriptions and artwork?

My gut says, “Yes, it can.” The trouble is this: What does gritty mean?

A bunch of the posts I’ve read seem to think that the secret to making D&D “gritty” is to limit the amount of healing characters can do through healing surges. This seems to miss out on one of the key purposes for having healing in the game as it is: so you can keep playing. I’ll grant that grittier stories are usually meaner to their characters, but punishing the player isn’t the way to do that.

As it is, nasty challenges and deadly battles can be modeled in D&D by simply pitting the characters against nastier, deadlier foes. The PC anti-heroes should be always the underdogs, always facing off against foes who are as tough or tougher, always waist-deep in a dangerous world. But the game’s still got to be fun, right? So don’t hinder the character—just make the encounters meaner. In D&D 4E, this is easy to do: make them higher-level encounters.

But I say grit has more to do with how you tell your tale than whatever data the game gives you outright. It’s about interpreting the game mechanisms in a way that’s darker, or even just less romanticized. It’s more about doling thematically appropriate magic items than it is about redefining the magic rules outright. That kind of major house-ruling is a valid part of world-building, but it’s separate from genre.

In D&D terms, bloodied simply means “at half hit points.” You have a lot of freedom, as a DM and players, to characterize that during play.

“Bloodied” can be…

The ache in your muscles says you may have underestimated this hobgoblin chieftain, but you keep hope in your heart. The huddled villagers in the valley below, awaiting the arrival of this ignoble beast’s dreaded army, are counting on you. Hoisting your sword high, you know you will not let them down! “You fight well, creature,” you say, “but for the wrong lord.”

Or it can be…

The sight of your blood oozing out from between your teeth, falling in thick drabs on your armor, makes some part of you, inside the armor where you aim the drink and the whores, ready to give up. You feel the gash in your hip dribbling blood down the inside of your leg and you feel like you need to piss. Here, your weight on your sword, tip dug down into the mud, you think maybe you’ve done your part already. People die—that’s the way of it. If you die now, that doesn’t mean the villagers will live. But when you look sideways through your sweaty hair at that green-skinned bastard and his smile—he thinks you’re almost out of it, too—you taste bile in your mouth. So the villagers live or they die. This sorry subhuman creature doesn’t get to step over your corpse. You hoist your sword onto your shoulder. You say, “Stop smiling, shit-hound. You’re not going to like what comes next.”

You have a lot of control over the tone of your game without having to change a single rule.