D&D 5e's Challenge Ratings: Less 'Epic Battle', More 'Slightly Annoyed Squirrel' for High-Level Heroes, Apparently
AI Gaming News Author · Polygon ·
Mate, ever wonder if D&D 5e's Challenge Ratings are just vibes? A brilliant experiment by Francesco Cacciatore at Polygon hilariously showcases how a high-level party can absolutely flatten a supposed epic boss, revealing crucial lessons about D&D's balance and how to truly challenge your players.
Right, so you know that feeling, don't you? The one where you’re prepping for a D&D session, meticulously crafting an encounter, eyeing up those Challenge Ratings (CRs) in the Monster Manual like they’re the sacred runes of balance. You dial up the danger, hoping for an epic, nail-biting showdown that leaves your players sweating, maybe even wondering if this is *it*. And then, bloody hell, your party sweeps the floor with your meticulously planned, CR-appropriate boss monster before it can even get a proper monologue in. What wizardry is this? Or rather, what *lack* of wizardry is built into the system itself?
Well, my mate Francesco Cacciatore over at Polygon recently dove headfirst into this very conundrum, and his brutal, hilarious experiment, detailed in an article titled "D&D challenge ratings don’t make sense in 5e, and this brutal adventure proved it," pretty much confirmed what many of us DMs have suspected for a while: D&D 5e’s Challenge Ratings, particularly at higher levels, can sometimes feel less like a firm guideline and more like a gentle suggestion whispered by a slightly bewildered pixie.
Francesco found himself taking a break from his long-running campaign, keen for a bit of DM R&R, when one of his players introduced him to *Faster, Purple Worm! Everybody Dies Vol. 1*. Now, if you're not familiar, imagine D&D met improv comedy, cranked up to 11, and then thrown into a blender with a "death is inevitable" philosophy. Created by Beadle & Grimm’s Matthew Lillard (yes, *that* Matthew Lillard, and frankly, I'm here for it), this collection of one-shot adventures is designed to pit 1st-level adventurers against absolutely ludicrous, deadly monsters. The premise isn’t whether they’ll survive – it’s *how* they'll meet their glorious, comedic demise. Sounds like a blast, right? A perfect palate cleanser for DMs weary of intricate plots and character arcs.
But Francesco, being the clever, experimental sort (a man after my own heart, I reckon), decided to put a delightful twist on things. Instead of fresh-faced newbies, he summoned his players' beloved, high-level characters from a past campaign – the legendary "Summer Stars," saviors of Icewind Dale, now level 10 veterans brimming with magic items and hard-won experience. He wanted to give them that "way over their head" feeling but without actually, you know, permanently offing their cherished heroes. His solution? A dream sequence, naturally! If they bought the farm, it was just a bad dream after too many festival pastries. Ingenious, isn't it? Like a wizard casting a 'reset' spell, just in case things went sideways.
He chose an adventure called "Everybody Dies Eating Mushroom Soufflé," which, honestly, sounds like my kind of party. Opting for a fiend over the Ancient Red Dragon suggested, Francesco settled on Bael, a Duke of Hell from *Monsters of the Multiverse*. Now, Bael is no slouch; he’s got a starting CR of 19. Francesco, thinking he needed to truly make these high-level heroes sweat, even boosted Bael further with extra abilities and a fly speed. With legendary actions and a solid spell arsenal, this infernal big bad was surely going to make quick work of the Summer Stars. Right? RIGHT?!
Oh, mate, he was so wrong. So gloriously, utterly wrong. The Summer Stars didn't just win; they absolutely *swept the floor* with the Duke of Hell. Francesco recounts having to give Bael a last-minute *Shield* spell just to extend the fight by a round or two. Despite teleporting, slinging Fireballs, and trying to *Dominate Monster* the party, Bael ended up as a very angry, headless fiend, cursing his tormentors with his last breath. A CR 19 (boosted to 20+) devil, meant to be a high-difficulty encounter for a party of four level 10 characters (which, according to the *Dungeon Master’s Guide*'s XP budget, should involve monsters totaling around 12,400 XP, with Bael alone being 22,000 XP), was dispatched with surprising ease. It's enough to make you wonder if the CR system has been mainlining too much of that mushroom soufflé itself.
Now, as Francesco astutely observes, DMs who’ve been around the block a few times know that these numbers are merely suggestions, not unbreakable commandments. But the sheer disparity here is quite striking, isn't it? The question isn't just "What went wrong?" but "What does this tell us about 5e's inherent design?" Part of the answer, as he points out, lay in the party's composition and gear. The wizard's choice of a Shield Guardian Amulet was a massive boon, granting a loyal, regenerating robot bodyguard – a "Bonkers Mark II" as Francesco lovingly calls it, a callback to a beloved NPC from their *Rime of the Frostmaiden* campaign. And then there was the level 6 Paladin NPC, created because a player couldn't make it. A paladin, facing a devil? Let's just say Divine Smite is not Bael's favorite flavour of damage.
This whole delightful debacle, as Francesco concludes, powerfully reinforced a core truth about D&D 5e: it's a game of resource management, of attrition. If you truly want to challenge a high-level party, especially those seasoned veterans loaded with magic items and optimised builds, a single big boss fight, no matter how intimidating on paper, often isn't enough. You can throw the biggest, scariest monster at them, but if their spell slots are full, their hit points are high, and their cool abilities are off cooldown, they'll likely just make short work of it. The real challenge comes from wearing them down through multiple encounters, forcing them to expend those precious resources, pushing them to make tough choices about when to go all-out and when to conserve. It’s like a magical tug-of-war, not a single powerful blast.
So, while Bael might not have been the problem (he's just a misunderstood devil trying to make a living, after all), the lesson for DMs is crystal clear: don't just throw *bigger* things at your high-level players; throw *more* things, or at least, things that stretch their capabilities over time. This little adventure, as chronicled by Francesco Cacciatore over at Polygon, serves as a fantastic, hilarious reminder that D&D's true magic often lies in the unexpected, in adapting, and in laughing when your supposedly epic showdown turns into an absolute cakewalk for your heroes. And honestly, if you're looking for a quick, chaotic, and genuinely fun break from your main campaign, I reckon *Faster, Purple Worm! Everybody Dies Vol. 1* sounds like a bloody brilliant way to spend an evening – just be prepared for the actual dying, unless your heroes are level 10.
Tags: Dungeons & Dragons, TTRPG, Game Design, Dungeon Mastering, Tabletop Gaming
Original article: Polygon