Failing Forward Skill Checks

A lot of GM advice says to “fail forward”, and rightly so. That means that when a player fails a roll to do a thing, instead of just failing to do said thing, they succeed but with a complication, setback, or other downside that avoids the story simply coming to an unsatisfying halt.

This sounds great in theory, but in the heat of the moment, it isn’t always easy for the GM to come up with an interesting complication; especially for actions where failure would generally mean being stuck. One such action is opening a lock on a door—it feels like it’s a binary choice: you either succeed at opening or not. But here are d66 (roll 2d6 and read the value in sequence) ways to fail forward a botched open lock roll.

Using the Table

For the sake of argument, we avoid the simple “you trigger a trap”, as a character might already have searched for traps. That said, the table includes trap-like effects on the other side of the door that happen as a result of the failed roll, but they generally do not directly affect the characters on this side. Yet.

If a particular results doesn’t make sense in the context of the current scene or adventure, just roll again or choose the next result that does. Use the entries as springboards for your imagination, and weave in situations, treasure, and characters from your game.

Credits

This article was inspired by a segment in a—at the time of writing—recent episode of the excellent Ken and Robin Talk About Stuff podcast, where they discussed the very same thing. I thought it would be worthwhile to expand it into a ready to use table. I’m writing this a couple of weeks after listening to the segment, so while I believe that some of the entries will be ones that they mentioned, I hope that there are plenty of additional, new ones still.

d66 You open the lock, but…
The tools you used are damaged, and need to be repaired or replaced.
You hurt yourself in the process.
A piece of your tools or the door snaps off, and hurts a nearby ally.
You made a fair bit of noise, and have alerted nearby guards, hostiles, or curious and dangerous fauna. (For some adventures, this might a roll on the Wandering Monsters table, or similar.)
You’ve broken the lock mechanism, and it cannot be properly locked again.
The treasure on the other side drops and breaks, or is otherwise damaged, perhaps by the release of a noxious gas.
The treasure on the other side is reinforced with additional security, such as metal bars dropping around it.
A mechanism harms a prisoner on the other side.
A portculis drops in front of the door out of the room on the other side.
The treasure on the other side is fake or a decoy.
An additional, dangerous room appears, which was not on the map, and doesn’t make architectural sense.
You finish tracing a sigil that reanimates an ancient power elsewhere in the complex.
Behind the door is just a corridor-sized painting of the expected room. It contains a subtle hint where the real door has moved to.
You become cursed and addicted to opening doors, carelessly rushing in to be the first to open any door-like object, until you cross a threshold backwards.
You become stuck to the door, which is covered in sovereign glue.
Another, previously locked door in the complex (perhaps by the party), swings open.
You become overconfident. You gain a bonus on your next attempt, but failure engenders two complications instead of one.
It takes a long time, and your companions start using up resources, perhaps in the form of a picnic, or an archery competition.
You open the door with such force that you break a valuable on the other side.
You open it with such gusto and bash into an otherwise napping or inattentive guardian on the other side.
You spill a bucket of water over a valuable piece of paper or book on the other side, and have to rush to carefully dry it before the ink washes out. Or similar substance of a similarly endangered object.
It is hard to open wide because of the vampire staked to the other side of it.
It slides directly into the floor, ceiling, or side with such incredible alacrity that it leaves all who witnessed it startled and frazzled for some time.
It’s very heavy and falls into the other room with a loud thud, flattening a potentially friendly NPC of small stature.
It sets off an audible countdown to when it will slam shut again.
A snoozing guard leaning against it from the other side jams it.
You are overcome by the sudden, vidid memory or the last person who forced this door, and it’s someone you know.
It opens supernaturally farther, deeper, weirder than you assumed possible, and it opens a portal to Wonderland, the Gardens of Ynn, the Stygian Library, or another location the GM has been dying to explore.
Several other doors in the way ahead open at the same time, and perhaps some curious folks mingle and ally that might otherwise have remained isolated.
You suddenly realize that this door is the exact same door that held your friend or spouse locked away for all these years.
You suddenly realize that this door is the exact same door that you locked your defeated nemesis behind in a previous adventure. …but if it’s here, what’s keeping them secured away?
On the back of the door strange writing has appeared, identifying you as the opener, as well as listing the date and means of opening.
The room beyond had over time accumulated enough cold, dirty water to rush over the ankled of anyone nearby.
It is in fact a metaphysical door into your psyche, which reveals uncomfortable truths, hidden strengths, or unrealized potentials.
The top layer crumbles away, revealing a much older door underneath, in a different architectural style.
You realize it is in fact a very sleepy mimic, who’s slowly waking up, and groggily nibbles at your hands.