Overstuffed Dicebag

Neuroshima Hex Review (iPhone Version)

2010-10-07T10:03:00.001-10:00

Neuroshima Hex is a great little board game. It's easy to learn. Quick to setup, quick to play. With my group of friends, we could often get 3 to 5 games in a single setting.

Needless to say, as a big iOS geek, I was excited to see Neuroshima Hex come to the iPhone--especially since I haven't had a chance to play the actual board game in over two months.

Overall, it's an excellent game. If you like the board game, you'll like this. And even though there's only an iPhone version, it plays well on the iPad in x2 mode (maybe better than on the iPhone itself). But it's not perfect. I find rotating the pieces is a little too difficult. There's no "undo move" if you make a mistake (though you can exit back to the main menu and then resume the game, and if you haven't completed your turn, it will start your turn over).

My biggest complaint, however, is the AI. Don't get me wrong. I've had a blast playing against it. But I haven't lost a single game yet--even when I play the 4-player mode with all the AIs cranked all the way up. There have been a couple of close battles, but there have also been a lot of blow-away games where I just crush everyone.

Like many iOS versions of board games, this makes an excellent travel edition. It's cheaper than the real-world version, if you just want to give Neuroshima Hex a try. I just hope they bump up the AI in the next release (PS: NS Guys, call me if you want some help with that. I've got some ideas.).

-Rich-

Gaming in Houston

2010-09-29T06:44:00.001-10:00

Hey all.

As you may or may not know, I have just moved to Houston, and I am itching to start gaming again. I've checked out some of the local gaming/comic stores (Nan's Games and Comics Too gets high marks for their collection of board and role-playing game. They even had Burning Wheel and Fate books on hand!). And I hope to check out the Rice gaming club, FASTWARP.

However, if anyone knows of any other good resources, please let me know. I haven't had a chance to do much gaming since Kai was born, and he just turned 3. That's something I need to fix.

-Rich-

New Fate 3.0 Games

2010-05-05T16:05:00.001-10:00

This has been a very good week for fans of Fate 3.0 RPGs. And I'm a huge Fate fan.

Evil Hat Productions released the PDF versions of the Dresden Files RPG. For those who don't know, this game is based on Jim Butcher's best selling series. If you're at all interested in urban fantasy, you must read these books. Then buy the game.

The RPG comes in two volumes: Your Story and Our World. I've just started reading Volume 1, but I've already run into a reference to a caffeinomancer. Seriously, buy this game.

Next, Cubicle 7 Entertainment has released Legends of Anglerre. This basically brings the Starblazers treatment to fantasy. I haven't picked this one up yet (I have hundreds and hundreds of pages of Dresden to read first), but I definitely plan to.

It's interesting, one of my only complaints about the Fate system was the lack of any magic systems, and now we have two entries with strong magical components.

Life is good.

-Rich-

Location:Waialae Ave,Honolulu,United States

New Discoveries

2010-01-20T21:08:00.003-10:00

OK, I'm a little bit late to the game here. All of these systems have been around for several years now, but I recently picked up Spirit of the Century, Reign and FantasyCraft, and I must say, I'm now a big fan of the Fate 3.0, the One Roll system and the MasterCraft system. I've since picked up the Wild Talents Essential Edition, Starblazers, Diaspora and all the character class pdfs from Crafty Games. All excellent products. There are a few one-roll PDFs on my to-buy list (as soon as I finish Starblazers, it's a big book). And I cannot wait for Dresden Files to come out this summer.

It seems a bit odd to me that two of these game systems (One Roll and MasterCraft) are fairly crunchy systems, given my general preference for story-focused games. But they both have an elegant, streamlined mechanic that I appreciate, and the flexibility to make (and to model with in-game rules) a mind-boggling variety of characters. There's a sweet-spot for me where the rules still provide structure to support my character ideas, but also provide enough flexibility to let me make almost anything I want. All three of these games hit that sweet spot exactly.

And I love the toolkit feel of both Wild Talents and FantasyCraft. I am always more interested in tools that help me make the game my own.

And Fate 3.0 (in all its variations) is almost a perfect game in my mind. I was thinking of developing a game that had many of the same beats, and I've largely lost my motivation. Fate 3.0 handles almost everything I wanted, and often handles it in a more-elegant way than I would have.

Anyway, if you haven't checked out these games, please do. They are well worth your time.

-Rich-

D&D 4E Mini Review

2008-09-16T22:06:00.001-10:00

I had high hopes about this. I have a lot of nostalgic memories about playing AD&D late into the night (or early into the morning). Some of those stories still stand out, even after all these years. We knew the game so well, it just sort of got out of our way, and let us tell the stories we wanted to tell.

I'd heard some grumblings that made me believe the refresh might be more story-friendly than past editions. So, as soon as it came out, I ran out and bought a set of the core books. I'd hoped to actually play a bit before writing this review, but that's not going to happen any time soon. So, without further delay, here we go.

Starting with the Player's Handbook, I appreciate the way it tries to give every class a unique way to shine. However, I felt most of the actual abilities were quite disappointing, especially for the martial classes. Often, they were only minor variations on a theme. Usually they did some damage, with what appeared to me to be a minor side effect.

The classes themselves are described with an overwhelming bias towards tactical situations, and this is painfully clear in the class abilities. Instead of making broad abilities that could be applied in a wide range of situations, these were narrowly focused, and only really useable in combat.

Want to use a confusion spell to temporarily distract the castle guards? No such luck. The confusion spell doesn't actually confuse someone. It causes damage (making it unusable in non-combat situations), and gives you some control over how the person moves. I guess that sort of models confusion from a highly abstracted perspective, but it really felt flat to me.

That brings up my second major complaint. Maybe it's just me, but I often had trouble figuring out what the ability was supposed to be modeling. Often we are only given a name and the tactical effects with very little description or explanation. It all left me wondering why ability X had effect Y. What was the narrative description of the action? How did it look or feel from the characters perspective? In many cases, I honestly have no idea.

Surprisingly utility abilities are also often only useable in a fight. Sure, they might not do direct damage, but they often had little or no non-combat uses. Some of the movement abilities maybe useable, but that's about it.

Skills are a little better, but they're still overwhelmingly described from a tactical standpoint. Ritual magic stood out as the only real breath of fresh air--but not all characters have access to ritual magic. More importantly, at this point we have very few ritual spells to choose from.

Ok, on to the Dungeon Master's Guide.

I found it somewhat ironic that the DMG started with a discussion of different play styles. They correctly identified that there are many players (like myself) who are more interested in the story and character development than tactical play.

Unfortunately, they gave no useful advice on adapting the game to other play styles. No matter how much lip service it may play to other gaming styles, at the end of the day, it's a heavily tactical game.

For example, D&D 4E has rather formulaic methods for building encounters. They go to great lengths to describe what sort of characters the players should have in their party, what sort of opponents they should be facing, and how to modify the encounter if either of these assumptions are not true. They have rather strict math for determining the strength of an encounter, and for determining the rewards received.

All this is designed to produce interesting, exciting, balanced encounters--and particularly to produce interesting, exciting and balanced combat encounters. That's fine if you're playing a war game or a board game, but for an RPG it feels stifling to me.

In particular, it feels like it would limit my ability to improvise.

I strongly feel that the ability to improvise, and having empowered players are the two pillars for building quality story-focused games. And, it feels like D&D 4E makes both of these hard. GMs are limited by the encounter construction guidelines. Players are limited by restrictively-defined abilities.

Oddly enough, Paul Tevis from "Have Games, Will Travel" said that he felt the D&D 4E skill system would actually encourage improvisation. Normally I highly respect Paul's opinions, and he's played the game while I haven't. So, I'll bow to his experience here. But, I'm sure having trouble seeing it work for me.

And speaking of Mr. Tevis, he had quite a bit more to say about D&D 4E recently, specifically comparing it to Story or Narrativist games. Check out his podcast at Have Games, Will Travel.

I'll give you the cliff notes here. D&D 4E is a great tactical game, but it's not a good tool for building communal stories.

And that's a damned shame.

-Rich-

Combat Stories.

2008-06-22T21:17:00.001-10:00

A couple of things have me thinking about combat lately. I've been reading a lot of Robert E. Howard's Conan stories. I really admire the way he handles the fight scenes. They're more than just the hacking of limbs and gouts of blood. The battles grow naturally from the plot and support the theme and atmosphere of the story.

Meanwhile, I went ahead and purchased the new 4ed D&D books. I know, I know. I'll write more about them once I make my way through the books, but let me say this up front. They are incredibly tactically focused--more so than 3.0/3.5, if you can believe that's possible. I'm not sure I could run a story-focused game given these rules. It would be incredibly hard to run combat without maps and miniatures on the table.

OK, one more comment. It's interesting how many of the ideas from the indie/story games worlds have made their way into the 4ed books, but they have been badly warped towards this purely tactical paradigm.

Anyway, between these two, I've been thinking a lot about the cross section of combat and stories.

Combat has long been the default source of conflict in role playing games. In part, combat is just too easy. You don't need to spend a lot of time plotting out motivations. You don't need to lay the proper groundwork with clues and foreshadowing. One side simply pulls out knives, and then tries to cut pieces out of the other. Voila, instant conflict.

Combat also emphasizes the tactical/gameist side of role playing games. Building tactically interesting combat encounters is often quite easy, and tactical play can be quite enjoyable.

But, building good story content into a combat scene is incredibly difficult.

I've addressed the basic rules before. Each scene should do at least two things. Don't just have combat for combat's sake. The fight should reveal vital information about the character's opposition. Or it should fulfill a promise made earlier in the game.

Also, players should be less concerned with winning the combat, and focus more on the result of the combat. How will the scene effect the story? What does losing really mean for the characters? What does winning mean?

For example, in "The Scarlet Tower", Conan's army is smashed through betrayal and trickery. He finds himself on foot and injured, his back to a mound of dead horses and men, as his enemies circle around him. He has lost the combat--but that's just the beginning of the story.

Indeed, the tactical difficulty of a fight is often unrelated to the fight's story content. The characters may win or lose easily. But the fight itself doesn't matter, it's the emotional after-effects that drive the story forward.

However, tactically challenging scenes can also build the story.

I think this is an area that is too-often ignored by many story-focused gamers. At least, I'm guilty of this.

A lot of stories rely on action to drive the story forward. Oh, they aren't exclusively about action--but the raw challenge of hero vs. villain definitely shapes the plot.

The rules I listed above still apply. The scene should be about more than just a simple fight. But, few things get my blood pumping more than honest fear for my character's survival. Threats to life and limb have a way of grabbing a player's attention, forcing them to engage with the story.

Indeed, the best combats have the same features of other scenes. The characters must be forced to make hard decisions. Do I press my luck and try to take out the ogre? or do I retreat and drink a healing potion? The wrong choice might doom my friends or myself. They're no less important to the story, just because they're tactical decisions.

It seems to me, there is a place where the tactical elements and the story elements meet. A place where having a good tactical challenge can produce good stories.

This does present problems, however. In general, I want my players to de-emphasize the immediate result of combat, and focus on the combat's effect on the story itself. If they are defeated, they will be knocked unconscious or taken prisoner or saved by the cops or something. Players often know that they will live to fight another day. So, how do I project that, in this particular fight, the immediate results really do matter?

One option is to set the expectations explicitly. A lot of games build this into the mechanics themselves, where players explicitly set the stakes at the beginning of each combat. However, I'm not a big fan of this approach. I feel it somewhat neuters the conflict, by setting limits at the beginning. I prefer systems that allow you to increasingly up the ante as the conflict evolves.

You can sometimes imply the stakes by having the bad guys kill off an important NPC. Or have one of them bad guys pull back to strike a PC who has surrendered or who is incapacitated, and then let the others have a chance to react and interrupt the action. But, it's not always possible to weave these clues into the story in a way that is both obvious to the players without being too heavy handed.

Also, what do you do if a character dies? The story might be able to move forward, with the memory of the fallen friend driving the other characters onwards. However, what do you do if the character is vital to the main plot? Or if a large portion of the party dies?

For action scenes to work, the players must believe the threat is real. Of course, loss does not necessarily mean a loss of life.

If a thug leaves you bleeding in an alleyway, you won't make it home in time to prevent Jimmy-One-Hand from throwing your sister from your third-story window. Here, the emotional result of combat largely mirrors the tactical result. If you can make the players feel real pain in their defeat, both the players and the characters will remain fully engaged in any combat scenes. Seems to me, that's the best of both worlds.

-Rich-

Missing the Clue

2008-05-18T15:48:00.001-10:00

I've recently picked up Robin D. Laws's The Esoterrorists. I'll write a complete review after I finish reading the entire game, but I did want to discuss part if it right now.

The Esoterrorists's mechanics are largely based around a single idea--it's hard to run mystery plots in typical RPG games. Typically, the characters must make rolls to discover clues. If they fail their rolls, then they don't uncover the clue, and the plot grinds to a halt.

The Esoterrorists (and other games using the Gumshoe system) solve this problem by guaranteeing that characters can find important clues. Your investigative skills give you a pool of points. You can spend these points to automatically discover clues (and sometimes additional details). This guarantees that the plot will continue to move forward.

Now, that's not a bad mechanic, as far as things go. It looks like a great way to run mystery games. But, I'm not sure I agree with Robin's analysis of mystery games.

True, mystery games are often incredibly frustrating. But, I don't think the dice are to blame.

Sure, it sucks when characters miss an important clue. And maybe it matters, if you're running a simple whodunnit. If the bad guy has already killed all the people he intends to kill, then one missed clue and he might get away. However, that's not the type of mystery I want to run. I prefer mysteries where the characters are peeling away layers of a larger conspiracy. Sure, they may not be able to solve a single murder--but, just wait. There will be more.

If the characters botch a single roll, don't sweat it. Just quickly move time forward to the next incident.

The bigger problem is pacing. The GM is the only one who knows the full story. Ideally, he should dribble out clues at just the right rate. They should come fast enough to keep the player's engaged in the story, without giving away the ending too early. This is incredibly hard to do. And I'm not sure The Esoterrorist's mechanics can really help here.

Here are some suggestions:

1) Give the characters clues that are hard to understand, but that open up possibilities for further research. The classic example would be some sort of occult mark on one of the victims (or bad guys). The characters have no idea what the mark means, no matter how good they roll (at best, it seems somehow familiar, but they can't put their finger on it). The clue remains unsolved, but opens up opportunities for future research or investigation.

The main goal here is to have the players proactively direct the investigation. This helps with pacing, since the players will pursue those things that most interest them. Proactive players help define how quickly the story unfolds. And, once players start acting proactively, they will usually find ways to ferret out all the clues they need.

So give them clues they can follow: A phone number ripped from a phone book, The picture of a famous celebrity, taken from a cell phone camera, An informant turning up dead. The opportunities are endless.

2) Reward the players for being proactive by providing them with additional clues. Always remember, ever scene should move the story forward. In the case of a mystery, each scene should provide one (or preferably more than one) paths that the characters can pursue further.

Also, you don't have to force the characters to roll for every clue. You can reveal clues as part of the description (or clues to clues). Let's say there's a few bloody fingerprints smeared on the window. You could mention that there is blood on the window when you describe the room. Or just mention the "dim light filtering through the smeared window", and wait for the characters to ask about it.

When someone actively investigates the window, you may or may not require a roll to identify the smears as blood (or to notice the fingerprints). Obviously (at least obviously to me) if someone asks, "are there fingerprints on the window?", just say "Yes" and move on.

Don't let yourself get bogged down by the rolls.

3) Be stingy with the clues. RPG players are typically very smart. Don't make it too easy on them. It's better to be too stingy than too generous, especially since you can always spice things up (see hint 4).

4) Don't let the plot slow down. If things start to drag, have something exciting happen. Maybe the conspiracy thinks the players are getting too close, and tries to off them. Maybe they take the next major step in their evil plan. It doesn't matter. Pick something that gets the blood pumping again and keep things moving.

-Rich-

Predestined Consistency

2008-05-03T23:00:00.001-10:00

It's often said, if you mention a gun in scene one, someone has to shoot it in scene three. We expect this sort of consistency from most forms of fiction. A good story fulfills the promises made at the beginning.

However, this is often hard to pull this off in RPGs. In old-school games you could sometimes fake it by railroading the characters, but this was rarely satisfactory. In a narrative-heavy game, the GM has even less control over the story, and that can make fulfilling these promises even harder.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again. Consistency is hard. And, as gamers, we don't have the freedom to go back and edit things. We've got to get them right the first time.

So, instead of just hoping that everything will work out, let's create a framework to set and resolve these expectations.

Let's start with Rich's first law of gaming, every conflict should move the story forward. Generally speaking, the winner of a conflict gains some narrative control over the scene. They could use this to gain some clue, earn an ally, or otherwise throw a wrench into the opposition's plans. If they fail, things generally take a turn for the worst. But, most of the time, these are immediate effects.

But, do they need to be immediate effects? What happens if we let the winner establish an expectation related to the conflict. We record this expectation, perhaps on the character sheet or in the GM's notes, with the explicit promise that it will come to pass sometime in the future.

For example, our hero decides to seduce an opposing femme fatal NPC. If he succeeds, he sets the expectation that she will switch sides at some undeclared point in the future. We don't know when this will occur, but the expectation becomes part of the story. The GM may change her behavior to foreshadow this event. Then, at a dramatically appropriate moment, she betrays the other bad guys. Of course, she may just stab our hero in the back five minutes later, but at least we've fulfilled our initial expectation.

Of course, player's shouldn't get all the fun. For example, the same hero loses a dual against a minor opponent. The gm could set the expectation that one of the characters will kill the other, turning a throw-away villain into a major nemesis.

Or, lets turn this all on its head. I always like the idea of letting losers define the cost of their failure. Maybe the player decides he must kill or be killed by his opponent. Or the femme fatal decides that she's fated to change sides. Having the players self-select these expectation will help them buy into the story.

Long time readers might notice how well this fits into my Evolve or Resolve mechanic.

Remember, these are player expectations, not character expectations. The character may not know anything about them. He may believe the exact opposite, and may struggle against the expected fate. Rather, these are tools for the players. They are the load-carrying beams that connect past and future. They help give the story structure, while also giving the players more control over its shape.

I haven't thought this out completely. And it could probably use some play testing to flush out the details. What sort of expectation can we set? What are the limits? Which are better, specific expectations, or open-ended expectations? Can other players trigger an expectation's fulfillment? Should players be rewarded for playing into these expectations? Under what circumstances can we break these expectations?

I'd be interested in your thoughts here.

-Rich-

Gaming and Children

2008-04-09T22:40:00.001-10:00

Since the boy's arrival 6 months ago, I really haven't had much time for gaming with other adults. Instead, I've been trying to corrupt Haruko, my 7-year-old daughter. She loves Flux, and I've recently introduced both her and my wife to Faery's Tale.

If you haven't seen it yet, Faery's Tale was written by Patrick Sweeney, Sandy Antunes, Christina Stiles, and Robin D. Laws. It is specifically designed for children ages 6 or older. You take on the role of a pixie, sprite, brownie or pooka, and head off for adventures in the Brightwood.

My wife is also a newbie gamer, and I thought the comparison between their reactions was interesting.

Both floundered about in the beginning, not really knowing what to do. I call this the "what can I do?" phase, where players are really too timid and afraid of doing something wrong.

My wife soon got into the swing of things, however.

Not surprisingly, Haruko had more trouble. She loved the game, but she was really most comfortable when she could follow her own little script. Every scene was the same. First she'd look for someone to talk to. Then she'd search for clues. It reminded me of the good old days...

GM: You come to a door.
Me: I check for traps...Wait, I listen at the door...OK, I try to pick the lock...

Ah, I can smell the cold pizza and flat soda, as if it where yesterday.

I suspect the open nature of the game is somewhat hard for Haruko. She'd probably love it if the game consisted of nothing but "choose your own adventure" style decisions, combined with a heavy helping of railroading to keep the plot moving. Which was hard for me, I'm all about character empowerment.

Still, I'm glad she had a good time. I'll try to make the next adventure a little more structured, and we'll see how that goes.

Has anyone else tried gaming with small children? I'd love to hear about your experiences.

-Rich-

A Matter of Trust

2008-03-23T01:13:00.001-10:00

All RPGs have one thing in common. To succeed, the players must trust the game master, the other players and the game system itself.

Trust is a complex, multi-faceted issue, but there are a few aspects that seem easy to identify. We expect the system will be well defined, commonly understood and fair. We expect the GM will take us somewhere interesting. And we expect the other players will positively contribute to the story.

The interesting thing is, in some ways, one type of trust can replace the others.

Players who don't trust the other participants will often want a system they can depend on. In many ways, explicit social contracts are just a method for building trusted systems.

Alternatively, if you just mistrust the GM, you may try to distribute much of his power to the other player, or eliminate the GM entirely. If you mistrust the other players, you may want a strong GM to keep them in line. Finally, if you don't trust the system, you may de-emphasize it, relying on the GM and other players to just "wing it."

Note: none of these compensations are inherently bad. But, they all have a degenerate form.

Trusting the system may lead to rules lawyering as each participant tries to use the system to defend their concept of their character, their story and even the flow of the game itself.

Social contracts, by definition, limit the type of stories that you can tell. If you sufficiently trust the other participants, they may be able to escort you outside your comfort zone. This can lead you to more powerful, more interesting stories than your explicit social contract would allow.

GM-less games tend to emphasize emergent stories. Unfortunately, it can be hard to maintain the story's structure or any real consistency. There's no guarantee that the gun I placed on the mantle piece in act 1 will actually be shot in act 3. Most likely, it will be forgotten, leading to an inconsistent and somewhat scattered story.

On the other hand, relying on a strong GM forces the GM into a dictatorial role. By definition, this limits the type of choices and the amount of influence you have as a player.

Finally, "winging it" makes it more likely that the participants will have inconsistent or incompatible views of the system. Even with a single, well-defined, hard-and-fast set of rules, each player will have his or her own interpretations. Add another layer of fuzziness, and the players' mental concepts begin to drift.

Clearly, this is not a clean or concise science. And, to make things worse, every gamer has a unique set of trust issues, with varying levels of tolerance.

By default, most players seem to trust the system over the other participants. In many ways, this is the most pragmatic choice. You can alway buy a good system--finding good players can be much harder task. By emphasizing the system over the other participants, you can play with the widest range of other gamers. Unfortunately, your games will become severely limited to those things that the system handles well. Typically, this means tactically heavy combat.

For myself, I want to play with a GM that I can trust. I need a GM to manage the structure and consistency, and to make me feel like the story is going somewhere interesting. This represents my own mistrust in emergent stories.

Not surprisingly, I have a lower bar for the other players, but I still demand a high level of trust there. The system is the least important to me. I want it to be fast and transparent--but I don't really need to trust it. Not if I trust the other participants.

Obviously, many sets of trust issues are incompatible. I should not play games with people who mistrust their fellow gamers. That's just going to end badly.

Additionally, I think we can get a feel for a game designer's personal trust issues by examining the type of games they build. A lot of indie game designs are reactionary, at least in part. This is particularly true for designers who grew up on mainstream games. We all carry the scars of bad experiences, and we design our games around them.

Personally, I want games that heavily focus on story. This means the rules I design tend to be a bit fuzzy--They need to be fast and they need to be flexible. I trust the GM and Players to keep things fair and consistent. I always want a role for the GM, but will strongly empower the players. I feel the best stories can be found in the chaotic borderland between purely emergent stories and heavily plotted ones. The GM still monitors and maintains the structure, but the players make real decisions that have real consequences. The story's not allowed to drift randomly, nor is it railroaded to a particular destination. The player's trust that it is going somewhere, but they also help define the final destination.

Now, not everything in that statement can be boiled down to an issue of trust--but I'm sure some of my own, personal trust issues definitely shine through.

-Rich-

My Dirty Little Secret

2008-03-10T23:02:00.002-10:00

I hate to admit it, but I have become somewhat obsessed with with the upcoming Dungeons and Dragons 4th Edition.

This strikes me as odd, since my tastes have continually moved towards story focused, independent games.

One obvious explanation has been my inability to find (or convert) other players. If I break out a copy of Sorcerer, everyone stares at me as if I'd sprouted a third arm. However, I can always find players for D&D (or anything by White Wolf, for that matter).

And, from the murmurs I've been hearing, DnD4E includes a number of narrative/indie-ish ideas. Oh, it will undoubtedly be more tactical than I really care for. But, we both talk about creating specific roles for all the characters in the game. Of course, I'm talking about narrative roles, and I suspect they're talking about tactical roles. But, if you are playing stories with a significant action/adventure flavor, then these two ideas become intertwined.

DnD4E promises to be faster--which is a good thing.

DnD4E claims to require less GM prep work. I wrote an entire essay on the evil of prep work. This must also be a good thing.

DnD4E supposedly focuses on opportunities rather than restrictions, that is a very good thing.

DnD4E says it is focused on fun. Fun's good. I like fun.

Mostly, though, it turns out that one of my long lost friends is one of the DnD4E developers. I spotted him while obsessively watching YouTube videos from the Dungeons & Dragon's Experience. I probably haven't talked with him in 5 years, but the video prompted me to drop him a line. So, even if DnD4E completely disappoints me in every other possible way, at least it has done some good in my life.

I really want DnD4E to be a good platform for compromise games. They might not be exactly what I want, but maybe they'll be good enough. And maybe, just maybe I can corrupt a few more players over to the dark side.

But, I'm worried that I will be disappointed, and I think the tension between hope and fear is just feeding my rapidly growing obsession.

-Rich-

My Take on Tactics

2008-02-25T20:48:00.001-10:00

While discussing tactics, thanuir mentioned Wushu. I have since taken a look at the free version of the rules. I then purchased the Pulp-Fu rules, and I'll probably pick up the rest of the PDFs soon.

The game has an interesting take on conflict. I wholeheartedly support the way it encourages players to participate in the narration. I also love the way better narration and more-dramatic actions generate bigger bonuses. However, I was a little concerned with the way the game decouples descriptions from results.

Basically, when you describe your character's actions, you're not announcing what you would like to happen--you are actually narrating the story at that point. The die rolls then determine how influential the action is on the eventual resolution.

For example, I could narrate that I draw my revolver and plants three bullets into the big bad's chest. However, if I roll crappy, the oozing chest wounds still exist, but they don't slow him down.

Yes, this example is a little contrived. The GM (or any of the players) could, and probably would, veto my description unless there was a good chance that the fight was about to end. Still, the same problem occurs on a smaller scale.

However, after sleeping on the rules (No, not literally. That would be uncomfortable.), I don't think this is a major problem. The Veto rule should prevent the worst problems. More importantly, fiction pulls this stunt all the time. Our protagonist gets kicked bloody. His arm's broken, ribs are cracked, and there's a jagged piece of metal jutting from his leg. But, he still manages to claw his way back to his feet, raise a shaking pistol and plant the fight-ending bullet in the bad guy's forehead.

The only catch is, the players (and the GM) must play off of each others descriptions. If you do that, I think everything will work out fine.

Anyway, while researching Wushu, I found several references to it as a tactic-less game system.

That just doesn't sound right to me. Yes, it lacks many of the trappings of tactics. Resource management is minimal. You don't need to master a number of arcane rules. You don't need to worry about picking just the right skills and abilities when building your character (OK, that's more strategic, but it's related). But, from my perspective, it's still tactical.

When playing, you are still concerned with winning each and every conflict. There is an unwritten assumption that the players will win the majority of the conflicts, and the story is driven forward by their successes.

See, my idea of tactic-less play includes de-emphasizing the tactical trappings, but it also includes a mental shift. Ultimately, the players should not worry about whether they win or lose a conflict--either result should move the story forward. Indeed, loosing a conflict may move the story better than winning.

Of course, we always want our characters to win, but the success or failure of the story should not depend on victory. This obsession with victory is, for me, the key characteristic of tactical play. I could be playing with miniatures, rulers and six-page character sheets, but as long as I can lose the fight and still move the story forward, it's not tactical play.

The story is driven forward, not by characters successes moving them closer towards their goal, but by the decisions they make during times of trouble. Conflicts build and evolve over time, and the story ends when they find a resolution to a major external or internal conflict.

Of course, this brings up a paradox. For the story to succeed, we need the players to become engaged in the story. Tactic-less play runs the risk that the players won't care about the actions, since (to some degree) the results don't matter.

Of course, there's more than one way to engage someone. The characters could become engaged by the competitive win-or-die nature of most tactical play. Or they could become engaged with the characters, or with the plot. Personally, I'd prefer the latter options.

Let's look at a concrete example. I was playing an slender, acrobatic character in a high fantasy game. We were attacked by a group of ogres. After repelling the raid, one of the ogres was escaping back into the woods. I decided to jump on his back from behind, in the hopes of stopping him.

In my mind, I knew the action was tactically bad--the ogre would swat me like a fly--but it fit my character. I was young and inexperience. I had an idealistic view of heroics and a gross overestimation of my own abilities. As a player, I also hoped the action would open up possibilities for the GM. The Ogre would probably injure me or embarrass me. It might leave me with a scar as a reminder. The experience might dull my heroic dreams. It might make me question my own abilities. Alternatively, if we ran into the Ogre again, I would have a more personal stake in the next conflict.

Unfortunately, the GM only saw the action as a tactical mistake, and could only see one resolution for the conflict--my character's death. We stood on two very different sides of the tactical divide.

Anyway, I hope that makes my thoughts clearer. As always, I'd love to hear what you have to say. Please leave a comment or two.

-Rich-

Update on my life

2008-02-21T22:57:00.001-10:00

Sorry to disappear for so long. I've been busily working on another magazine article. The good news is, the editor really liked it. The bad news (at least as far as this blog is concerned) is that I will be working on two more articles for him. So, don't expect many posts over the next few months.

In other news, I recently submitted a short story to the Writers Of The Future contest. I just learned that my story recoeved an honorable mention. As I understand it, that puts me in the top 5-10%. So, It's been a good week on the writing front.

As far as this blog is concerned, I have been thinking about a new post on tactical play. Based on some of the comments from last time, I think I have a different definition of tactical play than some of you. But, I'll save that for next tim

-Rich-

Defending Gamist and Simulationist play.

2008-01-19T12:04:00.001-10:00

Ok, you should all know by now that I strongly favor story-heavy games.

Quite often the narrativist/story focused front of the RPG Theory movement takes a somewhat negative view of Gamist and Simulationist play (please excuse me if I use GNS terminology for just a moment here). Oh, sure. We give lip service to equality. "There's nothing wrong with...deep, rich hobby...different styles for different tastes...blah, blah, blah." But let's face facts. We despise anything other than our precious story.

Some of the new breed of indie games have gone to great lengths to strip their games down to their narrative core. They've strived to get rid of nearly all traces of tactical play or what is typically called "realism" in the rules.

But are Gamist and Simulationist play really that bad? Yes, we want our game designs to be consistent. Yes, we want our games to focus on our desired creative agenda. But I think that some degree of tactical play and some nod towards realism (or at least perceived realism) is important. When handled correctly, they can actually improve the story content of a game.

Let's look at tactical play first. It is an unfortunate fact about (most) games, we have multiple players but play largely progresses serially. Each person takes a turn adding something to the story. That means, for a large portion of the game, I'm stuck waiting for my turn. That's a lot of downtime.

Sure, I can listen to the story being created by my fellow players. But, let's face it. I'm far to narcissistic for that. If I'm not in the spotlight, I'm either bored or I'm rapidly becoming bored.

During a tactical game, players have more things to do during the downtime. They can analyze the situation, plan out their next move, look up rules, worry about their rapidly falling hit points. Whatever. Tactical play has the ability to engage the players. It tricks the players into investing in the story. And a story cannot succeed unless the players are both engaged and invested in it's outcome.

Problems (as I define them) only arise when tactical play begins to dominate the game. Unfortunately, each of us probably have a different threshold level for tactical domination. That's one of the things that makes RPGs so difficult.

Ok now onto simulation. Let me step back a second here. Stories require the willing suspension of disbelief. We know the story's not real, but we're willing to accept it as temporarily real. Again, this lets us become emotionally involved with the story.

Unfortunately, if something destroys our ability to suspend disbelief, we often fall out of the story.

Take the movie 300. They went to great lengths to point out how the Spartans fought in Phalanxes. How their real strength came from their ability to fight as a unit. But, as soon as the fight scenes began, they all broke ranks and began Jet Leeishly jumping and swooping about. Visually stunning, yes. but it dropped me right out of the story, and I had real trouble enjoying the rest of the movie. If they had just removed that one bit of dialog, my entire reaction to the movie would have changed.

Of course, realism in games is a tricky subject. Common wisdom often conflates realism with complex rules. However, it can be argued that these complex rules don't do any better at modeling the real world. Indeed, they may be much worse.

In the end, it doesn't really matter whether the game accurately models the real world. What matters is that the game feel real to the players. That means the world and the cultures displayed, the NPCs and PCs all feel like real people and real places. This also means that the game's physics (largely defined by the game mechanics) feel real to the players.

Again, you can take this too far. The realism should serve and support the story. It's too easy to get wrapped up in recreating life during the Roman Republic, that we lose all sight of the story. Or at least, it starts to suffer under the burden of realism.

That's it. As always, please leave a comment or two. I would love to see your ideas on the subject.

-Rich-

Well, That's One Theory...

2007-12-26T23:24:00.001-10:00

Theory is a somewhat overloaded word. Different people have very different ideas on what "theory" means.

For myself, I have a strong scientific and engineering background. I tend to take the scientists view of the word. The following, from Wikipedia sums it up nicely:

"In scientific usage, a theory does not mean an unsubstantiated guess or hunch, as it can in everyday speech. A theory is a logically self-consistent model or framework for describing the behavior of a related set of natural or social phenomena. It originates from or is supported by experimental evidence (see scientific method). In this sense, a theory is a systematic and formalized expression of all previous observations, and is predictive, logical, and testable. As such, scientific theories are essentially the equivalent of what everyday speech refers to as facts."

When most people use the word, it has a much weaker connotation. Again from Wikipedia:

"In common usage, the word theory is often used to signify a conjecture, an opinion, or a speculation. In this usage, a theory is not necessarily based on facts; in other words, it is not required to be consistent with true descriptions of reality. This usage of theory leads to the common incorrect statement "It's not a fact, it's only a theory.""

Most RPG theories seem to be a mutated offshoot of literary theory. Now, I don't have a literary background, so I'm not really sure what people mean when they use the word "theory" in that context, but I'm willing to bet hard money that it has more in common with conjecture, opinion and speculation than with prediction or testability.

When we speculate about RPG theory, we're not developing testable hypothesis. And we're certainly not running experiments to validate these hypothesis. Instead, we resemble the ancient natural philosophers. We sit around and think really hard about our topic. We analyze it. We form analogies. We create an explanation, then try to argue for our explanations using logic and persuasion alone.

There's no sign of the scientific method--no effort to rigorously test these ideas. Nor should there be. None of us have the funding to even start down that road.

But we need to be cautious about how we treat RPG theories. Arguing based on logic alone has a very bad track record. Logic and analogy tend to lead you astray. Just look at psychology. Early attempts at explaining the mind relied heavily on self-analysis and logical extrapolation. Unfortunately, rigorous modern testing has shown that most of our assumptions about our minds are just plain wrong.

When we observe our own thoughts, we think our brain works one way. However, experiments have shown that the truth is very different.

When it comes to our gaming, what actually occurs at the table may be very different from what we think we observe. Indeed, different payers may have very different observations.

I don't mean to discount all of RPG theory. But, I do think our theories need to be taken with a rather large grain of salt. For example, many theories feel like they are reactions to bad experiences. It's almost like each different theory is simply an attack on a different pet peeve. Ok, that exaggerates somewhat, but I'm a bit concerned that RPG Theories are a bit too negative and reactionary, rather than being constructive and supportive.

Besides, based on the past record of similar "theoretical" thought, we can safely assume all our hypothesis are wrong. Or at least badly flawed.

But, does that mean they are worthless? No! Not if you take the pragmatic approach.

Instead of worrying about the absolute accuracy of a theory, we should focus on the theory's utility. If a theory improves your game, then it is useful and it is worth exploring. However, if the utility you gain from the theory is less than the effort you put into it--then it's a bad deal. Just walk away.

A theory's utility does not come from it's ability to explain gaming dynamics. It comes from the tools that the theory gives us.

Take GNS Theory. While it's easy to criticize, GNS provides a useful vocabulary and framework for talking about games. It suggests that different players might have different goals, and we would probably enjoy our games more if all the players at the table had the same goal.

Is GNS an accurate description of what really happens at the table? My answer: "Who cares?" It is a useful tool for talking about games.

Similarly, I hope that anyone reading this blog comes away with a strong mental picture of the types of games I like to run. Hopefully my essays also offer some tools that help support that particular style of game.

In the end, I'm more interested in tools than explanations.

The Greatest Hits

2007-11-30T18:59:00.001-10:00

I've been hit by a small barrage of freelance writing projects, and the for-money work has to come before my mad rants here. But, the site's been getting a lot more traffic lately, and I didn't want to just leave you guys waiting.

A lot of people haven't seen my earlier posts--and some of them are very good. So I decided to put together a quick Greatest Hits episode. These are, I think, the most important essays on the site, and they form the core around which I wrap many of my other ideas. I hope you find something that you like.

Story is Structure

Scenes

Gaming Vs. Writing

Magic Systems

Conflict: Evolve or Resolve

Character Integrity

Decisions that Matter

P.S. If I missed a post that you particularly liked, please mention it in the comments.

Preparation Hell

2007-11-19T17:09:00.001-10:00

I admit it. I prefer rules-light systems, and apparently I'm not alone. Most narrative games seem to lean towards simpler, more streamlined rules.

There are several obvious explanations for this. Pragmatically, small development teams have an easier time writing, editing and testing simple rules, and narrative games are almost exclusively small shop productions.

More significantly, complex rules tend to reward players who can master the system. The players, in an almost pavlovian reaction, will rise to this challenge and manipulate the rules to their advantage. This creates a feedback loop that inevitably drives the game towards tactical play. Unfortunately, this also tends to distract from the story.

The concept is simple: if you're designing a story-focused game, the game should reward story focused play. Most game designers recognize this, at least subconsciously, and they tend to shy away from rules-heavy mechanics.

But I think there is an even more important reason to avoid complex rules. Complex rules typically place a heavy burden on the GM. The more complex the rules, the more preparation you must do. Before the characters can challenge the Ogre Chieftain to a game of Brokk'Tak, you need to gen up the ogre's stats. If you want to have a mad chase across rooftops, then you need to look up the rules for moving across difficult terrain, balancing, jumping and falling (and probably other things as well). You probably want to take notes.

This creates three problems. First, if the GM invest time in creating a scene, he is more likely to force the scene down the players' throats--railroading them if necessary. Second, as a GM you never remember to pre-generate everything you need. Even if the scene goes exactly as planned, sooner or later you will find yourself digging through a rule book (or just making shit up). Finally, if the characters go off-script, the GM often has real trouble improvising.

Again, the GM should not create the story. He does not write the plot, then merely let the players experience it as they go along. No, the plot should evolve naturally at the table. It should be a collaborative effort between the players and the GM. For this to work, the system must not merely let the GM improvise, but actively encourage improvisation.

As a GM, I want to introduce NPCs at a drop of the hat. If the characters attack my social-skill-statted courtier, I need to keep the scene rolling without batting an eye. I need a system that lets me come up with reasonable difficulty numbers and modifiers without resorting to charts, tables or high school math.

Sure, some rules-heavy games try to help out. Many provide character templates, allowing the GM to more-easily improvise--provided he stays within the scope of those templates. Others use simplified NPCs.

Buffy the Vampire Slayer et. al. take abstract NPCs to the extreme. Almost all the crunchy rules are kept firmly on the player's side. The GM never even touches the dice. When a player tries to stake a vamp, the player rolls against the vamp's defense number. Likewise, when the vamp tries to bite a piece out of someone, the player makes a defense roll against the vamp's attack score. All things considered, this is a pragmatic compromise. After all, the players have less to worry about, giving them more time and energy to focus on rules. Indeed, managing the rules may help fill some of the downtime while others are in the spotlight.

But what should a Story-hungry GM do when he's stuck in a rules-heavy game?

As I've mentioned before, I want to like White Wolf's games. I have many fond memories of old WOD. Whenever I pick up one of the new books, I'm pleasantly surprised. The back stories are intriguing, and the systems seem to encourage interesting characters. Most importantly (to me), I can always find players for a White Wolf game. Sadly, it's often hard to convince people to try indie games.

So, I want to like White Wolf, but--damn--those games have a lot of rules!

Want to know a secret? Mostly, I just fake it. My NPCs succeed or fail based more on the dramatic necessity of the scene, than on the actual rolls. I don't like it, but it's true. Shhhh. Don't tell my players! I do it for the story, but I always feel guilty. I know I'm breaking a social contract with my players. After all, they expect the world's physics to operate as advertised.

But, really, what choice do I have?

Task vs. Conflict Resolution Revisited

2007-10-18T17:46:00.001-10:00

OK, I just had one of those inspirational shower moments. Hmm, "inspirational" might not be the right word. It's not like a 5-point plan to bring peace and twinkies to all the children of the world suddenly jumped into my head. Rather, I uncovered a problem with one of my long cherished beliefs. Or, at least a potential problem. No, not inspirational at all--more de-inspirational. Distressing, but still instructive.

In previous posts I've argued for favoring conflict resolution over task resolutions (Resolve or Evolve and Character Integrity). Now, as a theory that sounds simple enough. Don't focus on the individual actions--focus on the conflicts themselves. This helps prevent the game from becoming bogged-down by rules, it favors story-focused gaming over tactical gaming, and it gives us more freedom to describe how our characters fail (and how they face their failures).

However, all's not well in paradise.

When I'm actually gaming, I find myself frequently calling for knowledge/perception rolls. These rolls determine how much a character knows about left-handed target pistols, or whether he spots the sniper on the K-Mart's roof.

As I stated previously (Eyes and Ears) one of the GM's most influential rolls is acting as a filter for the character's perceptions. Ideally, each character's view of the world should be hand-tuned to that character. A cage-match, bare fist fighter will undoubtedly see the world differently than the graduate chair of art history at a small, New England liberal arts college. Using knowledge/perception rolls provide a simple mechanic for automatically filtering the character's perceptions.

However, these rolls are profoundly task based.

So, what's a poor GM to do? I'm not sure, but here are a few, largely inconsistent, thoughts:

1) Ignore It

So, it's a little inconsistent. Does it matter? Perfect is the enemy of the good. My desire for a perfectly consistent system may set me upon a quixotic quest, began with the best of intentions, but ultimately doomed.

In play, I take a purely pragmatic approach here. Knowledge/perception rolls work within the context of my games, so I use them. And, really, is that so wrong?

2) Stop Using Knowledge/Perception Rolls

On the other hand, the mere thought of inconsistent rules may keep you from sleeping at night. And it raises the obvious question, are these rolls necessary?

The simple answer is, "no." There are many gaming styles that do not use these rolls (or do not use any rolls as all). The GM can simply determine what the character sees, and what the character knows.

Of course, this puts you at the whim of the GM. But, that's the same paper tiger always raised by opponents of diceless mechanics. You have to ask yourself, why do these rules exist? Are they there to accurately simulate a situation? Are they there to protect the players from the GM? Or the GM from the players?

If your primary goal is the creation of good stories, then you don't need to worry about accuracy (or the illusion of accuracy). And if you trust the other players at the table, you shouldn't need the armor of rules. We already trust the GM with maintaining consistency across large swaths of the game. Why should perception and character knowledge be any different?

3) Justify The Task Rolls

The knowledge/perception roll example really brings up a bigger, stickier issue. Namely, there are a lot of good reasons to use Task resolutions. Tasks are immediate. It's often much easier to deal with the tasks as they occur, then to manhandle the situation into a one-bite chunk.

And, really, conflicts are fractal. You can take a conflict and break it into ever smaller and smaller chunks. Within each chunk, you'll find new layers of conflict. Why do we call conflict at one level "a task" and say it's bad, but call it "conflict" at another level and say that it's good.

Obviously we're looking at the wrong thing. Task vs. conflict really isn't important. What's important is how we handle success and failure.

Having the ability to decompose different conflicts into different levels of detail is actually a very good thing. If the conflict is minor or unimportant, you can handle it at a high level of abstraction. If it's the climax of the entire campaign, then you can break it down into a step-by-step epic struggle.

The problem with traditional games is not that they focus on the tasks, but that they trap you at a single level of conflict decomposition. Regardless of the conflict's importance, the method for resolving the actions are always the same.

The second problem is one of GM laziness. The GM assumes that, if the character fails his roll, then it was obviously the character's fault. As I described elsewhere, if not handled properly, this can erode the character's concept. Every time my master thief fails to pick a lock, he becomes a bit more ridiculous in the eyes of everyone at the table.

There are many reasons why an action might fail. Most of them are not the character's fault. The lock's mechanism could be rusted solid. Guards might show up and interrupt my attempt. The door might be barred from the other side--so, even if I do pick the lock, I cannot open the door. No-fault failures can occur whether we resolve things at the action level, or at a higher level of abstraction.

One of the reasons I like the Resolve or Evolve mechanic is that it lets me initially resolve the larger conflict using the knowledge/perception roll. If the character fails that roll, he can take a disadvantage (for example, having an NPC killed by the sniper's first shot), and allow the conflict to evolve.

So, don't worry too much about it. Knowledge/perception rolls (indeed all task rolls) are just handling conflict at a lower level of abstraction. And, when done properly, that's a very good thing.

One More Thing To Worry About

If we're going to assume a winner-gets-to-narrate mechanic (e.g. Evolve or Resolve), then there's one last, little sticking point.

The GM's roles include managing the mysteries and maintaining consistency. Yet, if I succeed on a knowledge/perception roll, I get to narrate the results. These seem to be pulling in opposite directions. How can I narrate the result of searching a crime scene, yet still allow the GM to maintain consistency?

The easiest solution is, just pass the buck back to the GM. Just because you narrate the result doesn't mean you need to specify all the details. Just describe what you find at a high level, and let the GM provide the details. "I find an important clue" or "He tells me everything he knows" or "my roommate in college owned several left-handed target pistols" works just fine.

However, there is a more exciting option. Just narrate the details as you would any conflict. The GM can use their regular toolbox (e.g. evolving the conflict, the power of the period and outright vetos) to manage the results. Again, why are these actions different from any others.

Of course, narrating these results can give the players a lot of control over the story--and this is not necessarily a bad thing. Donjon takes this to it's logical extreme. The players can create encounters by succeeding on a perception roll. "I see a troll lumbering towards us down the hallway". Poof. There's a troll.

Similarly, players can use knowledge rolls to create weaknesses. "Ah, I remember from Monster Hunting 101, trolls are terrified by hamsters, gerbils and other small rodents."

And the rolls can be used to eliminate obstacles as well. "There are no guards at the south gate." Poof. Now you can enter unopposed.

This can be a great tool for giving the players more control over the story. Of course, all players need to be on the same page. If one player is trying to play a wacky comedy, and everyone else is trying to play a serious drama--well, the results will not be pleasant. As always, with great power comes great responsibility.

Defending One-Trick Ponies.

2007-10-05T23:10:00.001-10:00

Ok, I'm a little late to the game, but I just saw Chris Chinn's post on specialization in point-buy systems.

Let me start by saying that there are a number of things at least potentially wrong with point-buy systems. First, I have trouble with the whole concept of building balanced characters. Characters can never truly be balanced. Different players have different meta-goals within the game. Some want to succeed in combat. Others want to be the center of attention. While you can affect some aspect of these goals through the choices you make during character creation. Other aspects will always emerge from how you play the character, or how you interact with the other players. A "strong" role-player with a "weak" character can often "dominate" the table. This is true for nearly any definition of "strong", "weak" and "dominate."

This leads me to my second, more critical complaint. Point-buy systems force players to master the system in order to build their desired characters. Lets say I want to build a master swordsman. If I'm playing a point-buy game, then I (as the player) must have a strong sense of how to tactically manipulate the system to build an effective sword combatant. If I do a poor job, then the character's in-play abilities will vary significantly from my original intent.

For me, that's a design flaw. I shouldn't have to master the system to build my character--my character should be a master swordsman because everyone at the table buys into the idea. We agree that he is a master swordsman, and as a result, he can do master swordsmanly things.

Of course, none of this really addresses Chris's post. He argued that specialization reduces the opportunities for conflict. Basically, within their realm of specialization, the character dominates. Outside that, they are dominated. Since the conflicts are a foregone conclusion, they are not interesting.

While this seems straightforward enough, something about it bothers me. Sure, overspecialization could be a problem--but I think specialization is an effective way to ensure that each player has a role within the story. Having unique roles is, to me, much more important than trying to balance power levels.

I think there's an assumed definition of conflict here, that is much too narrow for my tastes. I feel that Chris's argument applies to what I call "Mechanics Based Conflicts". Here, success or failure is determined by the roll of the dice. Character decisions are largely tactical. The conflict is considered interesting when it requires several rounds of decision making and die rolling before anyone becomes the clear victor. There is also a strong, underlying assumption that success is always good and failure is always bad. Combat is the most common (and most overused) example of mechanics based conflicts.

Personally, I feel that mechanics based conflicts are incredibly weak. They focus on game play, not story.

Instead, I would like to focus on internal conflicts within the characters. A small innocent child has been possessed by a demon. Do I kill the child, thus removing the threat. Or do I let the child live--struggling to prevent the demon from harming others while I search for a way to banish it. Here, the conflict is the decision that the character must make. Say that I choose to kill the child, the actual combat is unimportant. I should succeed easily--I probably don't need to make a single roll. But, the results of my actions are important. How will I deal with the guilt? How will the child's parents react? How will the townspeople? Once I make a decision to act, the world is profoundly changed, and I must live with the results.

Also, failure should not necessarily be a bad thing. Let's say I make a character who sucks at combat. I get into a fight with the bad guys, and draw my sword. Again, the actual combat doesn't matter. They disarm me and beat me bloody. Big deal. Then they drag me off to their camp, where I'm tied to a tree. Sure, it looks grim, but now things get interesting. I have a chance to uncover clues about their plans, and I must use my silver tongue to try and worm my way out of this mess. In many cases, a good failure can create more interesting stories than a simple success. Had I fought off the attackers, the conflict would have ended. Now, it has grown deeper and more intriguing.

Once the conflict is bigger than simple actions, then the actions themselves loose their significance. We no longer need to balance PCs and NPCs at the action level. We can often get rid of multi-round, multi-roll resolution systems. We're not focused on the action's result, we're focused on the changes those results make in the world. And, from this vantage point, Chris's problems largely vanish.

One last example, look at the Princess Bride. No singe opponent ever comes close to matching Westley with a blade. Yet, he is forced to surrender when outnumbered by Humperdinck's guards. While in the pit of despair, he is completely at the bad guy's mercy, and he is reduced to using trickery and deceit when recovering from a bad case of the mostly-deads.

Looking at it with an action-focused view, he either dominates or is dominated at every step. Yet, the resulting story is quite satisfying. The movie created numerous, interesting conflicts for Westley, without ever feeling the need to pit him against an opposing sword master of equal skill. We should strive for the same in our stories.

-Rich-

The Magic of Changeling

2007-09-29T23:35:00.001-10:00

A while ago, I wrote an essay about magic systems for story-focused games. That was the theoretical description of good magic systems. This will be a more practical approach, and will hopefully provide concrete examples to some of the earlier, abstract ideas.

I am currently reading White Wolf's Changeling, The Lost, and I feel this game presents a rather unique take on magic--one well worth examining in detail.

Note, this isn't an endorsement or review of Changeling as a game. I may write an actual review in the future, since I do think the game gets a lot of things right, but it also gets some things profoundly wrong. Here, we'll just look at the magic and ignore the rest for now.

I'm sad to admit it, but magic systems usually let me down. Even otherwise stellar games, like Luke Crane's Burning Wheel, often have disappointing magic systems. The magic offers power with little or no cost--or the costs involved don't really enhance the story.

In my mind, magic should be defined by its weaknesses and its limitations. The more personality a magical system has, the more interesting I find it. Pay attention here: I'm not talking about mere resource management or other artificial attempts at balancing characters. I'm talking about how the magic shapes the story. Summoning spirits should feel different than looking things up on Wikipedia--even if you get the same information back.

So, I was quite pleasantly surprised with White Wolf's Changeling, The Lost.

Two themes run through the magic system: dreams and contracts.

The mercurial lands of Faerie are often portrayed as having a dreamlike nature. Time and space no longer proceed linearly. Faerie creatures are often driven by the logic of dreams.

Contracts also play a prominent roll in many fairy tales. Once upon a time, everyone knew to leave out a bowl of milk for the good neighbors. Follow that contract and they'll bring you good luck or clean your kitchen. Forget, even just once, and they will turn against you, sometimes fatally.

Magic in Changeling builds upon these two themes. Here, I'm defining "magic" rather broadly to include all supernatural powers that changelings can access. These powers can be divided into five distinct groups: contracts, pledges, tokens, entering dreams and entering the Hedge.

Contracts

The Fey (and by extension the changelings) get their power through contracts. If a character is immune to fire, it's because his fey master negotiated a deal with fire itself. Each power within the game represents a clause in this contract. As such, each clause has a cost that the character must pay to invoke it's particular power (usually paid in willpower or glamour). More interestingly, each clause has a catch. This is a loophole. If the character can fulfill the condition of the catch, then they can use the power without any cost.

Most of the catches reinforce the fairytale feel of the game, or enhance the flavor of the power. For example, Might of the Terrible Brute's catch allows you to boost your strength for free when fighting multiple opponents bare handed.

I think the best catches not only reinforce the flavor of the power, but also involve situations that the characters can engineer--but only with great difficulty. For example, Phantasmal Bastion's catch requires the changeling to carry a token of favor (ring, garter belt, etc.) given to him by a living enemy or one of the enemy's loved ones or family members. Achieving that would require a story in itself.

Even more interesting are the goblin contracts. These represent rogue or black market contracts. They can prove quite powerful, but they always have a flaw. Fair Entrance allows you to open any lock or door--but the next time someone with hostile or malevolent intent tries to enter the changeling's vehicle or home, they will find it similarly unlocked. I wish all the contracts were goblin contracts--oh, what an interesting game that would be. Unfortunately they play a relatively minor roll in the game. But, they're there, should your character wish to explore them.

Pledges

While contracts represent formalized agreements with the powers of nature, pledges let Changelings gain power from deals and negotiations they make with others. Each pledge has four parts: the task you must perform, the boon you will gain while completing the pledge, the sanction you will suffer if you break the pledge and the duration. The tasks and sanctions must balance out the boon and duration. Performing a difficult task or accepting a severe sanction can let you gain a great boon or have the pledge last for a long time.

The free-form nature allows you to create many different effects. The main benefit of the task could be the boon. A changeling agrees to work on cars left in the garage overnight, while the human agrees to leave out a bowl of milk. In return, the human gains a point of Resources, while the Changeling gains a point of glamour each night.

Or, the main benefit could simply be the supernatural enforcement of the promise itself--especially when you trick someone into performing an unpleasant task or sacrificing their own life.

Finally, when you make pacts with other Changelings, you must fully describe all aspects of the pact, and both parties must enter into it willingly. However, you can make agreements with mortals without necessarily letting them know what they're getting into. In the right hands, a casual promise over drinks could turn into a binding contract that the mortal will regret for the rest of his (now short) life.

Tokens

Tokens are faery magical items. In many ways, they act like goblin contracts. When a changeling wishes to use it, he must make an activation roll (or pay a point of glamour for automatic activation). Tokens also have a catch, which allow automatic activation (and, also, allow non-changelings to activate the item).

Like goblin contracts, all tokens have a drawback. Play with fire, and you will get burned. I highly approve.

I think you could have a lot of fun with a token in mortal hands. Their need to constantly fulfill the catch could provide a trail of clues that the Changeling could follow.

Entering Dreams

Changelings have the innate power to enter and manipulate dreams. Changelings must usually gain access to another's dreams as part of a pledge (see above). Once inside, the changeling can perform a number of actions: they can analyze the dream, they can implant suggestions into the dream, they can lessen the intensity of nightmares or invoke nightmares, they can induce a healing sleep, teach in the dream or attempt psychotherapy. Changelings can also search for dream poison--the true Fey's malicious influence in dreams, and remove any poison they find. There are even special rules for dream combat.

Additionally, the changelings can perform dream weavings. Here they weave a dream into a vessel. The next time someone sleeps while touching the vessel, they will experience the dream. This allows a changeling to create a stuffed animal that induces a healing dream, or a wiled-eyed doll that generates nightmares. You can even bind your contracts into these dream vessels, triggering the contract during the dream.

Entering the Hedge

The Hedge represents the borderland between Earth and Faerie. It's a treacherous, labyrinthine terrain, and no changeling would enter it without good reason. Just stepping inside and you risk becoming lost, falling victim to those who live in the Hedge, or being found again by the True Fey.

Like dreams, changelings often have the ability to reshape the Hedge around them. Unlike dreams, this is usually not under their conscious controll--and it's usually driven by their darker emotions and instincts.

Fortunately, there are several reasons to tempt the Hedge.

Changelings may search for Goblin Fruits. Eating these fruits often provide some magical benefit (or curse). Healing fruits are the most common, but stranger effects are also known.

More dramatically, changelings can use the Hedge as a shortcut. You could, if you dared, walk from New York to Paris. Similarly, you could try to use the Hedge to sneak inside a locked building. Ironically, short-distance, tactical use is often harder than long-distance journeys. So, while you can use the Hedge to escape pursuit--you should think twice before giving it a try.

Changelings may also have Hollows, or safe havens, within the Hedge. These are cleared areas, that the changelings can use as homes or hideouts. A changeling's hollow often produces reliable crops of goblin fruit, and may have some supernatural defenses.

Finally, Changelings often enter the Hedge to engage in Hedge Duels. These formalized combats are often used among Changelings to settle disputes, and combine mundane attacks with the ability to shape their surroundings.

The Dark Side

Don't get me wrong, the magic system is not without it's flaws. Regular contracts are somewhat boring compared to goblin contracts. Many of the powers have few dramatically significant uses--and if it doesn't have a dramatic use, why bother building mechanics for the ability. Often the catches seem disappointingly bland. And the game gives us a relatively limited range of powers.

Worse yet, the powers are often grouped oddly. Boon of the Scuttling Spider, which lets you walk on walls a la Spiderman, is the four-dot Darkness clause. If you want to learn this, you must first learn three other, unrelated Darkness powers.

And, while I like the idea of Pledges, the pledge mechanics are very complicated. There are a number of ways to create pledges--each with their own benefits and limitations. The types of Tasks, Boons, Sanctions and Durations are specifically enumerated: requiring flipping through several pages of rules to build even the simplest pledge. Fortunately, the authors provide a number of good examples.

But, all in all, I think the magic system does a fine job supporting the game's underlying themes, while giving magic a distinct personality. None of the powers are particularly strong. And changelings have to do a lot more planning and legwork than other NWOD supernaturals. Simply using an ability can generate entirely new conflicts or subplots. But, with a little wit and elbow grease, a changeling can pull off remarkable feats--tricks worthy of the best fairy tales.

Rules: The Game World's Physics

2007-08-23T22:00:00.001-10:00

Recently, I've been running White Wolf's Scion, and I'm afraid that I'm less than pleased with the results. Now, don't get me wrong. I think this is a wonderful idea for a game. But, man have they burdened this baby with rules.

Combat is probably the worst offender. In Scion, combat involves a complex, cyclic initiative chart. There are a number of specifically described actions. Different actions take differing amounts of time, and inflict various penalties on your defense values. Sure, they've made a nod towards more-story-focused combat by representing minor opponents using stripped-down rules, but that has little real affect on play. Combat still involves a lot of rolling, calculating and tracking. It's slow. It's tedious. And, for me, it does not capture the action-oriented cinematic grandeur that I want from this game.

If something's not working, then I should change it, yes? I'm afraid, in this case, the answer may be no.

Here's the problem. In any game, the rules represent the laws of physics for that game world, they describe how the world works. They also provide a common vocabulary for describing the characters and creatures in the game. Specifically, the players use the language of rules to express their character idea. The character's description/rule pair represents a real contract between everyone at the table.

It would be grossly unfair for me to arbitrarily change the way the world works. I would be violating our unspoken contract.

This became painfully clear to me several years ago. D&D 3rd edition had just come out. Even though D&D was not "our thing", we picked up the books and decided to give it a try for nostalgia's sake. Surprisingly, it was more fun than any of us expected. However, I played somewhat fast and loose with the combat rules. I abstracted away the exact positioning and movement rules. In my mind, this made the game faster, more cinematic and more fun.

However, after a few sessions, one of my players blew a gasket. He had built a fighter using feats that depended on the positioning rules. These feats represented, in his mind, his character's signature moves--but, since I did not use those rules, he never had a chance to show them off. Here, the solution was simple. We found a way to let him use his abilities within the abstract-combat framework. Still, the situation really opened my eyes. I never thought that changing the rules would negatively affect any of my players' ability to have fun.

Some people argue that you should never modify a game's rules. They claim that games are built with a given purpose in mind. The game rules, if well designed, should fit the desired style of play. If you want a different style of play, it's better to look for a different game, then to make ad hoc changes.

I'm not sure I buy this argument. First, it assumes that all games are well designed. I'd argue that many games imply one style of play through the descriptive sections of the game (flavor text, the background, game fiction, etc.) but the rules themselves suggest a very different style of play. White Wolf has, in my mind, often fallen into this trap. Their games typically describe a very story-centric style of play--but the actual rules lean heavily towards the tactical.

Also, if you bought the game, why shouldn't you change it. After all, the whole point is to have fun. If changing the game means more fun, go for it. However, everyone should be involved in (or at least explicitly informed of) any changes to the system. As long as everyone is on the same page, there should be no problem.

Story games represent a somewhat different challenge. Many narrative games have "soft" rules. These guidelines do not attempt to tie down and describe every last detail. Instead, they give everyone a bit of wiggle room. They use fuzzy descriptions like, "Get a +2 dice bonus on any actions that further your defined goals." So, when does this modifier apply? Whenever we agree that it applies. Yeah, that's never going to cause arguments.

In general, I agree with the narrative approach. The world is far to complex to model in any serious way. Therefor any attempt at fully defining a world (whether real or fictional) is doomed to fail. A better approach is to make quick, flexible guidelines that can be easily adapted to any situation.

I feel that hard and fast rules are really an illusion. They give you the impression that everything is explicitly and cleanly defined--but when dice hit the table, people are still making judgement calls.

But it's true, softer rules can create greater opportunities for miscommunication between players. In any game, when I write down my character, I have a strong view of what he can and cannot do in the game. However, that view is based on my assumptions over how the rules will be applied. When you look at my character sheet, you will get a different view based on your own assumptions. The softer the rules are, the greater the assumptions and the greater these differences can become. If left unchecked, this can be a real problem.

In my mind, there are three main solutions:

1) Explicitly communicate expectations. If there's a cool move that you want your character to perform, talk it over with the GM and make sure you're both on the same page. It's best to do this before the game starts, but don't be afraid of making mid-course corrections when necessary.

2) Trust your fellow players. Often times we use the rules as a security blanket, as a way to protect our character from the whims of the GM or the other players. However, if you're all there for the same purpose (in my case, creating outstanding stories), then you don't need the rules (or the illusion of rules) to protect you.

3) Focus on story, not tactics. The more you focus on the tactical side of the game, the more important rules are. If you're playing a story-centric game, don't fall into the tactics trap. Remember, combat is not necessarily conflict. Combat must serve a greater role within the story. It must reveal something about the characters, or there's no point. Focus on the real questions: why did this combat occurs? what effects will this combat have on the character's world? Don't focus on the results.

So, having said all that, what am I going to do about my Scion game? Unfortunately some of the players are real rules-lawers. Good role-players, but they also like to engineer their characters. So, unfortunately, changing the rules is probably out.

Instead, I'll try to engineer the situation. I'll try to distribute the job of running the combat among the players at the table. Someone can run the initiative wheel. Someone else can track legend expenditures and the corresponding rolls. If a player's character isn't involved in the fight, I might let them take control over some of the NPCs.

It's not a perfect solution, but it should let me focus more on the story and less on combat.

Do you have any other suggestions? If so, leave a comment. Thanks.

-Rich-

Harry Potter and the Lost Art of Making Players Cry

2007-07-30T22:19:00.001-10:00

OK, I just finished reading that new Harry Potter book. Don't worry, I'm not going to include any spoilers here. Just a general observation, I was rather amazed with J. K. Rowling's marketing skills. By publicly stating that some important characters would die, she changed the very way I read the story.

Of course, it helped that she has already killed off several important characters. She was clearly willing to follow through on her threats. As a result, any time the action heated up, I thought "This could be it. This could be the end."

She had effectively stripped away the protagonists plot invulnerability. She also managed to emotionally involve me, and make me actively worry about the characters. And, I'm sure, the story was better as a result.

Joss Whedon pulled a similar stunt in Serenity. By killing off Wash, he raised the stake for the final battle with the Reavers. He sent a clear message--if Wash could die, then anyone could die. This definitely cranked the tension to 11.

So, how does this apply to RPGs? I would like to bring this kind of added tension to the table. The naive answer is easy, kill a character or two. If characters can die, and if they players know that characters might die, then conflicts will have an added level of tension.

But, wait just one second. Different players have widely different views on PC death. Some people hate having their characters die. They spend a lot of time creating their characters, they invest a lot of emotion and time into their stories. They don't want them snuffed out by a few bad die rolls. Killing their character may well ruin the game for them, or cause them to stop playing entirely.

Also, if character death is common, then the players will begin treating their characters as disposable placeholders. They will hesitate to invest a lot of time and energy into any one character, since that effort will likely be wasted.

So, to optimize the power of PC deaths, they must be possible but rare. Also, PC deaths should represent important moments of high drama--not just the result of a bad roll. Clearly, this isn't easy to pull off. So, what's the solution? I'm frankly not sure. Sometimes you can mimic PC death by killing off an important NPC. Sometimes you can plot out a character's dramatic demise with the player's permission and input. But neither of these feel like adequate solutions. They address corner cases and exceptions, not the real heart of the matter.

So, let's turn the situation on its head for a second. Many independent games use a stake-setting mechanic. During any conflict, each player explicitly states what they are willing to risk before any rolls are made. While I understand the reason behind this--for example, it helps reduce miscommunication and misunderstandings--I always find myself bristling at these rules. In part, I think they adds too much meta-talk, which distracts me from the story. Mostly, however, I feel that it leaches the excitement out of the conflict.

If I can set the stakes, then I can limit the amount I am willing to risk. I know, before I pick up the dice, that I will never face unacceptable resolution. However, real drama comes from stepping over the lines. From moving past what is safe and what is comfortable. And uncertainty always heightens tension.

I don't need to risk my character's life every time the dice fall from my fingers, but when I look across the table at the GM, and I have no idea what might happen--that's when real fear sets in. My pulse races; my palms sweat; I shake the dice nervously, afraid to let them go. That's exactly the kind of energy I want in my games.

-Rich-

Control of the Character

2007-07-10T00:48:00.001-10:00

As I mentioned in my last essay, I generally feel that a player should have complete control over his character. This is necessary at some level to protect the character's core image--the image that I had in my head when I created him. However, while this idea sounds nice, it's not so simple.

There are (at least) two issues here: character control and character change. Let's look at each one in turn.

Character Control

First, let's draw a line between control and influence. When an NPC blackmails my character into murdering an innocent child--he's not controlling my character. I (the player) still have complete control over the character's actions. However, the in-game situation definitely influences which decision I might eventually make.

But, what happens when that influence becomes so overwhelming that it robs me of any real choice? Is this influence, or is it control? I'm not sure. Heavy-handed influence is probably not as interesting, story-wise, but it doesn't feel like the GM is violating my character's integrity either. At least, as long as it's a rare occurrence, and it flows naturally from the story.

Then again, lets turn this discussion around. As the GM, I often want the ability to manipulate the characters. The classic example is a fear check. When I throw a hideous beast from the pits at my characters, I want something in the game mechanics that helps portray the quaking-in-boots fear that the characters should feel. Many games contain "fear check" mechanics for this very reason. However, each time I force someone to make a fear check, I am forcing my (or at least the game system's) will upon their character. I am, at least in some small way, violating the character's integrity.

Same thing applies to mind control, or--to take an extreme view--combat. If the system imposes a -4 modifier on actions due to injuries, then it's simply influencing my choices. But, knock my character unconscious or (heaven forbid) kill him, and I suddenly lose all control.

And then there's the sticky issue of PC Immunity. In many games, a character's social skills can influence the behaviors of NPCs, but these same skills do not work on the player characters. No matter how high your manipulation attribute and your fast talking skill, you have to convince your friends based strictly on the strength of your argument. The game mechanics won't help you here.

This can easily become an unstoppable-force/unmoveable-object situation. My character is a master con man. His core image is based on his ability to manipulate others, yet I cannot effectively manipulate the people I interact with the most, the other PCs. Their characters' immunity harms my character concept. On the other hand, if you let me manipulate their characters, then we are stripping them of their power. You can't have both. Someone must lose.

Here's the real problem--we cannot avoid some amount of external influence over our characters. And this is not necessarily bad. Few people object to combat, mind control or fear effects. But when it comes to seduction rolls, that seems to cross an invisible line.

I don't think we can really quantify the difference between good manipulations and bad manipulations. Indeed, I suspect the line will change depending on the level of trust between the players, the type of story being told, and the personalities involved (both player and character).

My only recommendation is this: as much as possible, move the mechanics from controlling to influencing. Often you can accomplish this by adding temporary personality attributes, like "afraid of hideous monster (4)", or "desires Betty Lou (2)". Then reward the character for acting according to these personality traits, and give them negative modifiers whenever they struggle against the attributes. The player still has complete control, but the mechanics now exert some level of influence.

This method works really well for things like fear checks. The player gets a bonus to rolls for all-out defense, or for running away (or possibly for attacking if he gets backed into a corner). He gets negative modifiers for any direct action against the source of his fear. And this makes sense. I can run faster scared than you can angry. Meanwhile, trembling hands make it hard to aim.

But other things, like mind control and seduction, don't always fit this mold. Mind control seems more like a binary state. Either I'm reduced to a big meat puppet, or I throw off the psychic shackles and I'm free. Any struggle for control should be treated as a conflict and given the attention it deserves.

Similarly, seduction, fast talking, and other social skills--the personality system might work, but I have my doubts. Let's say Betty Lou successfully seduces me. If I walk away, when does the negative modifier apply? I guess I could get a negative modifier on any action due to pent up frustration and distraction (at least until I get a cold shower)? Hmm. That might work. But, if I agree to her advances, what does the positive modifier mean? Probably best not to think about that.

And what about fast-talking. Matchstick Mark makes a successful roll and convinces me to invest in his emu-farming scam. Now, how do we model this using positive and negative modifiers?

To be honest, social manipulation skills are really a pain in the butt. But they're a necessary evil. We don't expect the swordsman's player to actually know anything about sword-fighting. Yet we do expect a certain amount of wit and charm from the roguish swashbuckler. Social manipulation skills help us play characters that are more dashing and more witty than our real selves. Yet, no one is satisfied when a character (PC or NPC) is convinced by dice alone.

I'm not sure what the answer is, but I feel that the same basic rules should apply to both PCs and NPCs. That the same mechanics should be used to battles with both blades and wits. And that this probably means giving up some control of my characters--indeed, some games force players to give up a considerable amount of control, and some manage to pull it off with a considerable amount of style. But I still feel the rules should lean more towards influencing a players choices (or better yet, providing the player with choices), rather than controlling his character outright.

Character Change

I've said it before, and I'll probably say it again. No character concept survives contact with the story.

No matter how much time and effort I put into my character, simply interacting with the game world will change him. At the very least, he will gain an emotional attachment to the NPCs and PCs he encounters. He may despise them and secretly plot their demise. Or he may love them and wish to protect them, even at the cost of his own life. Regardless, my character will grow and change. And this is a good thing.

But here's the interesting bit. This is really just another example of change driven by an outside influence. Why is this change good, but having a GM "violate my character concept" bad?

The main difference seems to be, in one case the game world (through the GM and other players) offers a stimulus to change, but I (as the player) stay in control. I decide when and how my character will react. However, when someone violates my character concept, they are forcing me to change against my will.

But I think it's more complicated than this. We, as players, seem to have an acceptable level of change. And, for the most part, this level is dynamic. As we become more emotionally involved with the story, we are more willing to accept changes to our original character concept.

So, part of the challenge might become very simple. If I, as the GM, want the players to respond, I need to engage them emotionally. Of course, that's easy to say. How do I actually do that? Let's look into our bag of GM tricks and pull out the trusty plumber's helper--let's introduce conflict.

So, you want the characters to be afraid of an NPC. Don't just describe the ichor dripping off the thousand worm-like tentacles writhing from its unholy maw. Descriptions, while they can build and enhance the mood, do not create a real emotional reaction. Instead, grab them with some sort of conflict. Have the beast threaten something the characters care about. Perhaps he has a hostage. Perhaps he has the power to inflict suffering on the innocent. Perhaps he possessed your character's mother, and is using her to confront the party.

The players may not react the way you wish. That is their prerogative. But they will react. Combine this with the temporary personality modifiers we discussed earlier, and you're offering a highly-charged opportunity for change. The players are more likely to positively engage with this opportunity, and incorporate the idea of fear more fully into the story. And that's what we really want. We want the characters to buy into the story and positively contribute to it.

Thematic Batteries

2007-06-27T21:09:00.001-10:00

I'm a big fan of Paul Tevis's gaming podcast Have Games, Will Travel. Paul has shown real support for independent role-playing games, and I always feel that there are a lot of similarities between his play style and mine.

Recently, I listened to his interview with Joshua BishopRoby, the designer of Full Light, Full Steam. Based on their discussion, I desperately want to get my hands on this game.

In particular, their discussion of the game's thematic batteries really piqued my interest. I think this is a powerful, general concept that could be used in a wide range of games. Mind you, I've only heard descriptions of these rules, I haven't read them or tried them in play.

Basically, these are player-defined descriptors for the character. A thematic battery must have both positive and negative aspects. During play, you gain points every time the bad side is invoked. You can then use these points to give yourself appropriate in-game advantages later on.

For example, you might take "Youth" as a thematic battery. During play, you will struggle with being young. People won't take you seriously, or listen to your ideas. They won't trust you to do things on your own. You're looked down on, and talked down to. However, having suffered all this, you can then use your youth to your advantage--perhaps convincing the guard that you're just a lost child who needs help finding his way home.

This hits several big issues for me. Players are encouraged to create a strong, core concept for their character. Players are also encouraged to build conflict into their character, and they're rewarded for playing out these conflicts at the table.

However, the really interesting thing is that thematic batteries seem to incorporate other players in building and maintaining your characters core concept. As I understand it, the other players should introduce conflicts for your character based on your thematic batteries.

But here's my question, how far does this go? If I'm playing a character with a "Veteran" thematic battery, can someone else decide that I have a limp from an old war wound? Does that limp then become a permanent part of my character's description?

Typically, I consider character concepts inviolate. I resent any actions by other players or the GM that alters my character in any way. But, I must admit, I am intrigued by this idea of communal character building.

There are a couple reasons I think this might work. First, since the alteration is based on my thematic battery, it should (more or less) fit within my character concept. Secondly, since that aspect of my character is created at the table, during a dramatic moment, it is more likely to be remembered. It is therefor more likely to become a vital part of the ongoing story. Finally, I see this working somewhat like improvisational jazz. I trust the other players to listen to the tune I'm trying to create for my character, then improvise a riff that harmonizes with my groove. Basically, they should try to help me bring my character idea to life--not use the rules to screw me over or score a cheap laugh.

So, if anyone's actually read the rules (or played) for Full Light, Full Steam, or if you've seen similar mechanics in action, please let me know. This is an area I'm interested in exploring more fully.

Thanks,

-Rich-

Decisions That Matter

2007-06-12T21:27:00.001-10:00

OK, in a number of posts, I've mentioned that players must make decisions that matter, but I never really stopped to explain what "decisions that matter" means to me.

Put simply, for the players to be actual participants in creating the story, their characters must be faced with real decisions that have a significant impact on the story. In many (if not most) games, characters are usually faced with false choices. Ether there's only one obvious answer, or no matter what the character chooses, the GM will railroad the story back to his desired story-line.

Sounds easy, but actually enabling stories in play often feels quite difficult. As I see it, these decisions come in three broad categories: pre-scene decisions, mid-scene decisions and post-scene decisions.

Pre-Scene Decisions

Pre-scene decisions represent all the decisions that the characters make before actually starting a scene. Again, I'm interested in conflict here, not necessarily combat. The characters might be preparing to present their case in court, or perhaps the want to sell the queen's jewels on the black market. Whatever. Pre-scene decisions include all the plans and preparations that the characters make before voluntarily stepping into a potentially difficult situation.

In many games, these are the only real decision a character can make. They are also often the bane of many traditional GMs. After all, the characters often decide to do something unexpected. Instead of hiking through the Dark and Dangerous Forest of Doom, they head south, catch a boat and cruse on up the coast. Meanwhile, the GM, who spent six hours carefully crafting an ambush by half-orc, half-owls, silently grinds his teeth as his blood-pressure skyrockets.

Not surprisingly, many GMs pride themselves at "adapting" to these decisions. Note the quotes. Instead of organically creating new conflicts in response to the player (what I'd consider true adaptation), the GM simply railroads the characters back into his pre-prepared story. In the above example, a sudden storm sinks the characters' ship. As they drag their waterlogged bodies to shore, the party finds itself lost in the Dark and Dangerous Forest of Doom (complete with impatiently waiting orc-owls).

Notice how the GM's reaction robs the characters' decision of any real meaning. No matter what they chose, they ended up ambushed in the forest.

However, railroading is not as simple as it appears. Clearly, blatant and obvious attempts at railroading are bad and should be avoided, but there are some railroading-like behaviors that actually improve the story. Let me explain.

Let's say the GM wants to introduce a new source of conflict. He decides that the Big Nefarious Bad Dude is going to try and kidnap an overly cute 5-year old who lives next door. The players will see the kidnapping in progress, thwart it, and thus get pulled into BNBD's Big Nefarious Plot. In his notebook, he jots down that the kidnapping will happen exactly at midnight tomorrow.

However, the players decide to hang out at a dwarven strip club until 3:00 a.m. Now, some GMs might let the kidnapping happen as scripted. BNBD nabs the girl while the characters are gone. They don't know anything about it. Sure, this avoids railroading--but it also kills the story. The characters never encounter BNBD, and that entire conflict disappears in a puff of smoke. (sure, you might create an acceptable story hook using the post-kidnapping, grief-stricken parents--but, for the sake of this example, lets ignore that option).

As an obvious alternative, just delay the kidnapping until the characters are on their way home. Midnight? 3:00 A.M.? What's the difference?

Is that railroading? Maybe. But I feel that important parts of the story should not happen off-scene. If the characters are going to be the protagonists, they need to be present at most (if not all) important scenes.

Also, I think there's a real difference here. In the D&DFoD example, the characters are forced into the GM's pre-scripted scene. In the BNBD example, the scene is simply delayed until a more-dramatically appropriate time. It could be delayed indefinitely. If the characters left town, the child would be safe until they returned. Indeed, the scene may never happen. However, as soon as an appropriately dramatically moment arrives, the girl gets nabbed.

A less-common form of pre-conflict decision is the old disease vs. cure argument. What do you do when the cure is just as bad as the disease?

Here the characters have a potential solution (or partial solution) to their problems, but it comes at a cost. These decisions usually focus on moral conundrums: a deal with the devil, a ruthless means marginally justified by the ends, or any other variation on this theme.

While I really enjoy throwing moral conundrums at my players, it must be used sparingly. First, it's hard to properly balance the two options. Too often, all the characters will unanimously agree that one course of action is clearly better than the other. The conundrum then degrades from a real decision to a mere frustration.

Ideally, I try to split the party, where some of the characters choose option A, and others want option B. This forces the characters to make a real decision, while also adding a juicy layer of intraparty conflict.

And remember, a continuous stream of moral dilemmas may make the game feel too heavy, or too frustrating. Besides, anything becomes boring when repeated too often.

One last warning. Decisions are good, but don't let the players spend all their time planning. Some players get so wrapped up in making the decision, they never get around to the actual story.

Mid-Scene Decisions

These decisions occur in the middle of scene. They can be incredibly powerful, and lead to strong stories. However, they're the hardest to orchestrate.

For example, the characters could be faced with a lumbering hoard of mind-controlled soccer moms. Do they protect themselves and the other shoppers at the Uptown Mall by grinding the hoard into a slurry of bone and red goo? Or do they try to free the moms from the preternatural domination (a risker but less messy approach).

Mid-scene decisions force the characters to react in real time. They don't have the luxury of sitting back and discussing the issue. The soccer moms are battering their way into the food court, and the characters must make a decision NOW!

Most of the time, these decisions emerge naturally from play. The old "those who fall behind get left behind" conundrum. Two characters are dying, and you only have one potion of healing left. Life's rough that way.

Sometimes, mid-scene decisions occur because the players uncover new information in the middle of a conflict. Any information that changes the nature of the conflict can force the players to make new decisions on-the-fly. Do they continue with their existing plan, or do they change course to either take advantage of a new opportunity or avoid a new obstacle.

Again, it's often hard to tune this new information properly. Often, the correct course of action is clear. In this case, it's really just a twist. Nothing wrong with that. Many excellent stories contain surprises and twists. But, it's not a decision that matters.

Post-Scene Decisions

While not as common, I think post-conflict decisions could be one of the most effective tools in the GM's toolkit. Like the mid-scene decisions, these decisions are created when the characters gain new information during a scene. Unlike the mid-scene decisions; however, the information does not directly affect the current conflict. Rather, the information will cause the characters to make some decision after the current scene has ended.

Again, a story should progress as follows:

GM introduces conflict
Players react to the conflict
GM reacts to the players' actions by introducing new conflict
Players react to the new conflict
Shampoo. Rinse. Repeat.

Notice how these decisions fit nicely into that framework.

Also, mid-scene decisions often involve a dramatic moral quandary. The post-scene decisions can be more flexible. Almost any sort of clues create a post-scene decision. A mysterious stranger is spotted lurking in the shadows during the big fight scene. Who is he? Friend? Foe? What can the characters do to find out?

The characters must first interpret the clue, and then they must decide how the clue will impact future actions. Ideally, this will make the characters proactive, driving them to actively seek out more information.

Proactive characters are, by definition, not following the GM's script. They are charting their own course thought the story. And the GM (and by extension, the antagonists) are reacting to the players. This is ideal, but often hard to achieve.

Note that post-scene decisions require multi-layered scenes. A (long) while ago, I suggested that all scenes should do at least two things (here). It's not just a fight. It's not just a clue. It's a clue revealed during a fight (or as the result of a fight).

Finally, pre-scene and post-scene decisions are largely opposite sides of the same coin. Both occur between scenes. As such, the amount of time spent deliberating and plotting should be kept to a minimum (pacing issues are really beyond the scope of this essay, but the bulk of the game time should be spent in actual scenes dealing with real combat). I think the pre- and post-scene decisions are subtly different, however.

Pre-scene decisions focus on the upcoming scene. The decision focuses on how the characters will achieve some goal. Post-scene decisions focus on what the characters will do with a new piece of information. Of course, once the characters address the what-question, they will naturally turn to the how-question.

In many ways, the transition from post-scene to pre-scene decisions represents a switch from strategic to tactical planning. Obviously, strategic decisions will have a larger impact on the game. Post-scene decisions therefore matter more than pre-scene decisions (at least, according to my definitions).

But, tactical decisions are important too. They are often vital for setting the story's tone or atmosphere. Do the characters sneak in, or do they kick in the front door? Either way, they will likely rescue the princess. But you end up with two, very different stories.

Well, that's the basics. There are definitely some rough edges on this idea. As always, let me know what you think.

-Rich-

Another piece of the GM puzzle

2007-06-05T21:58:00.001-10:00

Over the course of this blog, I've spent a lot of verbiage exploring the role of a GM in a story-based RPG. The general movement in narrative games is to reduce or completely eliminate the GM. However, I feel the GM plays a vital role in story creation--or at least in the creation of the stories that interest me.

For a brief overview, check out any of these essays: Controlling Players, Eyes and Ears, Character Integrity, Impossible Things, Story is Structure and My Original Manifesto.

Ironically, my last essay (on player-generated conflict) helped me better explore the borders of the GM's role. As I thought about the issues more, I've come up with another central role that the GM plays. The GM introduces and manages conflict.

OK, it's not really a new idea. I've picked at the edges for a while now, and it seems pretty obvious. But, the implications are not so straight forward. I'm really talking about drawing a line between introducing conflict and creating the plot. GMs should introduce conflict, while the plot should emerge from the interactions between the players and the GM. The GM introduces a bit of conflict. The characters respond. The GM then responds to the characters' actions by either introducing new conflicts or causing the existing conflicts to evolve. Meanwhile, the plot grows organically.

The difference between plot and conflict may seem overly subtile, but I think it's important. Saying that the GM creates the plot assumes that the GM knows how the players will respond--or, worse yet, that the characters' responses ultimately do not matter. The GM can plan it all out (more or less) in advance. The plot will continue on its expected course regardless of what the characters do.

If we are going to create real stories at the table, the characters must make real decisions that have real effects on the game. If the GM creates the plot, then the story is already written, and the group is just acting out his script. Don't get me wrong, a lot of interesting games follow this model. But, it's not really a story, or at least, not a communal story.

Now, if you've been paying attention, you may feel that my new emphasis on GM created conflict contradicts the advice I gave last time. True, my last essay largely encouraged players to explicitly design a central conflict for their characters, but that was the central conflict for a character arc. The GM should manage (most of) the conflict for the story's plot.

Stories often contain both character arcs and an overall plot. An in-depth description is beyond the scope of this essay; however, there are a lot of good writing references that cover both. Briefly, a character arc focuses on how a particular character changes and develops during the story. While the plot focuses on the central conflict that binds all the characters together. Of course, there's some overlap between the two, and each one will affect the other.

So, I'm not suggesting that the GM is the sole source of conflict. Players can and should introduce their own conflicts. Most of these will become minor subplots. Some may grown and develop into major conflicts in their own right. Every once in a while, one might even take over the story, becoming the plot's central conflict. That's OK. The GM should follow the story where it leads. But, the GM is responsible for making sure that the story has a sufficient level of conflict. That often means introducing new conflicts, but can also involve managing those conflicts already brought to the table.

Furthermore, while a player might introduce an interesting antagonist. The GM is ultimately responsible for breathing life into the NPC. He must weave it into the plot, making it an important part of the story.

The GM must also make sure that the conflicts actually interest the players. Hopefully players have done their part, indicating their desires through flags during character creation and in their character's back-story. Note: this is a bit of a balancing act. The character's skills and abilities usually indicate those things the player wants the character to succeed at. These represent the characters' strengths and they should be a part of the story, but they're often not good sources of conflict.

Imagine a sword-master character. Clearly the player wants the character to win sword-fights. And the character should be given ample opportunity to excel at swordplay. But fencing-based conflicts are unlikely to be very interesting. Either the character will win easily (and there is no real conflict), or the character will face a steady stream of sword-masters with equal or greater skill. The character's identity as a sword-master will largely be destroyed if everyone he meets has an equal or greater mastery of the blade. It's probably best to keep major challenges to the player's key abilities for a climatic encounter.

Instead, conflicts usually come from the characters' weaknesses and failures. The GM should create conflicts that play off the characters' strengths (giving them a chance to shine in the spotlight) while forcing them to confront their weaknesses.

And remember, the conflict needs to engage the character as well as the player. Unfortunately, characters are harder to predict, since a lot of the characters' personalities are developed in play. Still, the GM must introduce conflicts that the characters feel passionately about. And these conflicts must adequately challenge the characters. If the players can just walk away, then it's not a good conflict (or, at least, it's not their conflict). And if the conflict is little more than a speed bump, then it's just not story-worthy.

Finally, the conflict must give the characters frequent opportunities to make meaningful decisions--decisions that will influence the plot's final shape. If the conflict only has one good solution, then the GM is really creating the plot, not just introducing conflict.

Ironically, having an overly-challenging conflict is not necessarily a bad thing. Many interesting stories come from characters facing impossible odds. It's OK for the PCs to retreat on occasion. Let them hide away and lick their wounds. Send them out on quests for allies or magical relics that will level the playing field. After all, nothing makes you hate the bad guys more than getting your ass whooped.

Not surprisingly, these are largely the same criteria I discussed in the essay on character conflict.

After all this, I feel that the GM's role is solidifying in my mind. They have two main functions: providing structure and managing conflict. They also have a number of secondary roles, like creating and maintaining the story's atmosphere, acting as the characters' eyes and ears, and running the NPCs. While these lesser aspects are important to a successful story, they don't compare to the first two.

In fact, conflict is really part of the story's structure. Introducing and managing conflict, controlling the story's pace, maintaining consistency and managing the stories mysteries--all of these are part of maintaining a sound structure. In many ways, by focusing on the difference between introducing conflict and creating plot, I am just adding tighter restrictions on a previously identified role. Well, I can live with that.

Character's central conflict, decision and resolution

2007-05-23T18:24:00.000-10:00

I seem to be a big fan of games that no one else has ever heard of. One such game is Visionary Entertainment Studio's Everlasting series. Don't get me wrong, Everlasting is not without its weaknesses: the mechanics seem a bit math heavy, some of the mechanics are unclear (e.g. reverie) or don't have any real impact on the game (e.g. persona qualities), the "this is more than just a game, it's Legendmaking" tirade gets a bit annoying, and I'm not sure how it will all work in play.

Having said that, the series presents a vast array of character types, each packed with lovely nuggets of story potential, so I'm eager to give it a try. To be honest, if I was given a chance to play, I'm not sure what sort of character I'd make. Dragons, fey, cool vampires, angels, sin-eating gargoyles--there are just too many cool options.

Recently, I completed my Everlasting collection, picking up the Book of the Sprits. Over the last few weeks, I've been making my way through it. And, much to my surprise, I made an unexpected discovery.

When you make an Everlasting character, you select something called the character's Ethos. This is a one-word attribute like child, gloryseeker or trickster.

Keep in mind. I've read the description of Ethos least four times--once for each of the four core rule books. And, until now, I've always dismissed it as a rip-off of the old White Wolf archetypes. This time, however, something clicked inside my brain, and I began to look at the Ethos in a new light.

Ethos, as defined in Everlasting, is not a functional description of how your character typically acts. Rather, it is a meta description of how you, the player, want your character's story to unfold.

If you select the child ethos, you're not just saying that your character will behave with childlike innocence. You're really telling the GM that you want to play out a story that focuses on the loss of innocence.

While not all Ethos are created equally, most of them do two very interesting things. First, they establish a personal conflict for your character. Second, they spell out how the character's story will likely end. A child will eventually grow up and learn to take care of themselves, a gloryseeker will either gain enough wisdom to put their pursuit of fame behind them, or they will achieve the glory they were seeking.

Some Ethos are particularly interesting, because they require an eventual choice by the character. Gloryseeker is an example of this. By choosing this Ethos, you are creating a story that will focus on the character's desire for fame, and the high cost of pursuing fame (the risk to life, limb and friends, as well as the social consequences of becoming famous). At some point, the character will be forced to decide if the cost is too great. Does he put aside the quest for fame? Or does he follow it through despite the damage it will cause?

I think there is real value in explicitly examining these three aspects of a character: the central conflict, the central decision and the potential resolutions. Too often, interesting sounding characters fall flat in actual games. I think that establishing these details during character creation can help ensure that the character will be part of an interesting, dynamic story.

Central Conflict

What is the central conflict our character will face? This is not as easy to describe as it seems. The conflict needs to be something that will make the story more interesting. It must be something the player cares about. Their character cannot trivially choose one side or the other, but must struggle with the issue. Most importantly, there must be real consequences (either good or bad) to both sides of the conflict.

Also, the conflict should not be destructive to the story as a whole. Often player's pick conflicts for their character that make it impossible for the character to realistically work with the others. They then defend their character's bad behavior as "just playing their character."

As far as I am concerned, this is unacceptable. As players, we are responsible for making sure our character fits into the overall structure of the story. Unless we're playing a solo game, that means we are trying to build a story with multiple protagonists. So, we must make sure our central conflicts are compatible with the other protagonists, otherwise the story is doomed.

Remember, conflicts generally start small and grow over the character arc. So pick a conflict that can develop and deepen over time.

Central Decision

The conflict should naturally increase over time. At some point, the conflict's natural progression will reach a climax, and the character will be forced to make an important decision. As before, this cannot be something the character treats lightly. To be interesting, it must be something the character will struggle with.

Most importantly, you should not know how the character will react when the moment comes. If you know the answer from the beginning, then you're just acting out a pre-scripted story. You're not actually creating the story at the table.

Take, for example, alcoholism. This is a central conflict that has a lot of potential for growth and development in the story. And it should naturally lead the character to a decision--do I give up the drink?

However, too often this is not a tough decision. There is no consequence for the character (or the player) in choosing to stop drinking. The other option (continue drinking) offers no real benefits. You can make this decision more interesting by adding a mechanics-based cost when the character stops drinking (modeling the physical and psychological effects of withdrawal). If this cost is high enough, the player may be reasonably hesitant to quit drinking.

For this to be a good central decision, there must be hard consequences on both sides. Again, these consequences can be good or bad, or (most likely) a mixture of both good and bad. Generally, I find bad consequences more powerful, but your milage may vary.

And remember, this represents the expected climax to your character's story. Give it the attention in deserves.

Conflict Resolution

Here, we define the expected successful resolutions for our conflict. There should be one resolution for each potential answer to the central decision.

Again, these are successful resolutions. Look at the gloryseeker. Either the character gains wisdom and abandons the destructive quest for glory, or he achieves the fame he has been seeking. Both of these are (more or less) positive. There is an obvious, third option: the character fails to achieve any fame and dies a small, anonymous death that goes unrecorded. But we're not interested in failure here.

Compare this with alcoholism. It's hard to imagine a positive ending where the character keeps drinking. You might succeed at other things, and if the gamemaster-presented conflict is sufficiently interesting, this may be enough. But there is only one positive solution to the character's central conflict.

I think that's my key point. Regardless of how the conflict is resolved, the character should have a chance at a positive resolution. If only one resolution can lead to a happy ending, then the central decision is a false choice. The character really has no option, sooner or later they will choose the role that leads to success.

Again, a lot of fiction succeeds by having a protagonist struggle with an inevitable decision. But these are passive forms of entertainment. We just watch the story unfold, but have no ability to influence it.

If you choose a conflict that has no meaningful decision, then you are reducing your character's story from a dynamic, participatory story to a largely passive one. You've already scripted out your character's major conflict, and from that point on, you're just watching it unfold.

Naturally, we cannot guarantee that our character's story will follow the arc we lay out. No plan survives contact with the enemy, and no character concept survives contact with the story. So, our conflict, expected decision and expected resolutions may change over time. But if we have thought about these issues and communicated them clearly to the GM, then we're more likely to play out a satisfying story. And that is, after all, the end goal.

Managing the Rules

2007-03-08T00:34:00.001-10:00

So, about two weeks ago I managed to run a New World of Darkness game. It was a mixed game (mages, werewolves and one promethian), which only complicated things. But, as the GM, I focused heavily on the Mage side (I have a strong interest in magic-heavy RPGs. New readers should check out my magic essay for more information.)

While it was fun to be behind the wheel again, one thing quickly became painfully clear. NWD has a lot of rules. And I mean A LOT OF RULES. Instant spells, ritual spells, rotes, spheres, dots, sympathetic magic, temporally sympathetic magic...and that's just scratching the surface on the Mage book.

I spent a significant portion of my mental energy just managing the rules: trying to figure out what characters could do, struggling to plan out the mechanics behind my desired actions. Unfortunately, my brain can only juggle so many balls at once. So, if most of my thoughts are churning over the rules, I'm not focusing on the story. From a tactical and pacing standpoint, I think the evening went OK. But the story definitely felt sub-par.

Now, there's nothing inherently wrong with rules. Rules provide structure, and I've always said that stories need structure. Rules define the physics of the game world. They define the realm of the possible and impossible. They help give the players and the GM a common language for describing a character's abilities, and ideally the language of rules is less ambiguous than everyday English.

Rules also provide a framework for our creativity to build upon. Limits often foster creativity. Many writers say it's hard to write a story when you're faced with a blank page. There are too many options. Too much freedom. But, ask the same writer for a story about a teenage girl on the run from her alcoholic step-father, and the night she had to spend broke at a truck stop...suddenly, the task becomes easy.

Primarily, though, rules provide consistency. A character cannot punch through brick walls one day, then have trouble knocking out a rent-a-cop the next (unless the rent-a-cop is actually a zombie-cyborg in disguise--but how often does that happen).

This is one of the few areas where gaming might be superior to other media. In most movies, novels or comic books, the writers are only limited by their ability. They can have the characters do anything at any time. Good writers keep their characters consistent--but consistency is hard, and even the best writers drop the ball on occasion. It is especially hard for characters in a serial medium (like TV or comic books), or any character that spans several stories.

Games, however, have an extra layer of artificial consistency. It's not perfect, but every little bit helps.

So, rules are not inherently bad. But when the game system forces you to focus on the rules to the exclusion of story, well something's just not right.

As a tactical game, complex rules reward players for mastering the system. The more proficient you are at manipulating the rules, the more power your character can exert in the game. Unfortunately, this creates a feedback loop. We reward players for focusing on the rules. The more they focus on the rules, the more important these rules become. Story soon becomes a remote afterthought.

Also, complex rules make it harder to improvise encounters. If I want to introduce a Death Mage, I need a strong understanding of the Death sphere at my fingertips. Now, if I had time to look up spells, to plan things out in advance, then everything's good. But if I'm winging it...well...lets just say some of my bad guys used their powers in pretty stupid ways.

I had a related problem with the Riddle of Steel. While there are many aspects of that game that I love, the combat system requires a lot of work. I didn't feel that I could just "fake" NPC stats--and characters took a fair bit of time to build. Worse yet, the tactics you use in combat really matter.

As the GM, how do I play the NPCs. If the players are facing an inexperienced swordsman, I can just have them make poor tactical decisions. Pretending to be stupid is not that hard. But what if I want to make an incredible swordsman. While I can give him good stats, his effectiveness is still limited by my tactical abilities. That's fine, if I'm a better than everyone else at the table--yeah, that's gonna happen.

This bleed-over from a player's ability to the character's ability really bothers me.

I suspect these are some of the reasons Narrativist games tend to have simpler rules.

Maybe the NWD system will get better as I get more comfortable with the rules. I'm alternating the GM duties with two other guys, so I'll get a few more shots. Maybe I can partially compensate by planning things out more in advance. But, mostly, I hope I can find players for a less-tactical game.

Zen and the Art of Controlling your Players

2007-02-21T23:48:00.000-10:00

"More beer!" Thurak bellowed as he slammed his bucket-sized mug onto the table.

The mysterious NPC could see the crescent scar it left in the heavy oak. He swallowed, but edged closer. "Excuse me."

"What the hell do you want?" Syrris the Friendly Elf sneered. He was a vicious drunk.

"Are you adventurers?"

"Perha...per...p...," Rallian tried to pry his head from the table, but his own drool seemed to glue it down. "Maybe."

"Right now we're thirsty" Thurak brought his mug down again. "More BEER!"

"I..." the mysterious NPC hesitated, but he had no choice. "I need your help."

"Yeah," Thurak said, "well, wait in line."

"It's my daughter. Gyrfyndon the Black has kidnapped her...."

"Let me guess," Thurak turned a brotworst-size finger towards the mysterious NPC. "You want us to rescue her."

"Y...yes."

"You expect us to just take off, tromp through the Haunted Woods of Terror, climb the Mountain of Despair, break into the Impregnable Fortress of Really Nasty Traps and kill GyrFyndon the Black, Lord of Sticky Brown Wiggly Things?"

"I can pay..." The mysterious NPC held up a small bag of gold.

Thurak dropped a duffle-bag on the table; the coins inside clanged. "We've got gold. What we don't have IS BEER!"

Meanwhile, at a nearby table in the Real World, a GM's head explodes.

Frustrated GMs often wish they had more control over their players. It's understandable. The GM creates an adventure or a cool encounter, then watch in horror as the players step around it. The GM soon gets frustrated because things "aren't going the way they should."

It seems to me, however, that this is a sign that something is wrong with the game.

Much of the problem stems from the nature of role-playing. We all come together to play a game, but if the characters don't go on the adventure, then nothing happens. That's just not fun. As a natural result, PCs tend to eagerly join a group of complete strangers and set off into dangerous situations with little or no motivation. As players, we have been trained to accept this, no matter how ridiculous it seems at the time, because we have no real choice.

First, let me say that avoiding the call of adventure is not a sin--no matter how annoying it seems to the GM. We shouldn't have to settle for paper-thin setups. The PCs deserve strong motivations. The more they are motivated, the more meaningful the story becomes. By resisting the adventure, players are simply expressing their desire for better motivations. Besides, there are many examples in literature where the protagonist struggles against the adventure, only to get sucked deeper and deeper into the problems.

So, next time your players refuse to tramp up the Mountain of Despair, look at it as an opportunity. The real problem isn't controlling the players, it's over planning, lack of motivation and slow pacing.

Avoid Over-planning:

Avoid the natural tendency to over-engineer a story.

Take the typical dungeon crawl, the module describes every detail before the adventure begins. As a GM, you just look up the room number, and you had all those wonderful tidbits at your fingertips. Unfortunately, to me, this comes across as static and cold. Each room is frozen in time, all the NPCs just sit around, waiting for the characters to kick in the door and kill them.

From a game point of view, there's nothing wrong with this, but it makes a lousy story. A story is more than just a series of interesting events. It needs to grow and evolve naturally. It needs to dynamically respond to the players actions--and the players need to dynamically respond to the story. This means less planning and more reacting.

Every GMs knows that sometime, probably sooner rather than later, the players will do something unexpected. It's an unfair setup. You cannot plan for the unexpected--but the unexpected can thoroughly destroy your plans. Still, the simple fact remains, no matter what the players do, the GM must react.

Part of this is just good improv. Accept what the players offer, and then work with it. Maybe you need a moment or two to digest the situation. No problem, call a break. Go get another coke or walk around for a few minutes. But, find a way to build upon the player's actions.

When preparing for the game, avoid planning, but actively build possibilities. Create an encounter--but don't fill in all the details. Focus on the conflicts and the key antagonists, but leave a lot of room for change. Then, during the game session, look for opportunities to bring this encounter to the table. Don't force it in. It must fit naturally in the flow of the story. Be patient. If you can't use it this session, keep it on the back burner for next. But, sooner or later you'll find the right moment.

A more difficult technique involves providing open ended clues. Here, you add a hint of mystery to the game, you give the characters a clue--a mystery that even you don't fully understand. Oh, you may have a few ideas about what the clue might mean. But you leave yourself open to unexpected opportunities.

Remember, if you bring a clue into the game, you have a responsibility to keep it in the game. You have to address the mystery later that session--yes, that very session. You don't have to resolve it--in fact, you probably shouldn't. But you need to bring it back into the game. You need to build upon the existing mystery, adding new hints, clues or twists. And then you must continue to build every session until the mystery is resolved.

Eventually, the mystery will become clear in your mind--but by deliberately leaving things fuzzy at the beginning, you are letting the mystery grow and develop in response to the players actions. In other words, you keep your game tightly bound to the characters. That's a good thing.

Here's a little challenge. Try to run the game without looking at your notes or at the rules. Just wing it for a little while. It's a great exercise for strengthening your improv muscles. It also helps you focus on story, not mechanics. Finally, it ensures that you are reacting to your players, not railroading them down some predefined path.

Give it a try, you might like it.

Maintain a Good Pace

Don't let the story lag.

React to the players, yes. But don't just sit around waiting for them to act.

If the player's won't go to the action, bring the action to them. What are the bad guys doing while they sit on their hands? Sooner or later, the black hats will try something that impacts the character's lives. Cut to that point. Make the PCs' lives "interesting."

The GM can always drive the story forward by throwing things at the players. If they've spent too much time plotting and planning, have a maniac with a shotgun kick in their door. Or, less violently, have the police show up and start asking questions.

To paraphrase Syd Field, chase your characters up a tree, then throw rocks at them.

But, it has to be the right rocks. Remember this point. I'll get back to it soon.

Here's another problem with gaming in general. Most games have a lot of slow scenes. The characters go into a shop and chat with a wacky dwarf with a bad Scottish accent. Sure, it can be quite funny, but it's not moving the story. I feel a lot of slow scenes are falsely justified as "exploring the character" or "character development".

Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying that you should never break out your wacky, bad Scottish accent. Go ahead. Go whole hog. But--again--if you bring something into a scene, you have a responsibility to bring it back into the story later. Sometime soon (preferably before the end of the session, or in the next session at least) that wacky dwarf needs to make another appearance--probably as a corpse.

OK, so having crazed cultists kill the dwarf is an obvious rout. But you can go for mysterious and have him vanish one evening. Or maybe he shows up at the bar raving drunk and angry (although now, you must bring the reason for his anger back into the story later). Whatever. The dwarf must come back into the story, and his return must drive the story forward.

And always remember, don't let the story drag.

How fast should the game go? Well, I've never played a game that felt too quick. I've often played in games that lagged. Take from that what you will.

It's a fact, gaming is an inherently slow medium--especially when die rolls and rules get involved. As players, we often have to take turns. That can mean a lot of waiting for our moment in the spotlight. As a result, I feel that GMs should mercilessly trim any non-relevant material from the game.

A lot of GMs know the basics. They won't actually role-play through a three-month sea journey in real time. Rather, they cut to the destination. But, all too often, the GM waits way too long before closing the curtain on a scene. Too often the GM will wait to see if anyone has anything else to do...and will then role-play through any meaningless errands the characters bring up.

Don't wait for things to lag. Be more aggressive about your editing. If there's something a player really wants to do, she'll stop you. You can always give her more time.

And, think hard before playing out any scene. Does it have conflict? Can you use it to make conflict? If not, you probably should handle it off-scene. Just let the players get what they want and move on.

Here's another exercise. Never say "What do you do?" Ok, maybe not never. If you present the characters with a really tough decision, and their writhing in the throes of conflict, yes. Then you should prod them (it just twists the knife in deeper). But, if nothing's happening, don't ask. Just end the scene. Just move on.

And for goodness's sake, don't let the players waste thirty minutes deciding the watch rotation for a night. I'm begging you. Unless you're playing a tactical game, you don't need to worry about watches and marching order. If it's important to a scene, you can ask--but only ask when it becomes important.

Build Character Motivation

I hate to say it, but most GMs have no clue how to motivate the players. I think, most GMs get so wrapped up in designing a cool encounter, they forget to consider the "Why's". Why would a character go into the Haunted Woods of Terror? Why would they stay and fight the dragon? While these may lead to cool adventures, they're not the actions of sane individuals.

One of the primary jobs for the GM is building player motivation. But it is not the GM's job alone.

Player motivation starts with character creation. All characters should come with built-in desires and goals. The GM should use (and abuse) these in his stories.

Stories start when a character is forced from the comforts of their regular life. They are faced with a new problem, one that they cannot deal with. This is the beginning of conflict. Things should then go from bad to worse. The conflict should rise, until you reach the climax.

Ideally, the players should choose an initial problem for themselves--though, these need to be handled carefully so they will fit into an overall story. Since each player is supposed to be a main character, their self-chosen conflicts are often subordinate to the overall plot. They are the kernel for individualized subplots that help bring the character to life. Meanwhile, the GM imposes a larger, more significant problem that represents the overall story arc.

The key thing here, pick problems that the players cannot ignore.

Next, the GM needs to build the players interest. Don't just ask them to go into the dark and spooky forest, never ask them to go. Make them want to go. Make them need to go. But, this needs to be handled subtly, or the players may feel like they're being manipulated.

OK, remember the rocks I mentioned earlier. You probably thought I forgot about them, right. Wrong. You can build character motivation by picking the right rocks.

Every scene should do at lest two things. It's not enough to have a crazed, shotgun-wielding thug break down the PCs' door. That's only one thing. Same with wolves attacking the campsite. Same with our friendly Scottish dwarf.

When you present a scene, think about both the immediate action and about linking the scene to something larger. Often this is a clue or mystery. Perhaps the shotgun wielding freak has an arcane rune tattooed onto his forehead. Perhaps he severely injures a PC's younger sister, putting her in a coma. Some part of the scene must reach well beyond the boundaries of the scene--even if the players can't see it immediately.

We already talked about the dwarf. That's a perfect example of larger connections. Here, the shopkeeper acts as a setup for future scenes. Similarly, one scene might foreshadow something yet to come.

As the story unfolds, make the characters hate the antagonist. Don't let the black hats degrade into passive straw-men that the PCs just knock down. Make them go after the PCs. Have them trick the PCs. Let them humiliate the PCs. Give the PCs something to care about, then have the antagonist take it away. Have them mess with the PCs' heads.

This is particularly effective when the antagonist is someone the PCs often interact with, but cannot (for whatever reason) move against yet. Usually, this means the antagonist has considerable political or economic power. But, in general, it is a good rule for any bad guy. The more the PCs hate the antagonists, the more meaningful the climax and eventual resolution will become. Pull out all the stops: threats, backstabbing, incrimination, betrayal, taunting, humiliation, frustration. Let them drive the PCs crazy.

Also, don't always use the same sort of conflict. Most of my examples have been heavy on the violent side. In my defense, RPGs are typically action oriented. But you don't always have to use the big stick. Let the opposition use their political, economic and social clout as well. Nothing's worse than an evil switch-hitter.

Finally, don't be afraid to use a little reverse psychology. You want the players to go into the Haunted Woods of Terror, have the NPCs discourage them from going there. Have them beg. Have them order the PCs to stop investigating the woods. Threaten them with arrest if they go anywhere near the woods. But always have some clue, some bit of temptation pulling them towards those dark shadows.

So, that's it. Keep your stories flexible and responsive to the players actions. Keep the pace snappy (and I mean really snappy). And build player motivations. Soon, Thurak will be frothing at the mouth and charging through the Haunted Woods of Terror.

If he's not, you've probably done something wrong.

Darn Spam Comments

2007-02-15T23:41:00.000-10:00

Well, I asked for more comments...

Seems like I've been hit with a mild wave of spam comments. I'm unmercifully deleting them as soon as I discover them. So far, this purely manual approach has worked, but I might need to look for more-permanent solutions. If anyone has any suggestions (other than just turning off comments, which I'd rather not do), please let me know.

I've been mulling over an idea for a post. I'm intrigued with the commonly-felt desire by a GM to force his players along a given path. but I'm way too tired to try and piece it together tonight. Under a big project for school right now--so I'm not sure when it will get posted. But I'll give you a teaser. If you feel the need to force your players along, then something's wrong with the game. The players should be chomping at the bit like a pack of rabid wolf puppies...except you don't use bits on wolves...can horses get rabies?...Too tired...brain broken...sleep now.

-Rich-

Eyes and Ears

2007-01-28T23:19:00.000-10:00

If you've been following my rants, then you already know. One of the things I keep struggling with is the exact role of the GM in the game.

For the most part, I favor the recent, indie-game attempts at empowering players. I even argued that players should have more control over how and when their character's fail.

But, unlike many, I feel the GM still plays a unique and vital role. She is the keeper of the secrets. The knower of all mysteries. She sets the pace and the tone. She keeps a careful eye on consistency, and provides structure--a skeleton on which the story can hang.

And, there's one other important job for our already overworked GM. One that often doesn't get a lot of attention. She is the eyes and ears of each and every character. In some ways, she's part of each character's brain.

Let me explain. I am currently sitting at my kitchen table, looking out across Honolulu. But I'm not seeing the city--not really. There's just too much information, too many details streaming in through my eyes and ears. My mind filters that information based on my personality, my pre-conceived notions and my current mental state. My mind automatically focuses on the few details that are important to me.

Right now, the lights of the buildings look like stars. The city looks full of hope and possibilities. But then, this has been a good day. My family spent the afternoon out at the park, and my daughter and wife are now both peacefully asleep. Work's going good, and I'm ahead on my classes. So, my reaction really isn't surprising.

If someone else was sitting here, they would undoubtedly see a very different scene. Perhaps they would focus on the overcrowding, and the noise of traffic rumbling up to my window. Perhaps they would notice the stretch of run-down apartments huddling in the shadow of the new luxury towers. I can find those things, if I look. I know where they are. I've seen them on other days, when I've been in less-happy moods.

So, what's the point. Well, when the GM describes a scene, she is our window into the world. She is responsible for telling us everything our character sees, hears and feels. She needs to use her descriptions to create atmosphere and mood. And she must taylor the description to each individual character.

Most of the time, GMs just give a plain vanilla description. Everyone sees the same thing. And this is fine for the broad strokes. But the GM should give each character a little taste from their own particular perspective. Maybe not all the time, but the more often the better.

Here's an example. I'm playing a swashbuckler fop who spends an inordinate amount of time on his wardrobe. Mark is playing my partner, a grizzled guardsman who worked his way up into the queen's guard. We're making our way across town to meet a friend, when suddenly...

GM: A figure steps out of the fog ahead of you. "Ah, I'm so glad I found you. There's a change of plan. Jean needs you to meet him down by the docks." You don't recognize the man, but he's dressed in a fine silk doublet and half-cape. On his shoulder he has the insignia of the King's Guard. "Please, follow me. I'll show you the way."

ME: Do I notice anything unusual about him?

GM: Make a perception roll--both of you.

ME: One success.

MARK: Two.

GM: OK, Rich. Something's odd about the hang of his clothes. The doublet seems too loose across his shoulders. Expensive clothes like these should be finely tailored. Clearly these were not tailored for him.

GM: Mark, you notice the way he keeps his weight centered on the balls of his feet. There's a coiled tension to his movements, like he's ready to run at the slightest provocation.

Note, both of us get a clue that something is not right. But our clues are tailored to our character's interests. This helps bring out each character's unique personality. And draws the characters further into the story.

But this is not easy. It's not even hard. It's very, very, very hard. We expect the GM to keep track of all the plots and subplots, mysteries and hints, and now we want them to be familiar with all the character's skills and interests as well. I can tell you now, that's not going to happen.

But, this is a goal worth working towards.

I have two recommendations for the players.

First, ask leading questions. If you want to see the world through fashioned-colored lenses, ask questions about how others are dressed. Bring it up again and again. The GM will eventually get the hint.

Similarly, if your character should know something that you (as the player) don't. Ask. Playing a 16th century scribe, but you don't know how books are bound? Ask. You're playing a courtier but you don't know how to bring up certain questions in polite company?
Ask. The GM can't expect you to be an expert in every aspect of your character's life--especially when your character is different than your real-world persona.

The GM (and the others at the table) may not know the answers. But at least you can agree on a consistent answer for your game world. Most importantly, you will know what your character knows.

This should go without saying, but you should only ask when the question has a direct impact on the story. For example, if you're trying to remove a page from a book without leaving a trace. Or if you're trying to seduce the duke's daughter so that you can plant incriminating evidence upon her person. If it's not important to the story, just let it slide. Please.

Second, and more importantly, each player should select one aspect that is their viewpoint. This should be something that is sufficiently broad so it frequently comes into play, and it should be unique to that player. Finally, the viewpoint should grow organically from the character's background, skills and abilities. I would even recommend creating the viewpoint first, then building the character around it.

I haven't tried this out in play, but my instincts say the viewpoints should start as relatively broad topics. Good examples might be combat, politics, finance or fashion.

The viewpoint represents the way your character sees the world. It is their prime filter.

The GM should then, as much as possible, tailor description through this filter. While it is impossible for the GM to remember all the details of all the characters--she may be able to remember one important detail about each character.

If more than one character wants the same (or similar) viewpoints, then break that general topic up into several smaller sub-views. If two characters want a combat viewpoint, one could take brawls and one could take infantry maneuvers. This helps partition the world into unique world views, while keeping each viewpoint as broad as possible.

If you have any other suggestions on how GMs could tailor information to specific players, please let me know. I have seen a couple of GMs do a good job some of the time, but I have yet to see anyone do a great job across the board. So, I'd definitely be interested in hearing your take on this matter.

What happened to the game stores?

2007-01-19T20:56:00.000-10:00

In the immortal words of Granny Ogg, "I 'ent dead!"

Sorry to be away for so long. Things got kind of crazy around here, starting with finals, then the holidays, then a disaster involving my wife's job. I think things are finally setting down to their usual level of chaos and disorder. But no promises.

Needless to say, I haven't had a lot of time to think about gaming lately. There is something I do want to talk about--but it's a little bit different from my typical rant. More a question, really.

What has happened to game stores?

I've always been a game-store junky. I probably went once a week on average, just to check out the new stock and drool over books I couldn't afford. I always had a long list of purchases that I wanted to make--more than I'd ever be able to read, much less actually play.

Then something changed.

Is it just me, or has something about game stores changed? I don't feel excited when I go in them anymore. I just feel sad. Recently, it's hard for me to find even a single book that appeals to me. I still stop by, maybe once a month now. More out of habit than anything else. Habit an a desperate hope that I will find something interesting.

Back in the day, I would wait in long lines at Gen Con to pick up the newest White Wolf game the first day it was released. I would usually read the entire book by the time I got home. Sure, I've purchased some of the new White Wolf games, but I haven't managed to even read any of them all the way through.

It's not that they're bad. They're OK. But they're not great.

And it's not that I've lost interest in the hobby. I still get excited. But now, it's usually places like Indie Press Revolution (http://www.indiepressrevolution.com/) that leave me drooling. I recently purchased burning wheel (http://www.burningwheel.org/). I devoured all three core rules over a weekend. Why can't I ever find games of this quality in my local store?

What has happened to the game stores? What has happened to the gaming industry?

I don't know. But it makes me sad.

-Rich-

Gameless in Hawaii

2006-10-10T21:35:00.000-10:00

It's a sad, sad state of affairs. I've been in Honolulu for a year and a bit now (that's not the sad part, not by a long shot). But, I have yet to find a local game.

I've done a bit of video iChat gaming with some friends back on the mainland. That was fun, but it's not quite the same.

Now, I'm sure I could find a D&D game. Easy. Heck, I've spotted players hanging out at Coffee Talk. I've talked to gaming groups at the University of Hawaii, Manoa. But, I'm picky.

As you can probably tell by my other posts, I have fairly specific tastes in games. I don't mind games that have a tactical element--but the tactical play must be secondary to the plot. The game must have a strong story.

I also know that I'm much more particular when I'm a player. I can GM for a pack of rabid dogs and still have a good time. As a player, however...lets just say I have very high standards. I've had the pleasure of playing with some outstanding groups in the past. If my current gaming experience don't match those glory days (or my memory of those glory days), I become disappointed.

So, I don't want to just jump into any group. I don't want to put myself through the frustration. More importantly, I don't want to become a burden on the other players. The game may be perfectly fine for them, they don't need me showing up and trying to change things.

For example, a few years ago I joined a military Shadowrun game. Now, I've always liked the idea of Shadowrun, but I've rarely enjoyed actually playing it. This game was no exception. After what was probably the longest, most-tedious gaming session in my memory (it was basically a miniature war game masquerading as an RPG. There was no story--no surprises or twists. Just tactical play stripped to the bone). Suddenly one of the players wiped out a large group of enemy combatants--not really a surprise, he had monstrously min-maxed his character. The player in question jiggled with excitement, no longer able to stay in his seat, and he said, "That's the coolest thing I've ever done in a game." The other players concurred.

I never went back. There was no point.

So, here's the problem. How do you find story-focused players?

I'm going to try the proactive approach. I'll develop a game idea, then scout around for players, see if I can scrounge up anything. Sitting on my couch and whining isn't helping.

But what game should I run? I need something that people will be interested in playing--that probably means avoiding the more-obscure games in my library. But I also want something that will attract the more-story-focused gamers out there (while subtly discouraging the more-tactically-oriented players).

White Wolf's Mage seems like a good fit. You can actually buy it in most game stores, but it doesn't have the same combat monster appeal of Vampire or Werewolf. But, I'm having trouble getting into the new setting. I'd much rather run a Burning Wheel, Sorcery or Dreaming Cities game. Yeah, games most players have never heard of.

Regardless, I don't want to wait another year before gaming.

If you have any suggestions (or any stories about compatible or incompatible players) drop a note in the comments.

-Rich-

Little Boy Leg Bone

2006-09-18T20:51:00.000-10:00

You know, I talk about writing a lot. I suppose I should give you occasional updates on my writing. I'm still a struggling author. I have two new stories that are nearly ready to go out--I feel they're much stronger than anything I've written earlier, and I have high hopes for them.

I just had a technical article published in MacTech magazine. More importantly (though not as financially rewarding) one of my short stories, Little Boy Leg Bone, was recently published on Pseudopod as an audio podcast.

Please check it out here.

Thanks,

-Rich-

Character Advancement and the Downward Spiral:

2006-09-15T15:15:00.000-10:00

As I said earlier, I have a problem with character advancement. Don't get me wrong, giving your character new skills, abilities and powers can be quite fun. Actually, it can be too much fun; that's the problem. Advancing a character can become addicting; players soon think of character advancement as the primary goal--story advancement falls to a distant second.

Dungeons & Dragons has always made good use of leveling (as well as treasure) to build and maintain player interest. It's kind of like playing the slots. Kill an orc. Sometimes you lose a few hit points. Other times, you win a magic sword. Or, better yet, angels of leveling start singing, a golden light wraps around your body, and you suddenly find yourself gifted with cool new powers.

Sure, some games play lip-service to making advancement part of the narrative. But how often does that play out at the table.

Worse yet, character advancement can knock a story off its rails. Let's say the characters have earned the enmity of the city watch. The overly-serious Captian Khar is convinced that the party is nothing but a bunch of troublemakers, and he's just looking for an excuse to lock them all in the dungeon. Khar might make an interesting subplot when the characters are first level. They're broke. They have no power, no authority. They can't defeat his guards. His shadowy presence can keep them on their toes.

But what happens when they reach 5th level? 10th? 20th? As the characters grow from being wet-nosed noobs into heroic pillars of society, Khar loses his appeal as a nemesis. Of course, the DM could make Khar advance as well. Heck, why not have the whole watch advance--that way they're always a challenge. While this can work in the short term, it quickly becomes ridiculous.

The same issue applies to the major nemeses as well. Sure, there are ways around this problem. Maybe the party is peeling the opposition like an onion, working their way--layer by layer--up the nefarious hierarchy. But scaling the opposition to an ever improving character is difficult, and it limits the type of stories you can tell.

Character advancement has always been a central part of RPGs. Off-hand, I can't think of any games that don't use some form of character advancement. Maybe Toon? I don't remember. I haven't played that in over a decade. But it's an open question, is character advancement necessary?

Look at fiction. In most stories, the character's do not advance. In some genres, particularly mysteries, a character may remain constant over an entire series of books--even their attitudes and opinions don't vary. You could read the books in any order--the events leave no trace of their passage. In other stories, the characters change emotionally. The events leave their marks on the character's beliefs, hopes, fears and goals. But, the characters still don't gain new powers or abilities.

Generally, the character's situation should degrades over time. They face setback after setback. The situation grows more desperate and tense as the story twists its way to the finale. Sure, there may be an occasional victory now and then. They may win some breathing space, or find an ally or tool to help them. But the general trend should be a downward spiral. In your typical RPG, the exact opposite is true.

There is one notable exception: the coming of age story. To be honest, genre fiction has a lot of coming of age stories. Here the main character finds themselves in over their head. The characters are often young and inexperienced (sound familiar). They may have powers and abilities they don't yet understand. They must grow into these powers before they can face their main opponent.

This is important, I'm not saying that character advancement is inherently bad. But, if you're going to include any significant character advancement in your game, you need to plan ahead. Look at how other coming of age stories are written, use them as your guide.

The character's growth should be a central part of the story. In the beginning, they should feel weak and helpless. They should learn and grow, but each lesson should come a great cost. These events must leave their marks on the characters, both physically and mentally. Eventually they will have the power and abilities to face their problems head on. That is the climatic confrontation.

Win or lose, the story ends here. Don't just let the characters grow more and more powerful. Don't just throw more and more difficult complications at them. Plan it out in advance. Build to a confrontation. Then end the story.

And remember, there are other types of stories. It's OK for characters to start competent. And, if advancement isn't part of the story, don't make it part of the game. Either ignore those rules, or scale them back so they have no significant effect. In some of my recent games, I totally forgot to award any experience. The players forgot to remind me. Advancement wasn't part of the story, it wasn't important. The character's grew and changed emotionally, to be sure. But you don't need experience points for that.

As always, I would love to hear your thoughts. Please leave a note in the comments.

Character Integrity

2006-08-27T23:11:00.000-10:00

For a while now, I have argued that when I play RPGs, I'm primarily interested in the story content. It's especially true when I am the GM, but as a player...let's just say things get a little bit murky. Don't get me wrong, a story is still important. However, as a player the story gets filtered through my character. I want to become immersed in my character; I want to experience the story through his eyes.

When I start a new game, I usually have a strong image of what I want my character to become. Unfortunately, this initial concept too-often gets destroyed shortly after contact with an actual game. Sometimes the game's rules and mechanics simply don't support my idea. Other times, my interests change and the character gets left behind. Still, all too often, my character gets sabotaged by the GM. In any case, disappointment and disillusionment are sure to follow.

Let me be clear here. This typically happens when I come to the first session with a fully formed idea. Starting with a fuzzy concept can help--but it does not get rid of the problem. At some point in the game, my mental image of the character will solidify, and inevitably that concept begins to conflict with the realities of the game. The conflict is inevitable.

Let me say that again, I don't think we can ever eliminate this conflict; we can only control it.

Look at it from a writer's point of view--when I'm writing a story I have complete control over my characters, right? Wait, not so fast, my choices are still limited. My character's behavior must follow some internal logic. Their actions must be believable. Where the rubber meets the road (or in my case, where the toner meets the paper), there is still conflict between the original character concept and the constraints placed on that character by the story. Even in the largely-controlled realm of writing, I never really escape this conflict. As a player, I surrender more control over the story to others. The conflict between character and game increases proportionally.

So, how do we manage this conflict? For now, lets put aside issues of unreasonable player expectations. These are cases where a given idea cannot be modeled by a particular game system, or ideas that seem more interesting on paper then they are at the table. These are real problems, but I don't think any in-game system can address them. They're more a matter of experience. Furthermore, I think their influence will fade as we can manage the other problems.

Instead, let's focus on the interactions between players and GMs. It's true, other players can do things that damage your character's integrity, but these often rise from subtile social interactions, which are much harder to address. The GM's ability to disrupt a character concept, on the other hand, is orders of magnitude greater. Arguably the game's rules exist to mediate between the players and the GM. From that point of view, it seems reasonable to engineer rules to help protect a character's integrity from heavy-handed GMs.

The GM/Player interface is a tricky landscape. Traditionally, RPG games describe player/GM roles as follows: players have absolute control over their character, while the GM controls everything else. While this sounds clear enough, the border between a character and his environment is somewhat fuzzy. GMs often do things that, in effect, take control of the characters. When he asks you to make a fear check, he's trying to take control. When he narrates the effect of your action, he is taking control. The GM also has considerable influence over the flow of the story--and the story will shape the characters. Finally, the GM sets the difficulty numbers, which directly determine how competent your character will appear.

Now, not all of this is bad. I'm actually a big fan of surrendering some control of my characters. The problem is, any time the GM takes control (or partial control), he can gravely damage the integrity of your character. Generally, these problems can be placed in two broad categories: Active Character Disruptions and Passive Character Disruptions.

Active Character Disruption:

This is where the GM hits your character with a blunt instrument. Let me set the scene: I'm playing a dashing romantic swashbuckler. At the Governor's Ball, I approach Lady Hastings and try to seduce her (she may have information about her husband's troop deployments--so I have selflessly volunteered to "question" her). I am midway through my witty repartee, when the GM asks me to make a roll. I fail. Badly.

The GM then smiles and says, "She leans in close and whispers, 'My good sir, whatever do you have in mind?' Just as you open your mouth to reply, you suddenly let rip a great fart. Really, it's like a trumpet fanfare. The lady turns red and bustles away in a swirl of skirts." Everyone around the table laughs. My character gets the nickname "Fartanion". And, the image I was trying so to build is (metaphorically) gone with the wind.

GMs often use failed die rolls as an opportunity to have fun at the character's expense. Heck, I do this when I GM, a lot. Many game books even recommend create "interesting" results when the character blunders a roll. It is a pervasive part of the gaming culture. Of course, a little embarrassment can be good. It helps keep the characters human. But there's a fine line between a character-building setback and a character-destroying pratfall.

How a character fails is as important (if not more important) than what a character does. As I have said elsewhere, failures should build conflict. This conflict can either strengthen the image you are trying to build, helping you explore your character's central issues, or it can cut across your character, knocking you off the rails. Unfortunately, much of the character concept lives entirely inside the player's head. The character may have goals and desires that the player never explicitly expressed. Even if the GM wants to introduce conflicts that build on your character concept, he often lacks the information he needs--except at the most superficial level.

What's the solution? Simple. Let the players determine the results when they fail. Obviously we need a few rules or guidelines here, but that's the basic concept. Note: this fits hand-in-gloveishly with the "evolve or resolve" issue from last week. In a nutshell, the player makes a single roll. If they fail the roll, they can either let the conflict resolve (and pass control back to the GM), or they can make the conflict evolve by introducing a complication.

Back to the swashbuckler example. I fail the roll. I can either surrender control to the fart-joke-loving GM, or I can introduce my own complicating elements--something that fits (or constructively opposes) my character. Here, I narrate the following complication, "As I slip my hand around the lady's waist, I feel a heavy hand drop on my shoulder. A low, gravely voice whispers in my ear, 'Sir, I must ask you to take your hand off my wife!'." This lets my character maintain his suave composure, and may lead to a new in-concept game element--a dual! Also, it leaves open the possibility of seducing Lady Hastings after we resolve the current interruption. So, I probably want to embarrass General Hastings without causing significant harm (murdering someone's spouse tends to be a put-off).

Passive Character Disruption:

As the name suggests, this is far more subtile--but can be even more disruptive in the long run. The typical scenario is as follows: I create a character with a strong central conflict. For example, my sister is missing and I'm trying to find her. I weave this theme through my character's stats and background. I come to the table ready to play this image, and from the moment the first die falls to the moment when the last slice of pizza is eaten, our party is off killing orks. Just orks. There's no mention of my sister. No clues, no hints. Nothing.

I strongly believe that GMs need to incorporate player-generated ideas (like the missing sister) into their story arc. Ideally, they should let the story-arc grow organically around the player-generated ideas, and these conflicts should become central to the larger story. But, even if it's just an unrelated subplot, it must make it into the game.

However, GMs are always overworked. There's always too much information to keep track of; too little time to prepare. GMs are only human, and it's all too easy for these details to fall between the cracks.

Players can help by communicating their priorities to the GM. This can be overt, "Hey, I want my character's sister to be part of the game!" It can also happen as a part of character creation. Don't just take disadvantages for the points--use them as a deliberate flag for the GM. If I take the "Enemy" disadvantage, I'm telling the GM (and everyone at the table) that I have this cool idea for a nemesis, and I want that nemesis to be part of the story. I hate to say this, because it should be obvious, but only take disadvantages that you actually want to play.

Secondly, players can help the GM by taking every opportunity to bring their disadvantages, goals, hopes and fears back into the game. Don't just wait for the GM to force you to make an "Alcoholic" roll, put yourself in positions where your alcoholic disadvantage will create problems. When you're trying to track down an NPC, decide to "just check" the bar. After all, one drink won't hurt anything...GMs should reinforce this behavior by giving out brownie points whenever the players introduce interesting complications.

Several games (particularly newer, independent games) use interesting positive reinforcements for playing out key character concepts. The Burning Wheel uses beliefs and instincts. Beliefs describe the character's core beliefs (also read as "the player's priorities"--you use beliefs to formally describe the in-game expectations for your character), and the player is rewarded for playing out these beliefs. Instincts represent hardcoded reactions. They tell the GM (and everyone at the table), how you will react to specific situations. You can override them, but you're rewarded for following your instincts (and sometimes they let you break the rules).

The Riddle of Steel uses spiritual attributes to represent a character's goals, wants, needs and beliefs. If a character has a three-die passion of "Loves Gwen, the bar wench at The Oak and Thistle," he will get +3 dice on any roll that relates to this attribute (for example, when protecting Gwen from bandits). Spiritual attributes also get tied into the game's experience systems--characters who follow their spiritual attributes will advance faster than those who don't. All in all, this encourages players to create a strong character concept, to actively bring that concept to the table and to do everything they can to keep it there.

Players also need to feel empowered to bring fresh conflicts into the games. Many systems let the players pay brownie points to take narrative control over the story--though most players will only use this to get themselves out of trouble, not to make more. I think there's a logical disconnect here. If we want the players to actively inject new conflict into the story, then we should reward them for doing so. Using brownie-points to create conflicts actually create a cost to the player (beyond the difficulty itself).

I haven't seen many good mechanics for encouraging player-generated conflicts. My "evolve or resolve" concept should fit the bill. I think a lot of GMless gaming is probably aimed in this direction. Donjon, however, probably takes the most novel approach. Players can make perception rolls at any time. If they succeed, they see something. The greater their success, the more they can control what they see. So, if you want to bring a subplot back into the game--it's only a perception roll away. Of course, Donjon is designed as a modern hack-and-slash system--so it's no poster child for story-based games. But the idea could be used in more-narrative games.

As always, let me know what you think. I'd love to hear your ideas on the topic.

Conflict: Resolve or Evolve

2006-08-15T22:44:00.000-10:00

I have a problem with the way most RPGs handle conflict. Here's the short form: GMs often abuse dice mechanics in a mistaken effort to artificially increase tension. I think this is a holdover from the RPG industry's wargame heritage. If you want to improve the tension in a game, make the game more difficult: reduce the player's odds of success, increase the complexity and make the system harder to master, or complicate resource management.

While these techniques may be useful in a strictly tactical game, they often sabotage story. Conflict drives every good story. Good conflicts follow the laws of cause and effect. They arise naturally from the story. Their resolution should feed back into the story, influencing the narrative flow. Conflict must remain central to the story.

Let's say my character, Bob, tries to stab an NPC named Fred. At the topmost view, Bob's success or failure is unimportant. What matters is a) Bob's motivation and b) the ripple effects from Bob's actions. From this viewpoint, spending thirty minutes rolling each thrust and parry is a waste of time and energy.

Let's look at an example. Bob needs to sneak into the infamous Castle of Four Winds. He crosses the moat unseen and starts to scale the tall, slick walls. The GM wants the moment to feel dramatic, so he decides that Bob must make ten successful climb rolls to reach the top.

My reaction: "ARGGGGG! Thump! Thump! Thump! (the sound of my head slamming repeatedly into the table)"

OK, what's wrong with this situation. First, the tension comes from game mechanics, not from the story. As a player, I'm focused on the dice and stats. Sure, the GM may try to play up the drama by describing the feel of the slick stones under Bob's fingers, or the way the wind howls around our hero. That's great--for a small number of rolls, but how can anyone maintain the tension over all 10 rolls?

The rules of good storytelling insist that the tension increases as the scene progresses. The GM's description should get more dramatic with each roll. This is very hard; most of us fail most of the time. For example, GM may make the initial description too dramatic, leaving no room to grow; or he may make a weak initial description, one that has no dramatic weight. Later descriptions can either become repetitive and boring, or they rapidly escalate to ridiculous proportions.

The worst case comes from what I call "Traditional D&D Combat." Here, you have dozens upon dozens of rolls to resolve a single conflict. Say Bob takes a good hit. The GM wants to build a visceral sense of tension, so he describes the ork's axe slicing through the meat in Bob's shoulder. However, Bob only loses 1/10th of his HP. Soon he's running around with a half-dozen graphically-described-but-mechanically-minor injuries. The game starts to resemble Monty Python's "Black Knight" sketch.

This brings up a related point. While the actual description is important, it's the player's sense of risk that really matters. All too often there is a disconnect between the GM's description, and the game mechanics. The GM can describe an edge-of-your-seat, cold-sweat, higher-brain-functions-have-stopped danger--but, if the player knows he has a 98% chance of success, mere words won't carry much weight.

To sum up, we want our GMs to create an impromptu, reasonable sounding, realistic yet still dramatic set of descriptions that closely match the actual risk faced by our character over a series of random die rolls. Good luck.

But, the climbing example has an even bigger problem. Good conflict needs to be the cause of interesting effects. Here, I mean "interesting" in the sense of "May you live in interesting times." As a quick rule of thumb, the player's situation should become more difficult and more complicated. Ideally this happens both when they fail and when they succeed, but I would settle for interesting failures. Success, after all, tends to drive the characters deeper into the story.

Let's look at the climbing example again. What happens if Bob succeeds? He gets to the top of the wall. Ho, hum. Still, he's now inside the Castle of Four Winds. Any number of bad things might happen to him there.

Let's look at the other side, what happens if he fails?

One possibility, Bob falls to his death. While that may instill a real sense of risk, story-wise it is a pitiful way to resolve conflict. Dying generally ends the story (at least as far as Bob's concerned). It doesn't heighten dramatic tension; it brings everything to a sudden halt. Don't get me wrong, death can create good story (e.g. Boromir's death in Fellowship of the Ring). In RPGs, these tend to come from a collaborated effort between the player and the GM. It's something you work for over several gaming sessions. A character's death should be glorious. Random deaths are, by definition, pointless.

So, maybe the fall merely injures Bob. That seems better, but it's still not great. Massive injuries either incapacitate the character, taking him out of the story (similar to death, only temporary), or the injury has no real effect on play. Bob quaffs a healing potion, or Raymond, the party priest, says a few magical words and suddenly we're off slaughtering orks again. In traditional RPGs, injuries rarely add to the drama in any significant way.

Also, GMs (myself included) tend to put the players in life-threatening situations and then flinch. Back to the climbing example, even if Bob fails, the average GM will give him second (and third, and fourth...) chances. "Ok, roll your dexterity to see whether you catch yourself before you plummet to your death...Hmm, roll again to see if you can grab a protruding branch on the way down..." This gets back to the perceived risk issue--if you know the GM won't kill you, much of the risk evaporates.

This leads to two rules for creating good conflict:

1: Conflict must cause interesting complications

Before introducing an element of conflict, think about how things might go wrong. Remember, this can include complications even when the character otherwise succeeds. If the player kills an NPC in combat, does that NPC have a brother (or sister, spouse, offspring or parent) that will come looking for revenge? If the character successfully scales the wall--what dark secrets lurk on the other side.

For failures, it helps to look at conflict as a complete task, not as the component actions. I roll to see whether Bob reaches the top of the wall undetected. Failure does not necessarily mean Bob failed at the act of climbing. Maybe something happens that prevents him from reaching the top. For example, a guard might spot him when he's only half-way up.

2: Roll the dice once; resolve or evolve

Roll the dice. When they land, either accept the result and narrate the resolution (resolve), or add a complication that ratchets up the conflict (evolve). This evolution may lead to additional die rolls. Having the guard spot Bob is a perfect demonstration of conflict evolution. The conflict goes from "I need to get up this wall undetected" to "I'm stuck halfway up this wall, and the guards have bows."

Good conflict evolution should force the character to make hard decisions. In the climbing example, the character must decide whether to keep climbing (probably fighting his way up to the top), or to abandon his attempt and try to flee.

Conflict evolution can also be subtile. For example, instead of having a guard spot the character, maybe the character is nearly to the top of the wall, when a lovesick scullery maid decides to stop just above him. She leans against the wall and stares out into the night. She hasn't seen our hero yet, but it would be hard for him to sneak past her. Does he wait? Clinging to the side of the wall is exhausting and dangerous. The longer he stays, the greater the chance of someone spotting him. Does he try to sneak past? That also risks discovery. Does he try to kill her quickly and quietly--thus removing a potential witnesses? Is her lover coming to join her, thus further complicating the scene?

Of course, creating and evolving good conflicts places a major burden on the GM, and most GMs are overburdened as it is. To partially alleviate this, I propose pushing much of the responsibility onto the players.

Here's the general flow:

The GM can always add an external complication to the conflict. This represents something that complicates the situation, but is not a failure on the player's part (e.g. the scullery maid above). It's OK to have a group of guards walk past on patrol. Having the guards automatically spot a hidden character is uncool.

If the player fails, he may add a complication to temporarily avoid his fate. The complication must have a serious impact on the rest of the scene, and the GM must approve. Possibilities include an injury that affects performance (e.g. hand smashed and useless), equipment failure (weapon broken or possibly just disarmed), or the introduction of outside elements (the guards spot Bob halfway up the wall). If the player does not add a complication, the GM is free to narrate any result. "Oh, goody. You fall to your death."

Turn-about is fair play. The GM can add complications to NPCs to mitigate their failures. However, the GM should only use this option on major, named NPCs. Cannon fodder and faceless thugs can just die anonymously.

This would probably work best using a narrative mechanic where the winner of a roll gets to describe the results (e.g. The Pool). But, I suspect this system could be strapped on to any game engine. It may rattle a bit at highway speeds, however.

Redeeming Metaplots

2006-07-28T14:57:00.000-10:00

Periodically I've seen RPG theorists argue viciously against metaplots. The issue in question seems to focus on the large, overarching stories generated by gaming companies and released incrementally across several of their products.

Let's be honest here, the main goal was undoubtedly to drive sales. While part of me resents this overt manipulation, I've also heard that the total annual sales on all RPG products is less than the total sales for live opera--so I can't really blame them for trying to boost income. Game companies justified this tactic, claiming it provided both the GM and the players with a dynamic world that they could play within.

As I understand it, some feel that metaplots reduce PCs to secondary characters. They feel the main story gets resolved off-scene, and the characters end up playing Wedge Antilles to the metaplot's Luke Skywalker. Others complain that the characters must be railroaded for the story to be resolved as planned. Critics then argue that metaplots seriously harm the creation and maintenance of story in a roleplaying game (please correct me if I have any of this wrong). This argument, however, seems odd to me.

Here's the problem. Metaplots exist in other medias. They are often very successful. One of the most obvious examples is historical fiction. Take "Saving Private Ryan" or "Titanic". In both cases, we know how the meta-plot will end. The allies win; the boat sinks. This, however, does not matter. The metaplot acts as a frame--the stories themselves explore issues within that frame.

Sure, Captain Miller doesn't put a bullet in Hitler's brain, but that doesn't make him any less of a hero. It doesn't take away the meaning or emotional impact of his decisions or his death. Private Ryan is not the story of WWII, it is the story of Miller and his men--their actions, reactions and choices against an unquestionably horrible backdrop.

Admittedly, there is one difference between historical fiction and serial metaplots--the players and GM may not know how the metaplot will develop as they go along. However, I don't see this as an important difference. Whether you know the metaplot's story arc, or whether you expose it a bite at a time, its role in the story should not change. You're not telling the story of the metaplot, you're telling the character's story within the metaplot frame. The players have their own conflicts, their own goals, their own hopes and fears. These conflicts should evolve as they rub up against the metaplot, just as the conflicts would evolve from any interactions with NPCs or other PCs. But the conflicts remain, and the players still need to resolve them. In an ideal world, the metaplot deepens these conflicts by throwing additional complications in their paths. Still, the character's story--just like Captain Miller's story--must focus on the personal decisions and their results.

Arguably, some modern story-focused games (e.g. Polaris) are revolve around a single metaplot. From the reviews I've read, knowing how the story will end actually heightens the emotional content of the journey. Sure, there may have been problems with the designs of particular metalplots, or with the implementation of a metaplot in a particular game. But, clearly, we can use metaplots to improve the story content of an RPG.

I'm not dead!

2006-07-24T16:57:00.000-10:00

Well, I said my posts might drop off a bit...but I never expected them to drop off this much. I'm so sorry that I disappeared for so long.

I haven't said much about my personal life in this blog. It just didn't seem relevant to the topics at hand. Still that personal life influences my ability to post essays, so I thought the topic might deserve a bit of attention. If this doesn't interest you, don't fret. I'll try to get a regular post out later this week; you can stop reading now.

My wife is a pediatric resident. She was working as a pediatrician in Japan when I met her (I was an English teacher--actually, I was her English teacher, but that's a story for another time). Four years ago we moved back to the US (well back for me). Since then, Mika has worked towards earning her US medical license. As part of the process, she must finish a US residency--even though she already completed one residency program in Japan.

We've been doing this for about a year, and I thought life had developed its own rhythm. Even at the best of times, a resident works 80 hours a week or so. So I am primarily responsible for taking care of the various home issues: cooking, dishes, and (most importantly) primary care of our 5-year-old daughter, Haruko. While I never asked Mika to help out, she often volunteered to do the occasional load of dishes or laundry or read the bedtime story to Haruko. But that all changed.

For the last month, Mika has worked in the ER rotation. Basically, she's either at work or asleep. I almost never get to see her; I've been totally on my own--it was an eye-opening view into what single parents must go through.

Add to that my own schedule. Two months ago I traded my flexible grad-student schedule for the more-structured 40-hour-a-week grind. At first, everything worked fine. I actually had a lot more time for my writing--since I didn't need to worry about exams or projects or studying. Then ER struck, and I couldn't do anything except hold on with my fingernails and count down the days.

OK, enough whining. There's a happy ending to this tale. While studying for her USMLE exams, Mika worked as a research post-doc. There, she found that she loved research, working with biological specimens, microscopes, staining and many other things I really don't understand (it's OK, she doesn't understand my work either). Recently, she decided that she would like to switch from pediatrics to pathology--which would let her follow the interests she developed as a post-doc. Last week, she was accepted into the pathology program (the exact transfer date is still up in the air--but it should be soon). This is good news. The pathology residency program has a much-less demanding schedule. Pathologist residents work a more-regular 40-hour week. When they're on call, they just take the pager home with them; then answer maybe one or two phone calls during the night. Now, she has to spend every fourth night at the hospital and does not get to sleep at all.

So, that part of life should soon get easier.

My summer internship also came to an end. I'm now taking a summer workshop in computational astrobiology (basically applying computer science to the study of where and how life might form in the universe--pretty much the dream science fiction job). So, I'm easing back into the student lifestyle. This should give me more time to spend on my other pursuits (like playing with my daughter and writing).

I hate to promise more frequent posts--that's just asking for trouble. But, the near future (at lest) looks brighter.

Oh, and I shaved my head. No reason.

-Rich-

American TV vs. Japanese Anime

2006-06-30T16:19:00.000-10:00

I really enjoyed the Story Arcs piece in Distributing the Future (5/15/6).

The main discussion contrasted story arcs in Japanese anime with story arcs from the traditional American TV show. Chris Adamson examined economic pressures that largely forced American TV into self-contained episodes. Anime story arcs, on the other hand, often span the whole series (or multiple series). I'd recommend listening to the whole podcast, but I'll summarize the good bits here:

On the American side, distribution methods made it difficult to guarantee that stations would show all the episodes in order. Also, TV episodes make most of their money in reruns. The rerun audience usually catches the shows intermittently and does not watch them seriously. This means self-contained reruns are more popular (or at least easier to market) than continuing stories. Apparently, Alias deserted the end-of-episode cliff hangers to make itself more marketable.

Recently, the American TV scene has broken through the self-contained barrier. The best example is undoubtedly 24. Long story arcs can succeed now, largely because of successful DVD sales. American TV can step away from its dependency on reruns, and this frees shows, at least partly, from the episodic limit.

On the Japanese front, an anime series tends to make most of its money from tie-in products: toys, models, cards, stuffed-animals, T-shirts, or whatever. The Japanese series also tends to be shorter and they are often broadcast only once. This makes it easier to create story arcs that span an entire series.

Most interesting to me, anime series often start with a few self-contained episodes. This gives the audience a chance to get to know the main characters and the world, before they get swept off into the main story.

So, how does this tie into gaming? Well, we don't have economic forces influencing our games (unfortunately, I'd love to see Thamus Johnson action figures from my recent Serenity game), but there are outside forces that affect the type of stories we can tell. One obvious case is player attendance.

I prefer games that follow the anime model. Start with a few self-contained adventures to loosen everyone up, and let us get aquatinted with our characters, the world, the rules and the GM's style. Then we stumble into the main story arc, which spans the rest of the campaign. However, playing this sort of game requires a serious commitment. You have to show up regularly. If you miss games, it's hard to follow the story. Worse yet, having a character continually pop in and out really disrupts the narrative flow. Even if someone ghost-runs your character, it's just not the same.

If your schedule does not allow regular gaming, then episodic games are probably best. It's easier for characters to come and go without disrupting the flow, and missing one adventure won't affect the next. Of course, adventures often span two or more gaming sessions--but the episodic structure still handles irregular attendance better than a unified story arc.

What other outside forces affect the structure or style of our games? Sex of the players is often sited as a big influence on style. I have heard that some men dislike playing in mixed groups. Some have obviously had a bad experience with another player's less-than-interested girlfriend, and that has prejudiced them against women gamers everywhere. Other male players just don't like feeling that they have to watch their language or be on their best behavior.

I feel that my best gaming experiences usually come from mixed-sex groups. Maybe it's because the guys watched their language and stayed on their best behavior--I don't know. Thinking back, some of my favorite players were women, most of them novice players. They had very little interest in rules and mechanics, but they were very interested in acting and stories. Having them at the table really helped keep the game focused on story.

Chris Adamson brought up another unrelated but interesting point. Most American dramas are hour-long programs. Anime is usually 1/2 hour--even for a dramatic show. This forces the creators to tell the stories differently. American shows typically have more subplots, while anime must stay focused. The limited time often gives it a tighter, more energetic feel.

30-minute game sprints are probably too short to be useful; but it makes me wonder, what would happen if we cut the typical game session in half? In my head, the Platonic Ideal for gaming sessions is 4 hours (probably because I wasted too much of my youth at RPGA tournaments). So, what would 2-hour game sessions feel like? Would restricting the time force us to focus more on the action--force us to bump up the energy and limit distractions?

Player planning often frustrates me (both as a player and as a GM). Players will waste 15 minutes just arguing over who has to pay the bar tab. When it comes to more-complicated planning, it feels as though they thrash over the same ideas for hours. It's not all bad. The players clearly like it--probably see it as some type of logic puzzle. But, it's not good story.

Would shorter gaming sessions encourage players to focus more on action in game and planning between games? I'm not sure. But, it might be an interesting experiment.

As always, please leave a comment with your thoughts.

-Rich-

Gaming VS Writing

2006-06-21T22:02:00.000-10:00

First a little bookkeeping. I've been trying to do weekly posts. However, it's now clear that this won't be possible--at least not for the next month or so. My new job is keeping me very busy--good busy, but busy none the less. And this blog has a lower priority than my "real" writing. Still, I will try to get something out every other week, if I can.

This time let's look at some of the differences between writing (or movies, or other art forms) and gaming.

I have argued that looking at other media can help us learn to run better games. Here, I'm primarily talking about story telling media (books, movies, plays, etc). We can use these successful stories as a model, a guide for our games to follow. Is it a perfect model? No, of course not. There is always the risk of stretching a metaphor too far. But, I am a strong believer in the power of analogy.

However, it is also important to examine the differences between writing and gaming. This helps ground us. It lets us see which techniques we can most likely port from one medium to the other. But, it also serves another, more important role. Contradiction is almost as powerful as analogy. We can learn a lot about gaming by examining what it is not.

I have picked six areas where I feel games differ from other stories. This is, undoubtedly, an incomplete list. But, I hope it's a good start.

Audience driven stories.

This is one of the most-obvious differences. Even with the most autocratic GM, the players still contribute to the story. They decide which doors to kick in, which weapon to swing, which monster to kill. They choose whether to drink the healing potion this round, or risk waiting. OK, it might not be the greatest contribution, but the GM cannot drive the story alone.

In story driven games, the player's role is even more pronounced. Character's decisions shape the plot. Players often influence the scenery or backstory; they may even get to narrate parts of the story.

As a result, the GM cannot create a plot outline--not the way a writer might. Sure, the GM can create ideas for scenes. The GM can develop backstory, can define the goals of the antagonists and allies. The GM can even drive the story forward using the old carrot and stick--promising rewards, then hitting the players with complications. But, at the end of the day, the GM must respond to the character's actions. You must go where the characters' lead.

Some authors claim to lose control over their characters. Let me assure you, GMing is different--not even the same order of magnitude.

No editing.

A game moves steadily forward. There's little chance to go back and edit. This means, the story is raw and unpolished. No matter how many notes the GM makes, the story will have flaws: problems with consistency, problems with NPC motivation, structural problems with the plot. Sure, we don't have to worry about grammar or spelling, but that's really only the surface. The structural problems are more important.

Most authors will tell you that first drafts suck. Gaming is an endless first draft. We cannot hold these stories to the same standards we do other media. And, as gamers, we give gaming a pass. Consciously or unconsciously, we come to the table with a greater willingness to suspend disbelief. That's just the way the dice roll.

Amateurs create the stories

Let's face it, there are few professional GMs in this world. This relates to the lack of editing, and tends to further aggravate the very same problems.

However, some people love amateur productions (fan fiction, movies, theatre, whatever). While there are a few I have enjoyed, I tend to find much of it disappointing. I often enjoy amateur musicians. I usually enjoy amateur theatre. In the first case, there is no real story. In the second, a professional wrote the story, amateurs just performed it.

Creating a solid, quality story is hard. Even the pros fail occasionally. So why do I enjoy the stories created at the table. First, I am an active participant--that means I'm more invested in the story. Second, I enjoy the social contact with my friends. However, too many gaming stories also fall flat for me.

Multiple main characters

Most stories have a single main character, or at least focus on one character at a time. Your average gaming group has three to six players--meaning three to six main characters. And PCs usually travel in packs.

This creates a difficult, nonstandard story structure. We aren't very familiar with stories about multiple, concurrent main characters--which means we have few, if any, models. Also, it is always hard to find a good balance between the goals of the individuals and the goals of the group. Too much emphasis on the individual, and the story fragments. Too little, and the characters loose their free will--players start violating their character concept just to keep the group together.

Players compete for screen time

Related to the last issue, in most books, a character doesn't get bored waiting for his moment in the spotlight. Players, however, do. This sometimes leads to players competing for attention. This seems particularly prevalent in larger gaming groups.

Interestingly, I've been in groups that encouraged the players to roleplay among themselves. While the GM was dealing with one character, the others would be chatting (in character), playing out good character-building scenes, or planning out our next move.

However, in a more recent group, the GM got very upset when I tried to have a side scene. He felt it was distracting and rude. While I preferred the first style, I do see the second GM's point.

Roleplaying is a social activity

The social side of RPGs rarely gets the attention it deserves. There are good things and bad things about taking part in a social activity. On the good side, it is fun to interact with our friends. On the bad side, we often adjust our behavior to fit our group's implicit social contract. When dealing with simple issues (like burping at the dinner table), this is usually quite painless. But, collaborating on a personal expression of creativity can get thornier.

This subject is much too big for one post alone. Suffice it to say, if the players are trying to tell different stories (or at least incompatible stories), then the game will fail.

What about you? Do you agree or disagree with these observations? Can you think of anything I missed? Please continue this discussion in the comments.

Exploitation VS Exploration

2006-06-10T10:28:00.000-10:00

Apologies, this is not only late; it's also another divergence from the regular scheduled programming.

As I've mentioned before, I am a CS grad student, primarily working with AI and machine learning. Much of the ML literature talks about the conflict between exploitation and exploration.

Here's the problem in a nutshell. Should a learning system use the knowledge it has already gathered, or should it explore for better solutions? Exploration usually comes at a cost in time and effort, and there is no guarantee it will lead to any improvements. It may also create short-term problems.

Let's take a real-world analogy. I moved to Honolulu a year ago. Traffic here is crazy. The roads are clogged. Often you cannot turn left. Many roads are one way. It really helps to plan out your route in advance, otherwise, you may find yourself stuck in the wrong lane, unable to make the turn you want, and eternally circling your destination.

I know a few decent routes to the places I often need to drive. However, these routes may be sub-optimal. When I head out to pick up my daughter from daycare, should I use the route I know (exploitation), or should I try a new route and see whether it's faster (exploration). Recently, I took a chance, and I found a route that cuts the drive time nearly by half, but that experiment could have been a disaster.

So, what does this have to do with gaming? Well, I love buying new games. I like reading through new rules and thinking about new ways of doing things. I like exploration. But, I often have trouble convincing other players to try an exciting new game. In short, the players are hesitant to pay the cost of exploration (time and effort involved in learning a new system, plus the possibility of wasting one or more gaming sessions on an experiment in not-fun). They would rather spend their time exploiting a system they already know.

There are a couple of things that naturally strengthen this tendency to exploitation. For most of us, our gaming time is limited. It's precious and we'd rather not risk it on an untested system. Better the devil you know--particularly if you get at least some level of enjoyment from the existing system. That leaves the role of explorer to those of us who have grown the most disillusioned with our current games.

Secondly, most games add positive feedback to continue exploitation. In strongly tactical games (like D&D), the players' mastery of the rules actually determines how effective they are in the game. Players who invest time into learning strong play strategies are rewarded. There is, therefor, a strong negative incentive for them to move to a new system. They would have to abandon their tactical (or perceived tactical) advantage.

So, here's the question of the week. Do you tend to prefer exploitation or exploration? How can we encourage more exploration? Should we encourage more exploration? What are your thoughts? Please leave a note in the comments.

-Rich-

Magic Systems

2006-06-03T12:22:00.000-10:00

This week I'm going to look at a topic that is more applied than theoretical, specifically magic and how it is implemented in most games.

I love fantasy games, and in particular modern fantasy; however, magic systems are often a make-or-break issue for me. Let's be honest, it usually a break issue. Only a very few magic systems really work, and the number of systems that actually excite me could probably be counted on one hand (Ars Magica, Unknown Armies, Sorcerer and Buffy the Vampire Slayer immediately jump to mind).

Books on writing fantasy often discuss the creation of interesting magic systems. A magic system needs to be consistent: it needs to have rules and needs to follow its own internal logic. Additionally, their needs to be a cost for using magic--there's no such thing as a free lunch. Most importantly, this cost needs to be interesting.

But, what is interesting? To me, the cost of using magic needs to create complications for the character that heighten the tension of the story. One method is to create a cost that forces the character to make tough decisions. The magic system itself could have a distinct flavor, often represented by the limitations, taboos and rituals involved. In some of the best fantasy novels, magic has a distinct personality. It is almost a character in its own rights.

Arguably, D&D has a cost for using magic. Spellcasters are often limited (both in their physical abilities and in the equipment they can use). Spellcasters also have to study/pray. However, I do not consider these costs particularly interesting.

Other games often have some sort of backlash when mages fail their rolls. Sometimes they take damage. Other times the spell has unexpected effects. The first works OK, but it generally isn't great. How often does the damage really have a meaningful impact on the story? The second can work better. Wild magic often has a perverse personality, which--when handled well--can be quite enjoyable. Buffy the Vampire Slayer (both the game and the TV show) capture this perverse personality well. Magic often goes awry, causing more trouble than it solves. Add to this the risk of magical addiction, and you have a very interesting magical system.

Unknown Armies and Sorcerer also have excellent costs. In Unknown Armies, each school of magic has its own unique style and personality. The mages have to perform certain actions to generate power. Both these actions and the resulting effects are highly influenced by the school. For example, a Dispomancer (alcohol based magic) must get drunk to power their magic. their spells typically have mind/perception altering effects. Other schools have their own unique focus--pornography, sleep deprivation, self mutilation, self endangerment, collecting books, and so forth. As you can see, the pursuit of magic can often be self destructive. This system has lots of personality, lots of interesting complications and lots of tough decisions.

Sorcerer takes the self destructive aspect and cranks it up a notch. Here, the characters cannot produce magical effects on their own. Instead, they summon and bind demons. Of course, these demons have their own drives and desires. They will often try to corrupt the character, and (of course) the characters run a constant risk of losing control. As the action in the story heats up, characters will be naturally tempted to lean more and more on the power of their demons. However, while this may save them in the short term, it only increases their risk of losing control.

In play, I've had some trouble with the item and parasite demons, since they often don't have as much personality as their more-animate brethren. The GM also needs to make sure the character's main demon will play an interesting role in the story. I had one player whose demon sounded fine on paper, but it never really came into conflict with the character during the game. Still, if done correctly, it is one of the best magic systems out there.

Ars Magica scores high on my list for historical reasons (it was the magic system that spoiled me for all others) and because of the system's depth. Ars Magica blends spontaneous spells, formulated spells, ritual magic, lab work, summoning, etc. Not to mention excellent heaven, hell and faerie supplements--all guaranteed to win my heart.

To develop a good magic system, you need to know how magic works. I was highly inspired by Frater U.'.D.'.'s essay on the Models of Magic. He's talking about real-world magical belief systems--which is always a good place to start when building any fantasy elements. However, I have modified and extended (and probably abused) his original categories for the purposes of creating interesting stories.

Spirit

Here the characters get their power from spirits. These could be gods, elementals, ghosts, whatever. Clearly, the most important aspect of spirit magic is the characters' relationship with their spirits. This could be a hierarchical relationship, where one side makes commands and the other obeys. For example, a traditional sorcerer summoning and binding elementals, or a cleric following the commands of their god. On the other hand, it could be a partnership of (more or less) equals--the shaman who offers spirits a sacrifice so they will aid him. Of course, these partnerships are often more one sided than the participants like to admit--and that could be an interesting theme to explore. Other relationships are possible--for example parasitic or symbiotic relationships.

Spirits can also take a wide range of shapes. They can exist only in the caster's mind. They can be ghostlike and ephemeral. They can have physical bodies, appear as shadows, as tattoos on the caster's body, as mystical items (animate or inanimate), as animals, or almost anything else you can imagine.

In either case, the majority of the cost probably comes from the sheer difficulty in managing the spirits. Spirits in stories are usually manipulative and tricky. Many actively deceive their mages. They may portray themselves as more or less powerful then they actually are, commit lies of omission, follow the letter rather than the spirit of an agreement, or simply misrepresent any information they have. Furthermore, characters may accidentally summon the wrong spirit or open a gateway they cannot close.

Energy

This is probably the default gaming magic model. Here the character channels mystical energy to make physical changes in the world. In some systems, the mage harnesses their internal energy. In others, they tap external sources of power (magical items, lay lines, midnight, full moons, crystals, etc.). Often energy systems are modeled as hybrids, where the character has a small amount of internal power, but must tap external sources for bigger spells.

This type of magic has a lot of room for variation. Here are a few things to think about:

Where does the energy come from?
What does the energy feel like? What does it look like? Taste? Smell?

What are the costs/side-effects of manipulating this energy

What happens if you lose control? If you try to tap too much energy?

Does manipulating this energy leave behind a trace? An identifiable signature?

Sympathetic Magic

This represents subtile uses of magic. Here like influences like--pushing the pin into the voodoo doll causes pain in the target. The mage often creates a physical object that represents their desired effects. They can use runes, fetishes, art, whatever. The symbolic representation could be literal or abstract. And the effects are often minor. In many cases, sympathetic magic just seem to give the characters more confidence (represented as a small bonus), and arguably may not be magical at all.

For example, a character may get a tattoo or brand of a fierce creature to improve their fighting ability. Or, they may create a fetish out of feathers that helps them escape from harm (feathers = flight = escape). In some cultures, a band of warriors may demonstrate exceptional bravery while fighting under their banner, but if the banner should fall, their moral crumbles.

Sympathetic magic can be very open ended, and can be combined with almost any of the other magical models. Sympathetic magic often adds a rich texture to the story, but usually has little or no cost (though body modification like branding or piercing is undoubtedly painful). This is OK, since it has little effect on the world.

Information Processing

Here the universe is seen as a gigantic computer. People perform magic by reprogramming this computer. As such, Information Processing magic often has a super science or quantum mechanics element to it. The magic is often tied in with chaos theory, string theory, or whatever.

Here, you need to think about how the universe computer is reprogrammed. Is it something the mage can do mentally? Or does it require special hardware? Does the universe have viruses? Anti-virus/anti-intrusion software? What happens when you program a bug into the Universe? Is there tech support? Sysadmins?

Gadgeteering

Here, your power comes from your knowledge and your ability to create gadgets on the fly. These items may be magical or technological (think MacGyver). Gadgeteering is very common in the pulp and steam-punk genres. Most gadgets are one use items. You pull them out of a secret compartment in your shoe, or build it from things found under the sink. It has a single effect, then it disappears from the story. Longer term items are better represented by magical/super tech items.

You need to define what kind of gadgets your character can create? Do you brew potions? Do you weave herbs into small charms? Do you build miniature, steam-powered spiders? There are other important questions as well. How long does it take? What tools do they need? How dangerous is it? What could go wrong? But, these questions often need answered on a case-by-case basis.

Items

Here your power comes from the items you cary. These can be magical or super science. Think about the following: How is the item powered? How long do the batteries last? How do you recharge it? Can anyone use the item, or is it keyed to a specific person? Is it mass produced or a prototype? Does it have any design flaws/bugs/curses? How often does the item break down? How much maintenance does it require? Are other people looking for the item (for example, if it is a stolen prototype)?

Behavior limits

This isn't really a model of magic, but a modification of other magical models. Many magical systems have behavioral limits. Maybe you need to remain celibate. Maybe you cannot eat fresh meat. Maybe you must perform regular cleansing rituals.

Regardless, these behavior limits can be added to any magic system. However, they shouldn't be added randomly. They should somehow fit into the theme of the magic--they should make logical sense within the magic's rules.

For example, iron and steel might interfere with magic. Here, the mage cannot carry metal on their person (no swords or chainmail). This would be particularly appropriate with a fay-themed magic system, and (most importantly) would have other consequences. Non-mages might use iron shackles to "turn off" a mage's power. Furthermore, someone wearing metal armor or an iron ward would have some protection against magical effects.

Why does the limit exist? What are the effects of breaking the taboo? Are the effects permanent? Do you need to atone? Do they just fade on their own? What are the other implications of these limits? How do they influence society at large?

Tolkien vs C. S. Lewis

One last aspect to consider. I recently read an interesting essay on Tolkien and Lewis. They were contemporaries and apparently Tolkien often criticized Lewis's works, partially because of the religious content (Tolkien was a devoutly religious person himself--he just thought religious writing should be left to the professionals), but also because of the scope.

Tolkien worked hard to create a unified world. Sure, his world had a wide range of elements (elves, dwarves, dragons, etc.), but it drew largely from a single mythical source, and it was woven into a tight, unified whole.

Lewis was a magpie. Inspired by everything from Greek and Roman mythology to Beatrix Potter, he took anything that caught his eye and threw it into Narnia.

Most traditional games are much more Lewisian in scope. I suspect this goes back to AD&D's original "Monster Manual" and "Deities and Demigods" books (and probably even earlier). Both were encyclopedic collections of elements from a wide range of mythological and fictional sources.

A few games--like Pendragon--have taken a more focused approach.

Neither approach is necessarily better than the other. But they will influence the type of story you can tell.

Please Add Your Own

This is far from an exhaustive examination of magical systems, but I think it hits the highlights. Do you have any further models? Any modifications or additional questions we should ask when crafting magic systems? Please leave a comment.

Thank You Mur!

2006-05-31T23:23:00.000-10:00

Ok, ok, ok. I was listening to Mur Lafferty's I Should Be Writing podcast from May 20th. Yes, I'm that far behind. What can I say, I've been listening to a 30-hour audibook on the 14th century. Arrested templars, black plague, 100-years war: good, good stuff. God, I'm such a geek.

Anyway, Mur was kind enough to mention this blog on her program. Thank you, thank you Mur. I really appreciate it.

If you are interested in writing and you haven't listened to I Should Be Writing, shame on you. Shame, shame, shame.

I'll try to get a real essay up over the next couple days.

-Rich-

The Impossible Thing Before Breakfast

2006-05-26T23:02:00.000-10:00

Impossible Thing Before Breakfast, the

"The GM is the author of the story and the players direct the actions of the protagonists." Widely repeated across many role-playing texts. Neither sub-clause in the sentence is possible in the presence of the other. See Narrativism: Story Now.

From "The Provisional Glossary" by Ron Edwards

This entry in the glossary (among others) has always bothered me. It seems to come from the mistaken belief that an author can do whatever they want in the story.

"Wait!" you say. "The author writes the story--by definition, they CAN do whatever they want." Well, yes. But not if they expect other people to actually read it.

For a story to be successful, it must make sense. It must be believable. The character's actions must feel like a logical reaction to their current situation based on their established personality. Everything must follow the rules of cause and effect. Fiction is actually held to a higher level of coherence and continuity than reality. In the real world, things are often arbitrary or random. In fiction, this is simply not allowed.

When writing the story, the author is actually confined to a very tight space. Of course, the author can always go back and edit the story--to produce the necessary justification for whatever they want to occur. GMs don't have this luxury. But the constraints placed on an author are similar (if not in fact, then in spirit) to those placed on a GM.

Still, I often find myself struggling to explain a GM's role. They don't create the story in isolation--though they do play a vital role in building the story. They don't plan the plot--since the PCs will inevitably do something the GM did not anticipate. They do plan much of the background. They breathe life into the NPCs. They craft the deep currents--secrets and mysteries whose effects will eventually rise up and in many ways shape the plot. They also continually increase the level of conflict facing the PCs, generating new situations that cause trouble for the characters.

For the players, the role seems more straightforward. The player has absolute authority over their character. Except, what about fear checks and the like? These often seem acceptable--especially if they're an integral part of building the proper feel for the game. But they do stomp on player authority. Truth is, different games grant or remove different amounts of authority from the players. Can the player determine when and if his character dies? Can a player determine when or if his player fails? Who describes the failures? The successes? All games force the player to give up some authority. Do you give up authority to enhance the game mechanics (such as traditional saving throws, hit points, skill rolls and similar mechanics), or do you give up authority to enhance the story?

But players also help create the world, either implicitly through their character backgrounds and by asking the GM for specific details ("Do I know of any good bars in this town?"), or explicitly by stating facts in character ("I know a good bar around the corner. Lets talk there.").

I strongly feel that players should have a large role in shaping the world around them. They should have the freedom to flesh out those details that the GM has not yet penciled in. More importantly, their actions and decisions should have a visible effect on the world around them. They may not shake the foundations of society, topple civilization or raise up kings, but their actions should have consequences--both good and bad.

For his part, the GM needs to remain responsive to the players. He must work to create a story the players are interested in. He must incorporate the player's ideas and contributions into his story outline. In short, he must give up some authority over the game world and over the direction the plot will take.

Let's briefly revisit the idea of writers and outlines. As a writer, I spend a lot of time writing notes about the world and the back story. I flesh out all the antagonists and support characters. And, I spend the least amount of time on the protagonists. I know from experience, the main characters will change considerably as the story is written. They will develop quirks and habits as I go along. The needs of the story will force them to deviate from my original impressions. Similarly, I block out the main turning points of the story--but I rarely write a scene-by-scene outline. I let the individual scenes unfold as they will, and if the story deviates from my original plan--so be it. To me, this seems to be a good pattern for the GM as well.

But, if we're not going to call the GM an author, what is he? Editor is clearly not correct. The GM's roll in creating the world is much more authorial than editorial.

Previously I used the image of the GM as a gardner. I like this idea. He takes the story seed and plants it in rich top soil. He makes sure it has enough water, sunshine and fertilizer. He picks weeds and prunes the story. He ties it to supports when necessary. But he's not just any gardner. In my mind, the GM is a bonsai master, teasing the story into a dramatic shape. Like the bonsai, he cannot control where new leaves will bud. He might anticipate a branch's growth--he might restrict it or modify it. But, he must work with the plant to create art.

-Rich-

Story Is Structure

2006-05-19T23:01:00.000-10:00

"Story is structure." -- William Goldman

For a story to succeed, it needs structure. This structure either comes from the GM, or gets distributed among the players. Some gamers enjoy loose structures, others want more rigid structures--but if you want a story, you need some type of structure.

There are many parallels between how people structure their games and how authors plot their books. If you read several writing books, you'll quickly find that different authors have different theories. Some claim you should make detailed outlines and pin down all the information about your world before you begin. Others insist on a looser style. They want to start with a blank page, and just start writing. Let the story emerge organically. Often, the proponents of both sides argue that their way is the only way. In truth, there are advantages and disadvantages to both. Each writer needs to find their own balance, and most writers fall somewhere in the middle.

Outlining typically results in a better plot in the first draft. The story emerges in a well-organized, thought out manner. You can also uncover many problems with the story during the outlining--allowing you to fix them early, or preventing you from wasting time on an ultimately flawed idea. The downside is, if the outline becomes too strict, it can make the story feel lifeless and sterile. To be successful, the writer must use the outline as a guide but allow the story to drift where it will.

Freeform stories often have a more organic, more lifelike feel. They also typically need extensive editing. The first draft is really a discovery draft, letting the author explore the ideas. One of the real dangers of freeform stories is that the author will reach the end and find that there is no real story. This is a particular problem in the RPG context, since your ability to edit is very limited.

Traditional games tend to fall in the outline-everything camp (what I'll call highly structured games). The GM has absolute control over the world. The players act within the GMs world--and often the structure severely limits their choices. In the worst cases, the GM imposes the plot upon the players. The structure becomes so stifling that any spark of story suffocates and dies.

Many newer, Forge inspired, narrativist games fall at the organic end (loosely structured games). This includes several Gmless games. The games tend to be more democratic--players have a greater role in creating the world around them, and the story emerges from the player's interactions. In the worst cases, the story has no center and just falls apart. And, with several different people contribute to the story, it can be hard to fit all the pieces into a coherent whole.

Similar to the writing examples, neither gaming style is inherently better than the other. They both have their strengths and weaknesses. And, I suspect, the best stories come from the middle.

For me, GMless games make me uncomfortable. I like knowing that there is one person at the table who will ensure all the loose ends get tied up. One person who knows all the mysteries. Who can dole out important clues.

I don't trust that a well-plotted story will just emerge. Too many things can go wrong. In my experience, GMless stories are often lack coherence and focus brought by a GM. Worse yet, as a player, I either find myself competing with other players for control over the game's direction--or I just shut up and become too afraid to contribute anything. Neither approach is healthy or fun.

Now, in full disclosure, I must say that I have never played a published, GMless game. My opinions come from ad-hoc experiments. Many people enjoy GMless games. But I need more structure.

On the other hand, I also don't do well with stifling games. My character's actions should have a visible impact on the world. My decisions should matter. I should be able to contribute NPCs and locations, as long as they don't contradict those things the GM has already established.

I also feel that the GM has obligations to the players. As I mentioned in a previous essay, you can't bring a pistol on stage, unless you're going to shoot someone later on. If my character's background introduces a younger sister, then I expect the GM to bring her into the game. She should be captured, turn evil, whatever. The GM must weave these character-introduced elements seamlessly into the overall story.

OK, I will take off my writer's hat and put on my Computer Science hat for a minute. I've worked a lot on AI and Alife. Chaos is a commonly recurring theme. Too much randomness and the system falls apart. Too little and it smothers and dies. Somewhere in the middle is the Goldielocks mixture--that's where interesting things happen.

Tracy Hickman compares this to gripping a handful of marbles. Squeeze too tight, and the marbles pop out between your fingers. Too loosely, and they roll everywhere. I suspect he cups his marbles a bit tighter than I do mine--but it's still a good metaphor.

Interesting things often happen at boundary conditions: water at the freezing point melts and re-crystalizes in interesting patterns. Similarly, I feel that there's a fuzzy boundary condition between highly structured and loosely structured games. Here, the players have enough freedom to become full participants in the story, but the GM has enough authority to impose structure.

For me, this is where stories happen.

Gaming as Writing Workshop

2006-05-12T01:20:00.000-10:00

Holly Lisle, in her podcast Holly Lisle On Writing, Episode 3 briefly discussed the intersection of gaming and fiction writing. She said that she sometimes created game versions of her worlds, then ran a group of players through them--using it as an interactive workshop in world building.

Said Holly, "They're not so hot for putting together stories, but they're fine, fine, fine if you're wanting to figure out how to build your own world."

Here's the thing. Back in my misspent youth, I think my gaming actually hurt my writing. I developed bad habits regarding conflict (mostly killing things) and plot (fairly superficial, linear, action-adventures). Maybe it was just the folly of youth--but I really think gaming encouraged me to stay within that comfort zone much longer than I would have otherwise. I wrote an epic fantasy novel in college. I swear, you can almost hear the dice rolling. Much of the action had no point in the larger story--just another random encounter thrown in the character's way. It was bad, bad, bad.

Sometime in my mid-twenties, things began to turn. My fiction broke out from behind my gaming and the stories began to explore issues that truly matter. My hopes and fears made it onto the page. My protagonists fell from grace--no longer the golden heros of adventure fantasy, they had their own hopes, daydreams and moments of weakness. Combat, when it occurred, was now a symptom of a larger conflict--not THE CONFLICT.

Then a funny thing happened. My writing bled back into my gaming and improved the stories that we told at the table.

Still, that's not enough for me. I want to play games that actually improve my writing. I want those dinner-table stories to be so engaging, so moving, that they challenge me to reach even deeper within myself when I write. I don't know if I'll ever get there, but that's where I want to be.

When you play a game, the audience is right there, just arms length away. The other players provide near-instantaneous feedback. You can see when they get excited or confused or bored. So, why can't roleplaying function as a workshop for things other than world building? Why can't we use the game to hone our sense of plots, pacing, themes, characters, or any other writing technique?

Game stories and written stories are different--in some ways very different. Not all techniques can cross from one to the other. So is this just a hopeless dream? Or will we actually get there some day?

I don't have an answer to this. I'm just throwing it out.

Scenes

2006-05-04T11:42:00.000-10:00

Scenes are the basic building blocks of stories. Like LEGOs, we snap them together to build bigger, more interesting structures. A scene is a focused event that usually takes place in a single location. Designing effective scenes is key to good stories, both in fiction and in RPGs.

In his book "Scene & Structure" Jack Bickham describes a scene as having three elements.

1) Statement of Goal
2) Introduction and development of conflict
3) Tactical disaster

The characters should have a clear goal. They should be moving towards something. This is specifically a short-term goal for the scene--the characters should also have long term goals. Every scene should be a stepping stone to reaching those long-term goals, but we're strictly interested in the short-term here. The character's want to convince the Duke to fund their expedition, or they want to find a way to sneak into the military base undetected. The goal is what gives the scene meaning. No goal, no point.

Obviously, the characters cannot just get whatever the want; where's the drama in that. We need conflict. Some obstacle gets in the characters way, preventing them from fulfilling their goal. The Duke's Minister of Finance argues strongly against loaning the characters money, or a guard comes across the characters as they are cutting through the barb-wire perimeter.

After introducing the conflict, both the players and GM need to develop it. Don't let yourself get stuck in "Yes, I am!" "No, you're not!" circular arguments--or repetitive, dice-based resolutions. The conflict needs to move forward. Both players and their opponents should bring up different points, try different tactics. If they are losing on one front, they should shift to another. This also applies to inanimate obstacles. So, the characters are nimble enough to cross the raging river on an old log, what else could go wrong?

You should spend most of the scene (75 to 90% of the time) developing and expanding the conflict.

Finally, the scene should end in disaster. Not only do the characters fail to reach their goal, they end up worse off than before. The Minister of Finance convinces the Duke that the characters are actually spies. Or the characters set off an alarm and can hear the telltale rumble of attack helicopters rapidly approaching.

I've heard similar advice from other writers. It basically boils down to "Never give the characters what they want." Of course, even a cursory glance at most stories will show you that characters do occasionally get what they want (though usually only after surviving considerable difficulty). Not all scenes end in disaster. Sometimes the characters do come out ahead. They find an important clue or a magical sword. Whatever. But, the basic advice is still sound. The characters should fail more often than they succeed. Their position should deteriorate over the length of the story. Things should get harder for them--tensions increase--until you reach the climax.

Traditional RPGs often run in the opposite direction. Characters become more powerful over time--either by gaining experience, or by stealing magical treasures off the dead. Sure, the conflict (and by this I mean combat) may have had a small toll on the party. Spells were spent; potions quaffed. But given a good night's rest, 90% of that cost has disappeared, and the characters have a few shiny new toys to try on the next band of orcs the run across.

Now, character advancement is a powerful motivator for the player. It is one of the more-significant sources of enjoyment for many. But, the way most games focus on character advancement makes creating good story arcs difficult. Worse yet, this idea of character advancement is so pervasive, it even infects many (if not most) of the independent story-focused games on the market.

Here are two more pieces of advice on scenes. A mentor of mine once said, "A scene should always have at least two things happening." If there is only one thing happening, it's not worth the effort. Better to cut the scene entirely.

Finally, never bring anything on stage unless you plan on using it later in the story.

Now, role-playing scenes seem to fail in several ways. For me, the worst is the "random encounter." This violates almost all the advice listed above. The characters have no goal, except to survive the scene. There is conflict (again, usually limited to mechanically-resolved combat), but it usually ends positively for the characters. Only one thing happens--someone attacks the characters. And, most importantly, these are random opponents--once slain, they disappear from the story. The resulting scene has no point beyond the immediate tactical challenge. It cannot create a story.

If you want to have bandits attack the party, fine. But make sure there is more meat to the scene. Perhaps all the bandits have a strange brand on the back of their left hand. They are part of a larger conspiracy, one that will crop up frequently throughout the rest of the story. Sure, the characters may win a temporary victory--but they have just uncovered a previously secret organization that wants them dead. That can't be good news.

Another common failure is the pointless-excuse-for-acting scene. Here, the characters interact with quirky locals--perhaps an unusual shopkeeper, tavern owner, or police officer. These scenes are often humorous--but there is no conflict, and the NPCs almost never play any further role in the story.

Let me back off a bit and say that there is a place for quieter, character-building scenes in both fiction and RPGs. These scenes often follow a major conflict. The momentum of the conflict carries us through the quieter scene, but we can catch our breath. Still, these scenes should be rare and they must be short. Nothing kills a story faster than bloated, sluggish scenes like these. If you want the characters to chat with a quirky shop keep, fine. Toss a bit of conflict into the mix; an old nemesis happens to enter the shop halfway through the discussion. Alternatively, make the character a more-important part of the story. Maybe the shopkeeper turns up missing the next day.

Another big failure is trying to build conflict through game mechanics. Let's take a character trying to scale a castle wall. The character has a goal (getting to the top in one piece) and a conflict (climbing is dangerous). In the most-degenerate case, the whole conflict boils down to a die roll. The character succeeds and reaches the top (and the conflict fades completely). Or he fails and falls to his death (again, conflict disappears, but not in a good way). Even if the fall would just injure the character, it is hard to build any real sense of tension this way. Either the injuries from a fall are minor, and the character ignores them. Or they will prevent him from climbing the wall entirely--which often brings the story to a screeching halt.

Ideally, conflict should not be something the characters roll their way out of. Instead, look for conflicts that make the characters to think. Force them to make hard decisions. Take our wall-climbing character. Imagine an experienced climber. The wall does not present a serious challenge. Instead, just after he reaches the halfway point, a teenage love-struck scullery maid appears at the top of the wall. She doesn't notice the climber, rather she stares dreamily off at the horizon, humming under her breath.

Now this presents a real problem for our character. She will probably notice if he tries to sneak past her. Even climbing back down would be risky. If he makes too much noise, she'll surely spot him. He could kill her to keep her from sounding the alarm--if he's the type to murder innocent young girls in cold blood.

This scenario also has room to grow. We can easily increase the tension by having her lover--a young knight--show up at a dramatically suitable moment. We can also have a disaster (the girl screams and alerts the guards) without it being instantly fatal.

From a scene-crafting point of view, the GM seems to have two important roles. First, they have to filter out the incidents that make good scenes from those that don't. The GM should focus game time on the first group, while de-emphasizing the second (keeping the scenes short, or handling the events offscreen). Keep the game focused on the exciting bits.

More important, the GM needs to constantly throw conflicts and complications at the characters. He needs to be mean. Chase them up trees, then throw rocks at them. This is hard, it means acting cruelly to your friends (or, at least, to your friend's imaginary constructs). In my experience, most GMs flinch and fail to provide an adequate level of real conflict in their games. Instead, they focus on mechanical conflict. It's not me, it's the dice.

When building conflicts, think about all the things that could go wrong. If you're planning things out between gaming sessions, actually list at least ten things. Then pick the most interesting. You usually have a good idea of what the players might do during the next game session--write down a few good complications. Often, you can refactor those complications and still use them when the players inevitably go off script.

If you are in the middle of a game, resist the temptation to grab the fist conflict that pops into your head. Those are often the most stereotypical. Most importantly, try to find something that opens possibilities, instead of shutting them. And don't be afraid of being mean.

A Gamer's Manifesto

2006-04-29T10:09:00.000-10:00

I am a man wearing a million hats. Some of the most important include: father, husband, world traveler, computer programmer, student, ex-game designer, freelance writer, avid gamer and struggling fiction writer. The last one is the most relevant here. For a long time, my writing has suffered. Between changing diapers and studying for midterms, I had very little time or energy left. Oh, I would get the occasional word on paper (or pixel on screen, I guess), but my writing took an unfortunate back seat to life.

About six months ago, I decided that enough was enough. I took a careful look at my priorities and tried to refocus my energy on writing. It still suffers--there is never enough time. But I was getting real work done again.

As part of this process, I started reading (or in some cases, rereading) books about writing. I carefully examined books on character, dialog, writing scenes and plots. It was in the middle of a book on creating plots that inspiration struck. I realized two things. First, many of these techniques could easily be used to improve the quality of the stories told in role-playing games. In many cases I was already familiar with the technique, but I had never considered it in the context of an RPG. Second, most games include some systems that actively inhibit the creation of good plots.

Lets take a short detour to look at role-playing games in general. Role-playing is an amazing hobby. Games offer so much: the chance to explore other times and other places (or times and places that never were), mysteries to be solved, monsters to be slain, treasures to be found, stories to be told. Different people are attracted to different parts of the gaming crazy-quilt. Some like the tactical challenge of combat. Others seek pure escapism. Some come simply as a social activity. And some, like myself, come looking for a story.

I would like to thank Ron Edwards at The Forge (www.indie-rpgs.com) for introducing me to this idea. I may not always agree with his divisions or definitions, but I think the basic essence is correct. As a gamer, it is important to understand what you want from the game, and then to surround yourself with like-minded (or at least compatible) players.

So, when I talk about gaming, I will pretend that I am speaking to a like-minded (or at least open-minded) community. My comments will come from my own personal bias. I am strictly interested in improving the story-content of games. When I say, for example, "Most advancement systems are broken", that is really just a short hand for, "If your primary goal is to create well-plotted stories, then most advancement systems are broken." From a game-system standpoint the same advancement system may play an integral psychological role in motivating players, keeping them interested in the game, and perhaps a bit addicted to it. That, however, is not my primary interest.

Mostly, I do not want to get mired in a my-style-of-gaming-is-better-than-yours argument. There's enough room in the hobby for all of us.

Unfortunately the definition of "story" closely resembles the supreme court's definition of "pornography", I know it when I see it. A lot of ideas huddle together under the great story umbrella--some of them are contradictory. That's OK. Just like there's no universally perfect game, there's also no universally perfect story. Here's a quick sampling of things I think are important from an RPG point of view. This list will undoubtedly evolve over time.

* Stories are not a random stringing together of ideas and incidences. Stories have plots and structure.

* As a player, my character should be at the center of the story. His actions (and most importantly his decisions) should matter. He should leave footprints in the sand.

* My character should have free will. This does not mean unlimited free will--after all, I (as a supposedly real person) don't have unlimited free will. My real-life choices are constrained by laws and the necessities of life--as well as a host of other artificial constructs I have built up in my head.

* My failures should move the story forward in interesting ways. Death is a generally uninteresting consequence; it usually indicates the end of a story (at least as far as that character is concerned). Being captured and thrown into a dank, smelly, roach-filled prison has so many more opportunities to move the story forward.

* The GM should respect the image I am trying to create for my character. He should not violate that image lightly.

* Stories should resonate with the players (including the GM) in meaningful ways.

* Stories should challenge the players (including the GM).

* RPG stories are social events, and the social side should not be ignored.

* Most importantly, stories should be fun.

My list focuses primarily on gaming as a player. I find I'm much picker as a player. I could GM for a pack of wild dogs and have a good time. But as a player, it's harder.

I have played a few games that exceed these expectations, several that just manage to meet them, and quite a few that come close but somehow fall short. Unfortunately, there are also a number that have failed completely. I hope, by examining how stories are produced in other media, I can improve these odds. I hope by committing these ideas to the web--and by allowing the community to poke and prod at them--I can make them clearer in my own head. If more people become happier in their games, then my mission here is done.

-Rich-