Character's central conflict, decision and resolution

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

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

"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

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

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?

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

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

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:

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

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

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

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!

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

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

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

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

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?
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• 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.