My Take on Tactics

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-Rich-

Update on my life

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

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

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

-Rich-

Defending Gamist and Simulationist play.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-Rich-

Well, That's One Theory...

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

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


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


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


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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Greatest Hits

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

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

• Story is Structure


• Scenes


• Gaming Vs. Writing


• Magic Systems


• Conflict: Evolve or Resolve


• Character Integrity


• Decisions that Matter

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

Preparation Hell

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But, really, what choice do I have?

Task vs. Conflict Resolution Revisited

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

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

However, all's not well in paradise.

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

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

However, these rolls are profoundly task based.

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

1) Ignore It

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

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

2) Stop Using Knowledge/Perception Rolls

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

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

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

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

3) Justify The Task Rolls

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

One More Thing To Worry About

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Defending One-Trick Ponies.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-Rich-

The Magic of Changeling

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Contracts

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

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

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

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

Pledges

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

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

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

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

Tokens

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

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

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

Entering Dreams

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

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

Entering the Hedge

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

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

Fortunately, there are several reasons to tempt the Hedge.

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

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

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

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

The Dark Side

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

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

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

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

Rules: The Game World's Physics

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In my mind, there are three main solutions:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-Rich-

Harry Potter and the Lost Art of Making Players Cry

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-Rich-

Control of the Character

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

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

Character Control

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Character Change

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thematic Batteries

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thanks,

-Rich-

Decisions That Matter

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

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

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

Pre-Scene Decisions

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mid-Scene Decisions

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

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

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

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

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

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

Post-Scene Decisions

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

Again, a story should progress as follows:

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

Notice how these decisions fit nicely into that framework.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-Rich-

Another piece of the GM puzzle

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Character's central conflict, decision and resolution

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.