DMs (and GMs, by extension) have been compared to many different things by a thousand blogs and books and guides. I'm fairly certain I've never heard anyone make this comparison, so its time for me to do it. It seems extremely apt to me; the DM must create the illusion of an extremely deep world out of something that is in actuality very shallow. Performing this trick successfully is, itself, a con. You need to have the mental dexterity and the foresight of a someone pulling a long, continuous con whereby the players begin to get the feeling that the world they're interacting with really exists. You are the conduit through which it can be accessed. No one is capable of that much detail, no matter how much of their time they put into it... and yet, good DMs are capable of at least providing their players enough to suspend their disbelief.
What does a good con-artist require? Attention to detail. The same thing that a good film requires. If you can see the boom mike, or your clothes look too cheap for who you're supposed to be, then your audience (an actual audience and the people you're trying to con, respectively) will know that you're full of shit. If players see a flaccid world that has no details, if they dig and find that its only cardboard-thin, they'll likewise realize that they're playing a game without depth. The best compliment anyone has ever given me was that the world they played in "felt real." Not that the pacing of the session was great, or that the combat was exciting (though they often comment that they feel like there's ice in their bowels every time combat starts, which to me is another kind of victory) but that the world feels like a real place.
This ties in to the unique encounter tables that I talked about on Friday—they help to give the appearance of realism by featuring individual events that are more properly tailored to their environment than the standard d100 roll resulting in goblins. Of course, even when I roll a group of 4d6 goblins there are some mental gymnastics required to figure out what they're up to when the PCs meet them, if they have prisoners, etc. So even there, on a normal, standard encounter check, there are chances to show off the set. Let the players thump the facades and pry into the back rooms—just be sure you're either fast enough to fill in what's back there or have planned in advance.
This is why maps, histories, NPCs, encounter tables, and other such things are best planned out in advance. They reduce the amount of shilly-shallying the DM needs to do at the table to provide a "living" world. This is also why notes that never get used are important—those dungeons the PCs never went into? They were real dungeons that existed for them, that they knew where legitimate options. Of course, you can always stop the game and say that you don't have enough notes to continue... but that's admission that the con is breaking down. The best thing to do is have the notes prepared. The worst thing to do is to try to bar them access from places you aren't ready to display. Even stopping the game is better than that.
Remember: your players want to be fooled. They want you to be the best DM they've ever had. Just convince them that they're right.
Ruminations on fiction, roleplaying, and assorted irritants.
Showing posts with label players. Show all posts
Showing posts with label players. Show all posts
Monday, January 13, 2014
Wednesday, August 28, 2013
Only You
There's an inbuilt assumption that I've been working really hard to overcome for a long while. I feel like I have a lot of these little confessional moments about ingrained assumptions as a DM that I'm working on. I don't know if that makes me whiny, or a bad DM, or just cognizant of my weaknesses. But that's besides the point.
The assumption is that only the player characters matter. What do I mean by this? CLEARLY for the content of the game, the player characters are the most important element. They are, in a sense, truly the only thing that matters because without them as a stepping stone into the game world the players would have no way to interact with anything and the game would be something more like a book and less like a roleplaying game. But in this particular instance, I mean that the actions of the player characters are the most important elements in the game world. Essentially, the idea that the world is a collection of events that were already going to happen and that without the player's interference, things usually degrade. EG, don't go and kill some ogres? Well, later they are much more dangerous and smashing up caravans instead of just terrorizing the local peasantry.
This is a good quick short-hand for consequentialism. You did or did not do X or Y, therefore Z or possibly W happened. I think that's a great lead-in for fresh players to understand the game. But consequentialism in D&D can be a lot more complicated than that. I have to remind myself that the players are not the only power in the region. They aren't even the only adventuring party. So things may resolve in a way that is more or less in line with what they were hoping for, but they shouldn't invariably degenerate without player input. It's almost as though the setting is a watch and the players need to go around winding parts of it to keep the systemic entropy from increasing and increasing.
That sounds like a fun game, actually.
But while having consequence-chains be completely beyond player anticipation or outside their frame of reference is frustrating... The world always counting on the players to solve things can be frustrating as well. It can foster a sense of immediacy that means PCs must accomplish every action all at once. This completionist feeling is arguably just as dangerous to the gameplay.
So, I've been thinking of making some charts to represent what happens to adventures when PCs turn them down. In the same vein, I've been thinking of making charts to represent how complex political situations resolve themselves so I'm not just deciding based on what I think is appropriate. That may work in some cases, but sometimes I want to be surprised -- does the attempt at a coup succeed? Fail? The dice can tell me and I can interpret their results.
Since these things are somewhat abstracted (they're happening "off stage" so they don't need to be granular, and without direct player interference so they don't need complex rules governing PC interaction with them) these charts can be as simple as the sample I'm going to provide right here:
What Happened to that Quest/Hook?
01-20. Things got worse. There are more goblins, more dangerous wizards, or some increase in stakes.
21-30. Things got worse. Another adventuring party tried to solve it, but failed. Their failure has made things even worse than before.
31-45. Things got worse. Local militia or knights tried to solve the problem, but failed terribly.
46-55. The problem went away or resolved on its own. No action was necessary.
56-70. The problem was solved by an adventuring party. It's all good.
71-85. The problem was resolved by local forces. It's still all good. They may have gained some levels.
86-90. Whatever was wrong has caused another major issue to spring up. At the DMs option, they may both be problems now.
91-95. The adventure was exposed as a political manipulation, maneuver, or front. Whoever had the "issue" has been outed as having set everything up.
96-00. No change.
The assumption is that only the player characters matter. What do I mean by this? CLEARLY for the content of the game, the player characters are the most important element. They are, in a sense, truly the only thing that matters because without them as a stepping stone into the game world the players would have no way to interact with anything and the game would be something more like a book and less like a roleplaying game. But in this particular instance, I mean that the actions of the player characters are the most important elements in the game world. Essentially, the idea that the world is a collection of events that were already going to happen and that without the player's interference, things usually degrade. EG, don't go and kill some ogres? Well, later they are much more dangerous and smashing up caravans instead of just terrorizing the local peasantry.
This is a good quick short-hand for consequentialism. You did or did not do X or Y, therefore Z or possibly W happened. I think that's a great lead-in for fresh players to understand the game. But consequentialism in D&D can be a lot more complicated than that. I have to remind myself that the players are not the only power in the region. They aren't even the only adventuring party. So things may resolve in a way that is more or less in line with what they were hoping for, but they shouldn't invariably degenerate without player input. It's almost as though the setting is a watch and the players need to go around winding parts of it to keep the systemic entropy from increasing and increasing.
That sounds like a fun game, actually.
But while having consequence-chains be completely beyond player anticipation or outside their frame of reference is frustrating... The world always counting on the players to solve things can be frustrating as well. It can foster a sense of immediacy that means PCs must accomplish every action all at once. This completionist feeling is arguably just as dangerous to the gameplay.
So, I've been thinking of making some charts to represent what happens to adventures when PCs turn them down. In the same vein, I've been thinking of making charts to represent how complex political situations resolve themselves so I'm not just deciding based on what I think is appropriate. That may work in some cases, but sometimes I want to be surprised -- does the attempt at a coup succeed? Fail? The dice can tell me and I can interpret their results.
Since these things are somewhat abstracted (they're happening "off stage" so they don't need to be granular, and without direct player interference so they don't need complex rules governing PC interaction with them) these charts can be as simple as the sample I'm going to provide right here:
What Happened to that Quest/Hook?
01-20. Things got worse. There are more goblins, more dangerous wizards, or some increase in stakes.
21-30. Things got worse. Another adventuring party tried to solve it, but failed. Their failure has made things even worse than before.
31-45. Things got worse. Local militia or knights tried to solve the problem, but failed terribly.
46-55. The problem went away or resolved on its own. No action was necessary.
56-70. The problem was solved by an adventuring party. It's all good.
71-85. The problem was resolved by local forces. It's still all good. They may have gained some levels.
86-90. Whatever was wrong has caused another major issue to spring up. At the DMs option, they may both be problems now.
91-95. The adventure was exposed as a political manipulation, maneuver, or front. Whoever had the "issue" has been outed as having set everything up.
96-00. No change.
Tuesday, April 16, 2013
Someone Call the Cops!
Sometimes (and this is particularly true of low level adventuring parties) the dangers one faces are just too scary and too powerful to deal with on your own. Perhaps you simply cannot come up with a plan to assault a campfull of orcish raiders in the hills, or the scheming machinations of your political foes have procured a number of assassins whom you are rightfully afraid will murder you in the night. What do you do in these cases? Well, one option is to turn to the local authorities. Of course, since this is a fantastic medieval setting, they're not going to respond like the police would. They'll respond as feudal overlords and take immediate action to protect rights, land, and property that they feel are imperiled. If they're generally good, maybe they'll feel bad for anyone who might be hurt by the danger your party is incapable of facing, as well.
Either way: let's say you drum up a corps of knights to go kill those orcs. That is a solution to the problem, no doubt. But as a game where consequences matter, it's a solution that most players will find immensely unsatisfying for several reasons. The first is that they are adventurers. If they wanted to just beseech the local lord every time some ravening orcs were around, they wouldn't have gone out to adventure. They'd have remained farmers, masons, wheelwrights, whatever their parents were or their masters or what-have-you. Clearly, since they're the type to scrimp and save and then go out and buy a sword (a big deal in a medieval setting!) they have the impetus to stick those problems in the gut with two feet of steel.
The second reason is the natural response of authorities to adventurers everywhere: pure mistrust shading all the way to outright hatred. After all, adventurers present a locus of power that essentially challenges the authority of the local lords. Except in the wildest of frontiers, theirs is a power that rests on the ability to do exactly what adventurers make it their stock and trade to do: protect, defend, and slaughter. If someone sees an adventuring party as a legitimate source of justice or protection, it certainly undermines the position of their baron or count. Of course, the situation may exist where the baron or count is the one who hired the adventurers in the first place to act as his agents, which means he either lacks the means to address the problem in another way or (more likely) he will be incensed that his original investment of time, energy, and perhaps money has not panned out.
The third reason has to do with agency. PCs who are trying to solve a problem (such as that orc camp) have complete freedom to cook up any plan they want. Once some belted knights and a few hastily drawn up levees arrive, that game has essentially ended. They've surrendered their free agency in the face of a threat they cannot handle and have instead handed over the reigns to an authority figure. Now, they may be fine with this. But it means they have intentionally sidelined themselves and are now going to be taking orders, if they participate at all.
The last reason is the one that the characters will actually feel the most—the wallet. Their purse will be quite a bit lighter if they were hired to perform a job which they discover they are unable to perform. That intangible reward of local acclaim will also be far lower, one may wager.
Now, that's not to say that players should feel they can never ask anyone for help. After all, surviving and living to go on another adventure is a type of victory too. However, in the games I run actions have consequences. The natural consequences of passing off responsibility for a threat to a higher authority is that the rewards reaped are generally lower and the control of the operation usually passes out of PC hands.
Either way: let's say you drum up a corps of knights to go kill those orcs. That is a solution to the problem, no doubt. But as a game where consequences matter, it's a solution that most players will find immensely unsatisfying for several reasons. The first is that they are adventurers. If they wanted to just beseech the local lord every time some ravening orcs were around, they wouldn't have gone out to adventure. They'd have remained farmers, masons, wheelwrights, whatever their parents were or their masters or what-have-you. Clearly, since they're the type to scrimp and save and then go out and buy a sword (a big deal in a medieval setting!) they have the impetus to stick those problems in the gut with two feet of steel.
The second reason is the natural response of authorities to adventurers everywhere: pure mistrust shading all the way to outright hatred. After all, adventurers present a locus of power that essentially challenges the authority of the local lords. Except in the wildest of frontiers, theirs is a power that rests on the ability to do exactly what adventurers make it their stock and trade to do: protect, defend, and slaughter. If someone sees an adventuring party as a legitimate source of justice or protection, it certainly undermines the position of their baron or count. Of course, the situation may exist where the baron or count is the one who hired the adventurers in the first place to act as his agents, which means he either lacks the means to address the problem in another way or (more likely) he will be incensed that his original investment of time, energy, and perhaps money has not panned out.
The third reason has to do with agency. PCs who are trying to solve a problem (such as that orc camp) have complete freedom to cook up any plan they want. Once some belted knights and a few hastily drawn up levees arrive, that game has essentially ended. They've surrendered their free agency in the face of a threat they cannot handle and have instead handed over the reigns to an authority figure. Now, they may be fine with this. But it means they have intentionally sidelined themselves and are now going to be taking orders, if they participate at all.
The last reason is the one that the characters will actually feel the most—the wallet. Their purse will be quite a bit lighter if they were hired to perform a job which they discover they are unable to perform. That intangible reward of local acclaim will also be far lower, one may wager.
Now, that's not to say that players should feel they can never ask anyone for help. After all, surviving and living to go on another adventure is a type of victory too. However, in the games I run actions have consequences. The natural consequences of passing off responsibility for a threat to a higher authority is that the rewards reaped are generally lower and the control of the operation usually passes out of PC hands.
Wednesday, March 13, 2013
Planning Sessions
Sometimes when we play D&D nothing concrete gets accomplished, and that's ok. Yesterday and the day before we played at night. There was no fighting, there was little exploration (alright, to be fair there were two roleplaying encounters that weren't TECHNICALLY part of the planning, but they were so closely related as to be almost indistinguishable). Instead, every character took a sincere and concerted interest in sorting out their plans as to what adventures to conquer and how to conquer them.
This is the kind of thoughtful session that is necessary to have once in a while. I feel as though they are the result of playing in a text-only environment (something which I am seeking to rectify to the great consternation of Keir's player, who has grown so used to playing with text that he despises now playing with VOIP). Complex ideas take far longer to convey in a textual format and we like to do things in character, so they take even longer as characters express complicated emotions and plans in their own voices.
I don't object to these kinds of sessions, even though they leave me little to do. I love watching the characters interact, particularly once the party has gelled to a comfortable composition. Watching various feelings and alignments pull in all sorts of directions while still maintaining the harmony (or semi-harmony) of a party with goals and at least some mutual respect for one another is entertaining to say the least. Even as they sort out their desires and plans, bits and pieces of who they are as characters always shine through.
There can be no substitution for planning in this way, either. There is the deep-seated and dangerous urge to rush forward with the easiest-sounding job and let that be the plan. Indeed, there is a common mistake wherein an idea is substituted for a plan, the difference between them being completeness and complexity. For example: "When we fight these firedrakes, let us dig a hole and stay in it"and "When we go to take on this goblin camp, we'll set fire to everything we can see" are both ideas. Plans have details, such as "We'll dig this hole here, and that one there, and we'll set up a scorpion in this one."
Detailing plans is always the hardest part of gaming via text. Plans are niggling, complicated, many-parted, manifold things that are difficult to discuss and take apart in an online IRC-based environment and even more so in character. I love planning sessions like this for another reason, as well: it shows my players are thinking, and nothing gets my (pardon the expression) dick hard like knowing that I've engendered some real deep thought between the players. I love to see plans form and fall to pieces, to imagine the thousand possible futures they present.
Bring it on, players! Plan to your heart's content! Too much planning is far preferable to too little!
This is the kind of thoughtful session that is necessary to have once in a while. I feel as though they are the result of playing in a text-only environment (something which I am seeking to rectify to the great consternation of Keir's player, who has grown so used to playing with text that he despises now playing with VOIP). Complex ideas take far longer to convey in a textual format and we like to do things in character, so they take even longer as characters express complicated emotions and plans in their own voices.
I don't object to these kinds of sessions, even though they leave me little to do. I love watching the characters interact, particularly once the party has gelled to a comfortable composition. Watching various feelings and alignments pull in all sorts of directions while still maintaining the harmony (or semi-harmony) of a party with goals and at least some mutual respect for one another is entertaining to say the least. Even as they sort out their desires and plans, bits and pieces of who they are as characters always shine through.
There can be no substitution for planning in this way, either. There is the deep-seated and dangerous urge to rush forward with the easiest-sounding job and let that be the plan. Indeed, there is a common mistake wherein an idea is substituted for a plan, the difference between them being completeness and complexity. For example: "When we fight these firedrakes, let us dig a hole and stay in it"and "When we go to take on this goblin camp, we'll set fire to everything we can see" are both ideas. Plans have details, such as "We'll dig this hole here, and that one there, and we'll set up a scorpion in this one."
Detailing plans is always the hardest part of gaming via text. Plans are niggling, complicated, many-parted, manifold things that are difficult to discuss and take apart in an online IRC-based environment and even more so in character. I love planning sessions like this for another reason, as well: it shows my players are thinking, and nothing gets my (pardon the expression) dick hard like knowing that I've engendered some real deep thought between the players. I love to see plans form and fall to pieces, to imagine the thousand possible futures they present.
Bring it on, players! Plan to your heart's content! Too much planning is far preferable to too little!
Saturday, December 22, 2012
Enter the Dungeon (at your peril)
So, I'm teaching some new people how to play AD&D. They've never played a pen and paper RPG before, so their experience with D&D-style things is rooted in video games, theater, and novels. As I do this, I thought it would be interesting to keep a sort of ethnography of the D&D player, examine how they grapple with various D&D concepts, that sort of thing. I've never taught an adult to play before, my last experience with TEACHING the game was probably when I was 18 or so.
This is a writeup of our first night.
Everyone trickled in and we watched a little Heavy Metal (part of the educational process for our prog-rock band, Ballchild) and ordered some Thai food. It was probably a mistake to let the night drag on for so long before we started actually talking about D&D but I drew it out as long as I possibly could for fear that they wouldn't like it, that they would think it was silly or stupid, all those fears. Yes, they're rooted deep inside me; somehow I still think of it as a shameful thing to do, or at least semi-shameful. STRANGE.
They rolled up their characters using the immensely painful 3d6-in-order method of which I am a particular fan. I explained they could reroll if they liked, since this was the hardest of all the dice methods. They were instantly derisive of doing so, which warmed my heart.
As I explained the classes they grappled with the archetypes each one represented. The most confusing was probably the clerical class because the 10th Age ONLY has specialty priests and I really didn't want to get into detail about 45 different variations of the priest.
We have one player playing across genders (girl playing a boy), which was a change from the usual boy playing a girl trope. There were a lot of dick jokes, particularly about how we would decide the size and girth of each character's dick at creation. I resisted the urge to mention FATAL since it would've just frightened them if I explained it.
They were immediately drunk with the options of play. "Can we do this?" was a common question, even before classes where decided. They swung from plotting to kill every gnome in creation to toppling the emperor in the first twenty or so minutes. This is the stage that most people are at the first time they're introduced to D&D, I think... but for kids it may last several years rather than 20 or 30 minutes.
They were also pretty enamoured (I think) of the notion that your character would outlive you if you retired, and they would become a permanent fixture in the setting. "We're making history!" Amanda exclaimed at one point. Bear in mind that they have YET to play!
Proficiencies were difficult but we got through it with careful culling of the extra prof lists (I only have Combat and Tactics and the Tome of Magic with me so there was no need to pour through things like Spells and Magic or the Complete Fighter). It was equipment that sank the night, for it took hours to distribute gold pieces, determine what was necessary to carry, and discuss whether or not they wanted to buy a donkey or hire porters and carriers to lug their stuff around.
What we came out with was this:
Ricki playing Antonio, a half-Dorlish half-Varan Grovetender of Eleia; lusty and pansexual.
Amanda playing Aubergine, a halfling thief who is all about breaking down the authority and maybe picking a few pockets.
Dave playing Talíferon, an elven wizard who may be CG or may be CE—but appears to be insane, as he discussed the pros and cons of cannibalism in character.
We stopped after equipment, so there are still spells to be had, thief skills to be distributed, and all that jazz. I have to explain how combat works, probably by running a few sample fights. I have impressed on them that one-on-one slugfests are a sure way to die, particularly if you're outnumbered. We'll see how it all shakes out. They WERE pretty sad that they spent so long on character creation since they know the death rate (the funnel) between levels 1-2 is pretty high.
This is a writeup of our first night.
Everyone trickled in and we watched a little Heavy Metal (part of the educational process for our prog-rock band, Ballchild) and ordered some Thai food. It was probably a mistake to let the night drag on for so long before we started actually talking about D&D but I drew it out as long as I possibly could for fear that they wouldn't like it, that they would think it was silly or stupid, all those fears. Yes, they're rooted deep inside me; somehow I still think of it as a shameful thing to do, or at least semi-shameful. STRANGE.
They rolled up their characters using the immensely painful 3d6-in-order method of which I am a particular fan. I explained they could reroll if they liked, since this was the hardest of all the dice methods. They were instantly derisive of doing so, which warmed my heart.
As I explained the classes they grappled with the archetypes each one represented. The most confusing was probably the clerical class because the 10th Age ONLY has specialty priests and I really didn't want to get into detail about 45 different variations of the priest.
We have one player playing across genders (girl playing a boy), which was a change from the usual boy playing a girl trope. There were a lot of dick jokes, particularly about how we would decide the size and girth of each character's dick at creation. I resisted the urge to mention FATAL since it would've just frightened them if I explained it.
They were immediately drunk with the options of play. "Can we do this?" was a common question, even before classes where decided. They swung from plotting to kill every gnome in creation to toppling the emperor in the first twenty or so minutes. This is the stage that most people are at the first time they're introduced to D&D, I think... but for kids it may last several years rather than 20 or 30 minutes.
They were also pretty enamoured (I think) of the notion that your character would outlive you if you retired, and they would become a permanent fixture in the setting. "We're making history!" Amanda exclaimed at one point. Bear in mind that they have YET to play!
Proficiencies were difficult but we got through it with careful culling of the extra prof lists (I only have Combat and Tactics and the Tome of Magic with me so there was no need to pour through things like Spells and Magic or the Complete Fighter). It was equipment that sank the night, for it took hours to distribute gold pieces, determine what was necessary to carry, and discuss whether or not they wanted to buy a donkey or hire porters and carriers to lug their stuff around.
What we came out with was this:
Ricki playing Antonio, a half-Dorlish half-Varan Grovetender of Eleia; lusty and pansexual.
Amanda playing Aubergine, a halfling thief who is all about breaking down the authority and maybe picking a few pockets.
Dave playing Talíferon, an elven wizard who may be CG or may be CE—but appears to be insane, as he discussed the pros and cons of cannibalism in character.
We stopped after equipment, so there are still spells to be had, thief skills to be distributed, and all that jazz. I have to explain how combat works, probably by running a few sample fights. I have impressed on them that one-on-one slugfests are a sure way to die, particularly if you're outnumbered. We'll see how it all shakes out. They WERE pretty sad that they spent so long on character creation since they know the death rate (the funnel) between levels 1-2 is pretty high.
Friday, December 21, 2012
A map! A map! My kingdom for a map!
First in-person session in years with coworkers who have never played a pnp rpg before, let alone AD&D. About 1/3rd of the way through character creation—DAMN I forgot how long it can take when no one knows anything about the rules! Haven't had to explain how to play in forever, so I'm certainly rusty and slow at it.
Anyway, this map is for them.
Anyway, this map is for them.
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Tuesday, September 18, 2012
The Contract
As a player in a social game, I recognize that the following contract (which until now has been unwritten) applies to my behavior and I will try to follow its standards as best I can.
1) As the fun of each relies on the fun of all, I will do my best not to design characters who have core problems with other members of the party.
1a) As a corollary to the first point, I shall not design a character who, before the game has even begun, wants to kill another PC for any reason.
2) As this is not a primarily thematic medium (in an Aristotelian sense), I shall refrain from making characters with unresolved issues that I can resolve throughout the course of the game and instead allow such instances to arise naturally, if at all.
3) I realize that not all evilly aligned people need to be assholes and can, in fact, be quite charming and pleasant. I will only play an asshole if my group approves.
3a) As a corollary to the third point, I realize that not all evilly aligned people would betray their closest friends and allies for a small material gain and I shall endeavor not to do so if I do decide to play someone evil.
3b) As a further corollary, I will not play an evil character if there is general outcry from my DM or group.
4) I shall engage in inter-character bickering and banter only to the extent that it is amusing and not to the extent that it actually splits the party into fighting factions.
5) Every one of these rules relies on the agreement of each player and I realize that we can collectively agree to break any of them at any time... but until such a time as that (when each party, including the DM) has vocalized a desire to break these rules, I shall do my best to abide by them.
1) As the fun of each relies on the fun of all, I will do my best not to design characters who have core problems with other members of the party.
1a) As a corollary to the first point, I shall not design a character who, before the game has even begun, wants to kill another PC for any reason.
2) As this is not a primarily thematic medium (in an Aristotelian sense), I shall refrain from making characters with unresolved issues that I can resolve throughout the course of the game and instead allow such instances to arise naturally, if at all.
3) I realize that not all evilly aligned people need to be assholes and can, in fact, be quite charming and pleasant. I will only play an asshole if my group approves.
3a) As a corollary to the third point, I realize that not all evilly aligned people would betray their closest friends and allies for a small material gain and I shall endeavor not to do so if I do decide to play someone evil.
3b) As a further corollary, I will not play an evil character if there is general outcry from my DM or group.
4) I shall engage in inter-character bickering and banter only to the extent that it is amusing and not to the extent that it actually splits the party into fighting factions.
5) Every one of these rules relies on the agreement of each player and I realize that we can collectively agree to break any of them at any time... but until such a time as that (when each party, including the DM) has vocalized a desire to break these rules, I shall do my best to abide by them.
Thursday, July 12, 2012
Adventurers as Outsiders
Whenever we see adventurers in pre-WotC D&D games, we see them as outsiders. The adventurer and the outsider are essentially the same category within these earlier games. Adventurers are not integrated into society -- they actively remove themselves from it. They are as integrated into their societies as their High and Late Medieval counterparts, the mercenary (as a good exemplar of a mercenary-adventurer take Sir John Hawkwood), which is to say not at all.
Adventurers begin life refusing the normal social order of the setting. They will not be farmers, they will not be merchants, they will not be bakers, or butchers, or blacksmiths. They have run away from their fathers, refused the allure of steady apprenticed work, or perhaps have no other place to turn (ah, the ubiquitous adventuring-orphan). They are literally outside the social structure. Adventurers have no place in society, not even as cotsmen or wandering laborers do.
Furthermore, they are travelers. They go from place to place, itinerating over great distances. They cross county, kingdom, and wasteland without staying long in any one place. Anyone who lives in a single region for long enough will eventually develop ties with the locals, both legal and emotional. These ties are weak in terms of adventuring parties unless they decide to settle for good and begin the next phase of their development. As we all know, the adventuring arc takes outsiders and transforms them into insiders: lords, landed mages, temple-founders.
Adventurers begin life refusing the normal social order of the setting. They will not be farmers, they will not be merchants, they will not be bakers, or butchers, or blacksmiths. They have run away from their fathers, refused the allure of steady apprenticed work, or perhaps have no other place to turn (ah, the ubiquitous adventuring-orphan). They are literally outside the social structure. Adventurers have no place in society, not even as cotsmen or wandering laborers do.
Furthermore, they are travelers. They go from place to place, itinerating over great distances. They cross county, kingdom, and wasteland without staying long in any one place. Anyone who lives in a single region for long enough will eventually develop ties with the locals, both legal and emotional. These ties are weak in terms of adventuring parties unless they decide to settle for good and begin the next phase of their development. As we all know, the adventuring arc takes outsiders and transforms them into insiders: lords, landed mages, temple-founders.
Monday, June 11, 2012
0 level characters, a Guide
This was originally going to be an article in The Grognard, but we know how that went the way of the dodo. It was written by the inestimable Viral of Viral Games, the creator of such crazy independent titles as Engine Heart and Joints & Jivers. This article describes how to run a 0-level adventuring party in AD&D which makes it much more akin to Harn.
A zero-level adventure co-written by myself and Viral will be available tomorrow.
(rules after jump)
A zero-level adventure co-written by myself and Viral will be available tomorrow.
(rules after jump)
Wednesday, June 6, 2012
Generative Play
I haven't been able to play D&D recently. The player who plays Oloz, the now-transformed satyr, had a computer malfunction or breakdown that has prevented him from getting online for nearly a week so far. This is bad business for me, because I'm afflicted with a particularly strange creative disease that works in a feedback loop. That is, the more someone plays in a setting that I've designed, the more I want to design for it. The more I design a given setting, the more I want to play in it.
This is a phenomenon I like to refer to as "generative play," and it seems to be something that a lot of GMs do. I've never seen anyone talk about it though, so this is your chance. When I talk about generative play, what I mean is that players playing in the setting come up with questions you would never think about. Something like writing a text adventure and then going to see what weird questions or commands people try to give your parser and then writing answers to them, generative play forms a list of questions simply by virtue of its occurance.
This is a phenomenon I like to refer to as "generative play," and it seems to be something that a lot of GMs do. I've never seen anyone talk about it though, so this is your chance. When I talk about generative play, what I mean is that players playing in the setting come up with questions you would never think about. Something like writing a text adventure and then going to see what weird questions or commands people try to give your parser and then writing answers to them, generative play forms a list of questions simply by virtue of its occurance.
Tuesday, June 5, 2012
This World's Got Character
I think I've hit upon one of the core issues I have with what I've been calling the Player Entitlement method of playing roleplaying games. That is, those people who believe that because they are players they deserve all manner of special treatment from the GM and from the setting itself. My problem is that there is, in all games, a character that you don't necessarily see or realize: the setting.
The setting is as much a character as any PC, and more than that it is the GM's character. The game must make room for the setting that the GM wants and, in a way, the GM is the most important player. Without the players of the PCs, the game would stop... for a while, until new players could be found. Without the GM, the game is gone. No one can play it, because each GM is in a sense the incarnation, the game-made-flesh. They carry inside them the dream-seed that is the setting and in some cases they are walking bundles of house-rules tailored just for you.
The setting is as much a character as any PC, and more than that it is the GM's character. The game must make room for the setting that the GM wants and, in a way, the GM is the most important player. Without the players of the PCs, the game would stop... for a while, until new players could be found. Without the GM, the game is gone. No one can play it, because each GM is in a sense the incarnation, the game-made-flesh. They carry inside them the dream-seed that is the setting and in some cases they are walking bundles of house-rules tailored just for you.
Friday, June 1, 2012
Monsters with Reason
From lingering around other people's games, it has become apparent to me that a lot of times monstrous demihumans are simply aggressors. When they are encountered, they may demand some gold, but more times than not they will attack just for fun. I think that there's something to be said for a good fight now and then, but there's also something to be said about giving your monstrous demihumans (and enemyhumans and regular demihumans) the power of reasoned thought. Most small parties of goblins, for example, should know better than to attack well-armed and well-armored adventurers unless they have a huge advantage in numbers.
Smart foes are the basis of a challenging game, and they also help to bring a sense of realism to the setting. Not every monstrous demihuman is a ravening beast that desires nothing but to bathe in the blood of their foes. Many are quite capable (and should be portrayed as such) of advanced tactical maneuvers, but also in judging the relative strength of their enemies and making a decision based on whether or not they think violence is the best solution. Hell, violence is almost never the best solution. Unless they are particularly bloodthirsty (gnolls might qualify here, and hungry orcs probably can as well) there's no reason to go out of their way to attack someone that they can intimidate instead.
Smart foes are the basis of a challenging game, and they also help to bring a sense of realism to the setting. Not every monstrous demihuman is a ravening beast that desires nothing but to bathe in the blood of their foes. Many are quite capable (and should be portrayed as such) of advanced tactical maneuvers, but also in judging the relative strength of their enemies and making a decision based on whether or not they think violence is the best solution. Hell, violence is almost never the best solution. Unless they are particularly bloodthirsty (gnolls might qualify here, and hungry orcs probably can as well) there's no reason to go out of their way to attack someone that they can intimidate instead.
Wednesday, May 30, 2012
Planning and Pain
Character creation can be divided into two general categories when it comes to RPGs. There are those which are planned and crafted by the players from the start, and there are those which are randomly determined by the dice. Of course, this is not a perfect system of division: planned characters don't necessarily remain planned and in some systems can advance organically rather than according to the preordained order that the player has decided upon. Some systems incorporate more planning than others do, while other systems have no element of chance in character creation at all.
There are certain advantages to either system. Neither is "wrong," or without merit, but each has strengths according to its function. Planned characters excel at allowing a player to start a game with a fully realized concept. They get to play "what they want," using the rules to design a character that is as close to the one they imagined as possible. This is perfect for systems where most player-characters are exceptional or none are. The reason for this is simple: if you can be exceptional at character creation and you are allowed to plan, most people will be. This skews the demographic of player characters unless the system already takes this into account.
It's very hard to play a normal man in 7th Sea, for example, since you are meant to be a swashbuckling hero. Even if you avoid taking a sword school, you'll still either have a wide variety of skills or be very good at some.
There are certain advantages to either system. Neither is "wrong," or without merit, but each has strengths according to its function. Planned characters excel at allowing a player to start a game with a fully realized concept. They get to play "what they want," using the rules to design a character that is as close to the one they imagined as possible. This is perfect for systems where most player-characters are exceptional or none are. The reason for this is simple: if you can be exceptional at character creation and you are allowed to plan, most people will be. This skews the demographic of player characters unless the system already takes this into account.
It's very hard to play a normal man in 7th Sea, for example, since you are meant to be a swashbuckling hero. Even if you avoid taking a sword school, you'll still either have a wide variety of skills or be very good at some.
Friday, May 25, 2012
Levelling Out
Everyone should be the same level. I should be allowed to make characters that are level 8 from the get-go. Experience needs to be handed out equally so everyone can gain their levels at the same time, and rewarding different classes for achieving different amounts of experience is outrageous. Levels themselves are a terrible notion and need to abolished. These are but some of the complaints I've heard about levels in my tenure as a DM. Some of them ring more truly than others: I have played and enjoyed many rpgs that do away with the concept of levels altogether such as BRP (particularly its incarnation as CoC), Hârnmaster, 7th Sea, and Aftermath!) but that doesn't mean I can't appreciate why they're used as shorthand for advancement.
Levels are a fast and easy way to determine how powerful a character is, for one thing. It works as a rapid shorthand for understanding just where they stand in the scale of might and it obviates the need to track all manner of niggly little advancements that would otherwise not be tied to level. I actually prefer the Hârnmaster/Aftermath method of skill improvement over levels, but those games are a bitch to teach to anyone who doesn't have an advanced math degree and the patience of a particularly peaceful deity.
The most common issue that I actually run into in my games is level disparity. Because I have a tendency to run lethal games and because Danny has a tendency to constantly be recruiting new players, we have a high character turnover rate. New people join in on old games, or old people watch in horror as some manner of awful creature slaughters their character. Either way, it leaves a core party (composed of the original two adventurers in this case, Crispus and Oloz) that is hovering on the door of level 5 while new players must join in at level 1.
Levels are a fast and easy way to determine how powerful a character is, for one thing. It works as a rapid shorthand for understanding just where they stand in the scale of might and it obviates the need to track all manner of niggly little advancements that would otherwise not be tied to level. I actually prefer the Hârnmaster/Aftermath method of skill improvement over levels, but those games are a bitch to teach to anyone who doesn't have an advanced math degree and the patience of a particularly peaceful deity.
The most common issue that I actually run into in my games is level disparity. Because I have a tendency to run lethal games and because Danny has a tendency to constantly be recruiting new players, we have a high character turnover rate. New people join in on old games, or old people watch in horror as some manner of awful creature slaughters their character. Either way, it leaves a core party (composed of the original two adventurers in this case, Crispus and Oloz) that is hovering on the door of level 5 while new players must join in at level 1.
Tuesday, May 15, 2012
These waters are wide but shallow
A lot of players that grew up using 3.x and 4e have a real problem when coming back to 2e. I've noticed it repeatedly, and its very persistent across the board. Even one of my longtime regulars was once of this mindset before his complete and ultimate conversion to AD&D (I believe at my own hands). It's a strange hang-up that has to do with player choice and freedom and character creation, and I believe I can explain its root causes and the types of character it actually winds up creating.
I feel like I might be flogging a dead (or at the very least dying) horse here to state it, but 3.x and 4e are, (as 5e will be also, I'm sure) the product of a player's revolution. To protect themselves from bad DMs the players established ground rules about what they would allow and what they wouldn't. The chief and most noxious of those rules is that player choice means everything, and what the player wants goes; after all, the game is about fun, right?
The problem that I'm talking about specifically is the lack of creativity in character creation. Players of the later editions have come to identify creativity with playing monstrous races and picking strange classes. It's an easy sign of creativity if you are allowed to be a race that is rarely played (say, gnolls) and a class that is extremely specific (say, magical chef). These "concepts" dominate play in the modern systems. Elves, dwarves, etc. are often derided as being boring or even, in one case that I speak of from life, un-fantastical.
I feel like I might be flogging a dead (or at the very least dying) horse here to state it, but 3.x and 4e are, (as 5e will be also, I'm sure) the product of a player's revolution. To protect themselves from bad DMs the players established ground rules about what they would allow and what they wouldn't. The chief and most noxious of those rules is that player choice means everything, and what the player wants goes; after all, the game is about fun, right?
The problem that I'm talking about specifically is the lack of creativity in character creation. Players of the later editions have come to identify creativity with playing monstrous races and picking strange classes. It's an easy sign of creativity if you are allowed to be a race that is rarely played (say, gnolls) and a class that is extremely specific (say, magical chef). These "concepts" dominate play in the modern systems. Elves, dwarves, etc. are often derided as being boring or even, in one case that I speak of from life, un-fantastical.
Friday, May 4, 2012
I've been workin'...
Everyone loves a good story. Stories, after all, are probably the reason why you're roleplaying in the first place. Tolkien, Dunsany, Vance, Cook, Martin, Howard, here are your reasons to pick up a copy of Dungeons and Dragons and play it. They all weave such good stories of the fantastic that one can hardly resist them. Who among us does not wish to emulate the fantasy greats and tell stories of our own? I certainly do. Every time I read some good fantasy I curse that I did not write it, that my own fantasy is not near as engaging or powerful. But here's the thing: I don't take that desire with me into my Dungeons and Dragons games. They just don't seem to be compatible.
"Why not?" you would be very well in asking. What prevents me from writing out the plots that I would otherwise insert into my fiction as adventures? What prevents me from involving my players in the self-same stories that I want to write myself? There are a myriad of reasons, but they can all be summed up with a single idea: the railroad.
You see, stories are not about branching paths and choices. They are about a plot that drives them. Characters in books (other than choose-your-own adventures) cannot make choices other than the ones they do. Sometimes, if an author decides that he does want them to make different choices, he must go back and rewrite large sections of the tale. But there is always an operative theme, motif, and throughline in a book even if you don't always see one. The only themes or motifs that exist in Dungeons and Dragons are that life is cheap, the world is dangerous, and small things matter.
"Why not?" you would be very well in asking. What prevents me from writing out the plots that I would otherwise insert into my fiction as adventures? What prevents me from involving my players in the self-same stories that I want to write myself? There are a myriad of reasons, but they can all be summed up with a single idea: the railroad.
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
Tee Arr Yew Ess Tee
There can be no pen and paper roleplaying game without a game master. This is a dictum that, aside from a few games (that I would classify as collective story telling and not games at all), has held true throughout time. Players, you need to trust your game master. There's no game without him; he needs the leeway to make the game function and shouldn't be hamstrung by your trust issues.
That having been said, game master: you must be worthy of trust. I've addressed the poisonous Player's Rights movement that has informed so many of the modern pen and paper rules, but so far I've not actually spoken about the key issue that lies at the very root: the lack of trust between player and game-master that so permeates modern roleplaying games. Where does this lack of trust stem from? It is most likely not a flaw on the part of players, to be fair. So who do we have to blame for this virulent movement? Why, none other than the abusive GMs that put the fear into people so badly that they felt they had to design rules to protect themselves!
Luckily, there are ways to tell if you're an abusive GM; you can change, I promise, and you won't even have to have a player-held intervention.*
That having been said, game master: you must be worthy of trust. I've addressed the poisonous Player's Rights movement that has informed so many of the modern pen and paper rules, but so far I've not actually spoken about the key issue that lies at the very root: the lack of trust between player and game-master that so permeates modern roleplaying games. Where does this lack of trust stem from? It is most likely not a flaw on the part of players, to be fair. So who do we have to blame for this virulent movement? Why, none other than the abusive GMs that put the fear into people so badly that they felt they had to design rules to protect themselves!
Luckily, there are ways to tell if you're an abusive GM; you can change, I promise, and you won't even have to have a player-held intervention.*
Monday, April 16, 2012
Having a Party: when D&D works best
As you might have gathered, I've played Dungeons and Dragons for years and years now. My friends have been forced to play Dungeons and Dragons right along with me. Oh, sure, we've had some Call of Cthulhu, 7th Sea, Paranoia, Aftermath, Harn, Deadlands, Alternity, and other such morsels on our plates before. We've sampled and picked our way through the vast feast of roleplaying opportunities. Roleplaying gourmands, we've tasted White Wolf, delighted in Mongoose, and supped upon the offerings of Wizards (though we much preferred when they were prepared by Tactical Studies).
For me, and not necessarily for the rest of my friends, but for me it has always returned to D&D. It was like a mentor to me, and from the arms of Tolkien and Gygax I went on to study medieval history. What was it about D&D that always made me want to come back to it? Well, for one, I have always been a fantasy buff over sci-fi, and for another the style of AD&D was foundational in my understanding of fantasy. But today I want to talk about another reason that D&D has remained a perennial favorite of mine, and that is: the Party.
For me, and not necessarily for the rest of my friends, but for me it has always returned to D&D. It was like a mentor to me, and from the arms of Tolkien and Gygax I went on to study medieval history. What was it about D&D that always made me want to come back to it? Well, for one, I have always been a fantasy buff over sci-fi, and for another the style of AD&D was foundational in my understanding of fantasy. But today I want to talk about another reason that D&D has remained a perennial favorite of mine, and that is: the Party.
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