You're in the Danger Zone (2d20 Combat)

Zones! They're great. But for folks who are used to pulling out a measuring tape, it can be a bit of a transition. Combat in 2d20 is much more narratively dynamic than a lot of turn-based tactics games: there's a lot going on, and abstraction is part of what makes that go.

But first, let's talk about zone maps.

Talkin' 'Bout Zones

So, let's take a look at a cool piece of isometric art.

Awesome isomeric art courtesy of jgrainger.deviantart.com.

Pretty rad scene, right? Nice little cafe. What a great place to have a shootout! But to do that, we'll want to divy it up into zones. Looking at the art, I see six distinct areas of interest:

1. Outside
2. Center Tables
3. Couch area
4. Bar
5. Left 1-Top
6. Right 1-Top

Thinking in Inifnity terms, the chairs, tables, and glass probably provides Light Cover, whereas the bar provides Heavy Cover. 

So my zone map might look something like this: 

If this is too small, click here for a larger version.

What a wonderful place to get shot coffee.

Zones are Groups, not Just Distance

Obviously, distance plays a part in things. But zones are often full of stuff. In our above example, somebody on the north side and south side of the "Couch Zone" aren't next to each other, but moving around in that zone isn't a big deal.

So let's say that Miyamoto Musashi is trying to enjoy his latte in peace, but Joan of Arc is playing her French Canadian indie rock too loud. This being Infinity, shit's about to get real

So! Musashi wants to violently interact with Joan. He can shoot at her with his pistol (or throw a baguette at her, if he's not that angry): that's close range, so no penalties: though she is going to benefit from the light cover. Or, he could make his way over and punch Joan: that's actually easy too! Move past couches, vault over them, whatever: all that stuff is in close range: moving to any point within that zone is a free action. So vault that couch, and get within Reach: it's still a free action to get there. Then the punching can commence.

One thing to take away from this, is that they're not just standing there: they're moving around. Combat is dynamic: so just because someody's in a zone, that doesn't mean that they're standing there, making it easy to hit them, right? 

It's dynamic. Fluid. There's a lot of motion going on.

At Home on With the Range

But distance is a thing too. 

So after all this ruckus, the nice Hasassin Lasiq who runs the cafe has just had enough of these recreations wrecking her shop. So she pulls out her Viral Sniper Rifle, and takes aim.

Somebody woke up on the wrong side of the bed.

She's in the Bar zone, and they're in the Couch Zone, with Center Table Zone inbetween. So while it might be counter-intuitive to think of it, this is actually long range: perfect for a sniper. With no range penalties, Joan and Miyamoto are in some trouble: reluctantly, they agree to stop fighting, and settle their dispute with a game of dominoes. 

"But Killstring: that's awfully close for 'Long Range'"

Yep! That's the adjustment I was talking about. RPGs tend to happen in closer quarters than miniatures games: it's a different genre of expression, if you like. Just like how in a kung fu film, everybody knows how to block, but in a beat'em up video game, hardly anyone does. 

But more importantly, the long-range weapon is good at taking aim and firing in a precise manner: you wouldn't want to shoot it from the hip. So yeah, in the manga-inspired, kinetic action of Infinity, this is a perfectly reasonable range to fire a sniper rifle in.

"Ok, fine. But what about long Long Range? Does that still work?"

Yep! It's just about finding a shot.

So let's say that you're at a football field. (Non-American football, 'cause that's what I got art for)

https://phuymatric.deviantart.com/art/Basic-Isometric-Football-field-521360372. Pretty Cool!

That's a big open space! I'd say that each colored bleacher would be its own zone, each half of the pitch would be one, and the different sidelines would each be one too. With big zones like these, rounds might be a little longer, right? None of this D&D 3 seconds tomfoolery: this is cinematic. The rounds are as long as makes sense for what's going down.

On the topic of what's going down, Joan never paid her tab at the cafe. The poor Lasiq just wanted to retire in peace and make coffee: but she cannot abide by this insult. Thus, she hunts Joan to a football match. 

Joan likes to watch from the corner don't ask me why it is a mystery

So! Taking care not to shoot any of the players, the Lasiq takes aim. It's 3 zones away: that's Extreme range. It's a +1 to her difficulty, but that's nothing she can't handle. She takes aim, and the paintball hits, thoroughly embarrassing St. Joan during her day at the stadium. Mission accomplished.

If there weren't players on the pitch, the field might be one zone, so this might only be Long Range. It really depends on the scene. Bottom line: zones are full of stuff. That stuff, more than meters as the crow flies, determines how hard it is to get a bead on a target for ranged attacks, how easy it is to move, etc. People in 2d20 combat aren't sitting still: they're scrambling, moving, ducking for cover, and so on.

"So Wait, I have to make a map any time I wanna do stuff?"

Not at all! But it's probably a good idea to make a couple so that you get a feel for it. Zones are more art than science: I spend a lot of time saying "I think that's probably a zone, " and going from there. While you're likely to want visual representation every now and again, hopefully everybody gets enough of a feel for this that winging it becomes second nature.

"What was that? I think I zoned out."

It's cool, I'm zoned-out too. 

Anyway, hope that's useful! Perhaps next time, we'll talk about Quantronic Zones, for hacking adventures.

Until then, be excellent to each other!

~Killstring

Somewhat-orthodox inspiration: risk in game design

It's no secret; I play a lot of video games. Something about the medium clicks for me in way that watching tv or movies never really has¹. I also adore taking inspiration from digital games, and putting them in analog ones; whether that be in published writing, or in adapting an existing game's story or themes as a GM, it's one of my favorite go-to techniques.

So yeah. Games.

In trying to figure out my preferences, I came across an interesting realization; namely, a strong preference for risky games. Now, I don't mean risque, or niche necessarily, but rather games that try something new, different, innovative. More often than not, I'm happier with a game that tries a lot of interesting things, fails at a bunch of them, and ships buggy as hell, than I am with a competently - even excellently - executed version of something rote, or routine.

I like risks. Unsurprisingly, I really like Obsidian.

They make video games! Not out of actual obsidian, as far as I can tell; that'd be dangerous. Completely rad, though.

Big Risks, Big Bugs, Big Deal

I want to focus on three of Obsidian's games; KOTOR II, Fallout: New Vegas, and Tyranny. 

I love these games. They're both clearly follow-ups to, yet remarkably different than their predecessors (KOTOR, Fallout 3 - or Fallouts 1 & 2, if you prefer - and Pillars of Eternity, respectively), and I find that I love them for different reasons. 

KOTOR II was, by most accounts, a disappointment when compared to the first. Honestly, that's no failing; as a sequel to what's become an all-time classic video game RPG, clearing that bar was always going to be an uphill battle, but doing so on a rushed timeline was a recipe for disaster.

But what a beautiful, messy disaster it was. 

Darth Spooky

A Star Wars game written by a dude²  who admittedly hated The Force - or at least, the concept of destiny, of predestination baked in - wrote a thoughtful narrative about destiny, and what it means to embrace or reject it. It actively, and unabashedly challenged the notions that Jedi are, in fact, good people. Early in the game, there's a scene where the main character uses a Jedi Mind Trick³ on an NPC, and your companion, Kreia, illustrates how that could have unforeseen consequences down the line. It's a compelling challenge, not only to the assumptions of the Star Wars universe, but how players behave in RPGs, digital or otherwise. There tends to be an assumption that protagonists are good, so what they do is good - especially if their intentions are likewise good.

And while we might like that to be the case, it really isn't.

Mind-Control is, admittedly, one of the most terrifying powers I can think of; having it applied to me would not only make me do something I might not want to, but entirely dismisses my existence as a person - stripped of personal agency, I become a thing, to be manipulated as someone else sees fit.

Objectively speaking, the Influence power is the most evil thing a Jedi can do - at least you could use Force Lighting to spot-weld.

The first KOTOR was a brilliant game that made me fall in love with Star Wars all over again, But KOTOR II made me genuinely examine the actions of my heroes - both those I watched on the screen, and those I wrote or portrayed - and genuinely question their actions and morality.

I'll take a lot of bugs, if that's what it gets me.

Welcome to New Vegas! It's buggy as hell, but you (hopefully) won't mind.

In a similar vein, Fallout: New Vegas stood on the shoulders of a buggy game (Fallout 3), and went farther. And while, yeah, sometimes a mutant rat-thing would get stuck inside the terrain, but in addition to gameplay improvements, and a myriad of interesting quests, the thing that really stood out to me, was the degree of reactivity. There are several factions in the game - two big ones (three if you count Mr. House), and a smattering of minor players - and they genuinely feel like groups that could exist, that people would actually be a part of.

More importantly⁴, these factions all feel like they exist when the character's off-screen. Too many entities in fiction feel like they're defined in terms of the protagonist. And while there's nothing wrong with that, too often it leaves a cardboard cut-out feel to the world. Not so in New Vegas, where every settlement has a visible water supply that could feasibly sustain the population. Sure, everybody wants you to do stuff - you're still the protagonist, and that means results - but very little feels like it couldn't exist without you.

If that means I occasionally crash my system, I can live with that.

In Tyranny, there are two primary risks being taken (at least to my eyes):

1. The setting. When you have a tagline like "Sometimes, Evil Wins⁵," you're setting expectations. The protagonist is in the employ of a conquering overlord, and brutal subjugation seems to be the order of the day. Not your typical RPG fare.
2. Reactivity. The game gives multiple options for who to ally with or betray, and it plays out rather differently based on those choices. I missed out on an entire section in my first playthrough, and that's par for the course, as far as I can tell. It's not so much one plot, as four or five

So. Challenges! Did they pay off? Ultimately, I'd have to say yes; though the game has its challenges, I found it a rewarding experience. Ironically, I'd say that its two biggest risks didn't quite pay off - after an amazing prologue where you conquer a province during character creation, the game felt a little too much like other isometric RPGs for my tastes; the setting whetted my appetite for something truly different, but it ultimately felt too similar to its peers to me. In addition, the reactivity - attempting to model the dynamic nature of a good tabletop RPG - felt like it came at the cost of depth. I could be in the minority here, but I kind of wish they'd spent more time on polishing what was there, rather than creating different paths.

Having said that, I really like the game. The setting does a great job of priming the player for difficult choices with no good answer. Once those expectations are set, it does a lovely job of delivering on that particular promise.

Takeaways

But this isn't a review blog; we're here for hot RPG & fiction tips, and pictures of chinchillas. Let's get one out of the way right now.

Hello, friend!

On the story-crafting side, there are some strong takeaways too.

KOTOR II inspires me to examine the actions my protagonists take, and to consider their effect on the larger world. Also, to consider the effect that charismatic, magnetic individuals have on those around them, and to really challenge the Calvinistic notions of destiny prominent in so much fantasy literature.

FO:NV inspires me to consider what the world looks like when my heroes aren't interacting with it. Do my antagonists exist except as foils for the protagonists? What if the heroes never crossed their path - what would they be doing? Also, to consider how my cities are getting enough to eat and drink - this stuff matters, and ignoring it can be a huge blow to immersion.

Tyranny inspires me to consider the context in which a character's actions and decisions occur. Expectation violation is a huge letdown for an audience, so properly calibrating for any tough choices ahead is probably wise. Also, admittedly, remembering to focus on what is occurring, rather than what could be.

The media we consume shapes what we create. I sometimes find it useful to examine why I enjoy the things I do, and see what I can learn from them. With any luck, you've found it (at least a little) useful too!

Be excellent to each other.
~Killstring

* * *

1 - There's a longer discussion to be had on this topic; contrasting passive entertainment - defined as something that requires no participation from the user, such as a film; and active entertainment - something that requires some degree of participation from the user, whether that be envisioning the text when reading a book, providing input and control when playing a video game, or contributing in whole to the end result, as in playing an RPG. 

I prefer active, and consider RPGs to be the most active form of entertainment that's readily available to most people. The required investment is higher, but when it's working well, there really isn't anything that can compare.

2 - Chris Avellone, who is someone I shall say little about, lest I reveal myself as a swooning fanboy. Let's just say that he is very good at his job, and someone I am routinely inspired by.

3 - I could be misremembering this - it's been a long time since I played The Sith Lords, so it's possible I'm conflating two events into one. Either way, the concept holds. Also, if you're a huge nerd like me, you correctly identified that the power is called Influence. Hi, fellow nerd! Did we just become great friends?

4 - To me, anyway.

5 - This game came out in November of 2016. I passed on it at the time, as it was a little too on-the-nose for me, given American politics at the time. Which is a shame; it's a flawed, but lovely, gem. 

Adventure Hooks: Powered by the Apocalypse

So, in the process of discussing Adventure Mapping (Parts One and Two), Google Plus user Kristofer Petterson raised an incredibly salient point; lovingly crafted sandbox adventures are all fine and good, but what do you do if the players don't take initiative?

How can we create, and maintain, investment?

It's a damn fine question, and not just in the context of the Harrowvale adventure. Player involvement is a tricky beast to manage. Facilitating engagement with something the player's have no attachment to is tricky - the old question of "why don't these characters just leave" demands an answer. Now, if the players are having difficulty engaging with the game as a whole, that's another can of worms entirely, but for now, we'll assume that the players are down for this; they like the idea of the game, they like their characters, they're here to go. It's this adventure thing they don't have an attachment to; getting them invested is the question.

Fortunately for us, there's an answer - blatant thievery. And it doesn't even require a proper heist!

It's all right, lads. Creative Commons. We're good.

We Already Have The Tools

Character creation in Fate Core has a wonderful component where players intertwine their characters' pasts, "guest starring" in various adventures and capers. Pathfinder's Adventure Paths, whatever you may think of them¹, often have optional traits that the characters can take, tying them into the story. PbtA² games combine these traits, and take them a step further, with specific prompts during character creation; things like:

• Which one of you once left me bleeding, and did nothing for me?³
• You fought together when the tide of monsters seemed unstoppable. Ask them how it went.⁴
• When our team first came together... we didn't trust each other at first, but that changed. How? Why?⁵

And so on. They vary from game-to-game, but the idea is consistent: providing links between the player characters, giving them built-in reasons to interact with one another from the word go. PbtA games are all highly specialized to evoke a particular genre, feel, or story - they're not meant to be versatile - so these hooks get right to the heart of the desired experience.

They're great. And we're gonna steal 'em.

Thievery Incorporated

The plan is simple. We're going to take these ideas, and use them as prompts for one-off adventures. It can be tough to get players invested in an adventure that's disconnected from anything else they've been doing, so let's weave in some connections.

Using our sample adventure-in-progress (Harrowvale), let's cook up some hooks for our players. Things like:

• Your order's spies and diviners have been worried about this place - Harrowvale - for some time. The belief is that there's more going on than meets the eye, but the details are murky. What worst-case scenario are you expecting? And what did you do right (or wrong) to get this assignment?
• When you were younger, an adventurer named "Henrietta Crimson" took point in a fight against bandit raiders, using your village as a staging ground. Was she a savior, or did she do more harm than good? And now that she's put that life behind her - he's Big Henry these days - where does that leave you?
• A few years back, you trained alongside Sister Analise for a time. Were you friends? Rivals? Something more? When she left for Harrowvale - largely to look after her wayward sister - how did that make you feel? And what did you leave unsaid?
• While on the road, you had increasingly vivid nightmares; horrid amalgamations of putrescent shadow, and unnatural hunger - you haven't quite been the same since. You can't quite explain it, but you feel a connection to this place... your answers lie within. Take the (aspect/temporary trait/something equivalent) Harrowed and Haunted⁶ until the situation is resolved.
•  Your sources were led to believe that Harrowvale was about to experience an economic boom period - a great place to find lucrative work. In what ways is the city worse than you expected? 



Credit to @kalyke on Twitter, this is rad

• You and Drelik the Grim ran with the same crew a few years back; how did he betray you, and what did you promise yourself you'd do if you ever saw him again?

...and so on. The idea is to give the players an opportunity to invest in the location, giving them a reason to care about the people, the place, and what's happening there.

I think there's a lot of potential for these little hooks - I plan on trying them out in some playtesting scenarios, and seeing how players respond. I'd be curious to hear how different players respond to this kind of thing; feel free to sound off in the comments if you've got relevant experience.

Anyway, just wanted to elucidate this thought - hope it proves useful!

~Killstring

* * *

1 - They're not my cup of tea, personally.
2 - Powered by the Apocalypse, meaning games that run on Vincent Baker's excellent Apocalypse World engine. It's narrative and different and daring, and I both love it and hate it in equal measure. 
3 - The Gunlugger, from the aforementioned Apocalypse Word, 2nd Edition.
4 - The Initiate, from the excellent Monster of the Week, which I found to be pretty lovely.
5 - The Outsider, from Brendan Conway's super-rad Masks: A New Generation, which is basically Young Justice: The RPG. So, awesome.
6 - Why yes, I am  a fan of The Decemberists! Feel free to play "The Harrowed And The Haunted" as your "end credits" song for Harrowvale, when people are packing up their dice post-session. Ending credits songs are muh favorite.

Adventure Mapping Part II – Welcome to the BRAIN STORM

Last time here on the Blog of Doom, we talked about Adventure Mapping – creating zones for different elements of your adventure. Today, let’s go into a bit more depth on the topic, by building a little adventure from the ground up, and walking through the process step-by-step.

Brainstorming

get it it is a brain storm and this is a visual pun and I AM SO SORRY, MY FRIENDS

So first, we need an idea. My brain is full of bizarre and strange things, but for an example, I kind of want to stick to something mot gamers are familiar with – so we’ll go with a D&D-style fantasy setting. You know the type – roaming heroes¹ going from location-to-location, solving problems, kicking ass, getting paid, and so on.

Hell, we might even have them meet in a tavern – but if we do, our tavern should be rad as hell.

Our PCs will be solving a mystery – likely with violence, because D&D-style fantasy. So, we want a couple fights, but also some exploration, and a few character-focused scenes conductive to roleplaying. Ultimately, we want it to culminate in the PCs finding the villain and confronting them. Probably – but not necessarily – with violence. Because D&D-style fantasy.

Anyway, let’s brainstorm some elements²:

·         A town where it takes place – let’s call it Harrowvale, that sounds appropriately Forgotten Realms-ish³

o   From the name, Harrowvale is probably haunted by spooky boogums

o   Townspeople are wary and paranoid – and they’re right to be

·         A mystery to solve – gaunt, spooked townsfolk, disappearances, stuff like that

o   Someone in the town is secretly doing Bad Things In Secret^TM

§  They’re a vampire, or fused with a devilish parasite – something that requires them to do Bad Things In Secret^TM in order to survive

§  Thus far they’ve hung the blame on external forces – this is Harrowvale; people are harrowed – but the PCs are the first real investigators to show up

·         And that’s a problem

·         A tavern, because tavern reasons

o   I used to work at a rad place called The Winking Lizard Tavern⁴ in Cleveland – so how about The Winking Basilisk?

§  The thought of a Basilisk winking is both reassuring and terrifying to me – “I could kill you with a glance, but instead, I’mma be saucy.” I like it – this place has panache

§  Their drinks? Awesome. Their Food? Delicious. The staff? Bright-eyed, and happy. I want this place to not only contradict the crappy D&D Tavern archetype (it’s dark, and dirty, they serve a lukewarm gruel, and a watered-down ale), but also to stand in contrast to the rest of the town

·         Maybe the villain doesn’t prey on the tavern? Friendship, or a more practical motivation, like they need travelers to have some place to stay?

·         Some fights!

o   Spooky wraith-fight somewhere creepy, like a graveyard, catacombs, etc.

o   Zombies, cultists, or something else suitably distressing? Might want to save that for the last battle

o   Nearby goblinoid critters, who are not the problem per se, but are definitely going to take advantage of it

§  Make sure that the first two fights have clues as rewards – otherwise they’re kind of pointless

·         Some exploration!

o   Well, we’ve got some inferred locations from the above, like:

§  Spooky Catacombs!

§  Spooky Mountain!

§  The city itself, and its inhabitants – here’s where we’ll get most of our mystery investigation done

·         Some character-focused scenes

o   We can do some of this at the Tavern, since it’s going to be our hub, I think.

§  Big Henry the bartender, former adventurer, knows stuff and is a pleasant guy.

·         He takes no guff, but he’s not really got anything to prove. He’s familiar with the PC’s vocation – having done it himself – so he’s got useful tips

o   If the PC’s want his story, he made his fame as Henrietta Crimson⁵, until he had enough money to pay the Wizard’s College to permanently polymorph him into his current body. Having achieved his goal, he opened the Basilisk with the remainder of his treasure

o   A shady-looking dude in a corner, handing out jobs to attack the goblinoids

§  Depending on our tone, he can lampshade to greater or lesser degrees. We could go a couple ways with this guy

§  Also, he’ll make a good suspect for the villain – we need a couple

o   A cleric, priestess, some kind of religious figure of Good And Stuff

§  Earnest and exhausted

§  Here’s a chance to really explore the condition in the city – this poor healer’s been trying to stem the tide pretty much by herself, and it’s clearly taking a toll

§  She’s not an expert on magical maladies or strange beasts – she’s a healer

§  Having Said That, she’s probably the source for our “haunted wraith” fight, because CLERIC REASONS (I like clerics)

o   And of course, our villain themselves

§  Who I should probably flesh out beyond “reluctant monster” at some point

§  What if it’s our cleric’s sibling? Cliché, perhaps, but that’s only a problem if it’s cloying or clumsy. More to the point, it makes the cleric’s story more vital and interesting, and adds a human element

Killstring, That Was So Many Bullet Points

Sorry disembodied voice, that’s how my brainstorming works

But Could You Maybe Use Less?

We’ll give it a shot in the next section; please be patient, disembodied voice.

Okay, Cool. Can We Get Back On Topic?

Let’s.

Looking at the above list, let’s try and suss out our elements.

1. Harrowvale itself. We probably don’t need it on the map, as everything takes place here, but it might be useful to describe certain areas, like Slums, or The Chapel
2. The Mystery. This is going to come out in other elements, but we should be keeping it in mind.
3. The Winking Basilisk. This is gonna be our hub, and provide a source of unobtrusive roleplaying opportunities – if players want to do more RP, this is a good launching point. If they’re more interested in procedural elements, they can use it as a base of operations, and a springboard
4. Three fight scenes, one of which is our climax
1. Haunted Location w/wraiths & such
2. Goblinoid stronghold
3. Final confrontation w/zombies or cultists, and our villain
5. Exploration and investigation. It’s really more of a theme, but we should have three locations to explore, leading up to the above action sequences, as well as the city itself and its inhabitants
6. Character-focused scenes. This should be more of a factor of our characters – if PCs want to interact with them, we’ll get these. And if PCs want to interact with each other, we’ll give them the option. With that in mind, here’s our dramatis personae
1. Big Henry – knowledgeable, practical, and a foil for PCs grappling w/identity
2. Dreilk the Grim, “shady corner guy” – morally ambiguous, choice/consequence point
3. Sister Analise – compassionate, but this close to a crisis of faith
4. Corianna, Analise’s sister, and our reluctant villain

That’s a concise list. We’ll certainly flesh it out further, but I like our pieces.  

Bringing It Together

Now that we’ve got our elements, we can start mapping out the adventure. We have our elements in-place, and we loosely know how they tie together. Past that, it’s a simple matter of playing connect-the-dots:

Ok! Now we've got a concise little map to follow. Sure, there might be other connections, and there's plenty of other things to explore in Harrowvale, but I think this hits our key points nicely.

And that's how you do it!

I kind of like this little adventure - I might flesh it out further, make a cute little module. If you're interested in such things - or have a suggestion, comment, or system you'd like to see it in - watch this space!

And thanks for coming to Harrowvale with me.

* * *

1 – Possibly in the Mythic Greek sense, as opposed to the modern usage.

2 – If you ever wanted to see ideas off the top of my head, here’s what it looks like.

3 – Personally, I don’t like the Forgotten Realms as a setting – it’s about as milquetoast fantasy as you can get. But! So many great writers have nailed the execution – Ed Greenwood, Chris Avellone, and R.A. Salvatore come to mind, though they’re hardly the only ones – that it doesn’t matter if the setting doesn’t interest me; I keep enjoying stuff set in it. So on one hand, I don’t like it. On the other hand, I often adore stuff set in it, and I get why it’s popular.

Also, I occasionally face-check against the setting; I originally went with “harrowdale,” but some quick googling showed that no, I wasn’t clever, that was just an existing city in Forgotten Realms. Because of course it was. Harrow-vale, on the other hand, also exists in a now-defunct MMO called Shadowbane, and AGGH I GIVE UP EVERYTHING HAS ALREADY BEEN EVERY NAME, AND THE SIMPSONS DID IT FIRST. Don’t care. It’s Harrowvale. /rant

4 – They had a big-old Iguana in a habitat; sometimes I got to go in and spray him down, scratch the back of his skull – me and that Iguana? We were bros.

5 – It always struck me as odd that in fantasy settings with transformative magic, that you wouldn’t see more transgender folk. Gender dysphoria is hardly a modern phenomenon – Ovid’s Metamorphasis is more than 2,000 years old – but we do have better tools to address it now. A magical society has those tools on-tap, so it’s reasonable to assume that some people would use them.

The Player's Guide: how to win at RPGS!

If that's not the clickbait-iest title I've ever thrown out, I'm not sure what is.

But with all the GM-facing advice that exists, I feel there's plenty of room for more player-focused content in the RPG blogosphere. Having said that, I'm going to break the biggest rule of clickbaiting, and answer the question right off the bat. As a player, how do you win at RPGs? By participating in, and contributing to, an enjoyable experience.

Thanks for coming!

Best Post Ever!

Still here? Dang, guess I better elaborate then.

Some Elaboration

As I talked about back here, one of the distinctive ways that RPGs differ from their peers (to name a few; performing arts, entertainment media, and video games) is that the performer and the audience are the same person. This has a lot of effects, and it forms the cornerstone of the hobby. It provides an experience unlike any other, but it also presents fairly unique challenges for all involved.

So let's talk about that some more.

Ok, so I'm some kind of performer. What do I perform?

Actors get scripts. Improv is its own, incredibly difficult, beast. It's also a lot of fun, especially when it's going well. Ever read a novel to lose yourself in a character? Well, here's an opportunity to really get that experience. 

Now for the downside. You're performing without a net -- if something falls flat, it falls flat, and everyone will know it -- and the temptation to be funny, clever, memorable or dramatic can be overwhelming. Likewise, it's easy to get into a feedback loop of "my character would/would not do x," that begs the question why said character is a part of this story in the first place¹.

But regardless of your preferred play style, there's two main components that go into being a player; and that's Enjoying Yourself, and Helping Others to Enjoy Themselves. Simple, right? If only. There's a lot that goes into both of those, but ultimately this forms the foundation of what we're doing in the hobby. I mean, if it's not fun, why are we doing it?

Now, that doesn't mean that everything has to be super-happy all the time; Game of Thrones would not necessarily be improved by Monte Python jokes. Having said that, if that's what everybody wants, then do that, that's fine. What might be disruptive in one game can be a major asset in another. But to do that, you first have to know what kind of game you're in.

How do we do that, you ask?

Mindfulness

Pretty sure talking about mindfulness requires HD photos
Or maybe this is just a kickass RPG location! Either way, we're good.

Now, I'm not trying to go all corporate-meditation-buzzword on you here, but check it out. A lot of ink -- digital and otherwise -- has been spilled about mindfulness, and a lot of it is worth checking out. Still, that's what google is for. For our purposes, when I'm talking about mindfulness, I mean the act of seeing things as they are, not as we want them to be, as well as acknowledging things outside ourselves as being real, and worthy of consideration. 

Basically, don't kid yourself, and remember that your friends matter too. 

Simple enough, though that doesn't make it easy to do. Still, if our goals are for everybody to have fun, it's not just about ourselves; we've got to take everybody on the ride with us. And whether it's the hilariously unexpected crackpot scheme, the incredibly unlikely combat encounter, or the deep, cutting, and memorable dramatic scene, that's how we get to those awesome, memorable experiences that get re-told for years to come. 

We get there together². RPGs are a team sport, and even if characters and environment are antagonistic, it's all in service of those two goals. Which means that you can't get there without your fellow gamers.

You can't do it yourself.

The GM can't do it for you.

But guess what; if everybody's on the same page, then it doesn't matter if you're not the most entertaining, knowledgeable, experienced gamer in the world; all you have to do is contribute to team success.

#SQUADGOALS

So, what does everybody want to do? To figure that out, we've got to talk about it. There are some great tools for this -- Christopher Chinn's Same Page Tool is arguably the most popular, and for good reason -- but what's important is that we talk about the kind of game we want to have. 

As a brief aside: if this seems elementary; it's really not. There are a lot of subcultures in gaming, and one player's idea of what a game is/should be can be radically different than another's. Sometimes this can even lead to incompatibilities, where two folks just don't gel in a gaming sense, but in most cases, there's some middle ground to find. 

Think about it like starting a band, let's say a rock band. Ok, what's a rock band? If the drummer's thinking Rush, one guitarist is thinking Rage Against the Machine, while the other is thinking Goo Goo Dolls, the bassist thinks Metallica, and the singer's going for Bon Iver -- well, it's not to say it can't work out³, but it's going to take an awful lot of effort to get everybody on the same page. Even though they're all here to play rock music.

Same thing with RPGs. 

So with that in mind, even if you've decided on genre and game system, some conversations can go a long way. This is probably best done before the game starts, but it can certainly prove useful to in-progress games as well. 

Anyway, some things to talk about:

• What kinds of scenes do people enjoy? This can include, but isn't limited to:
• Combat
• Planning
• Unstructured roleplaying 
• Structured roleplaying
• Investigation
• etc.
• What tone(s) do people want to see in the game? You can have more than one!
• Dramatic
• Grounded
• Whimsical
• Comedic
• Tragic
• Horrifying
• What role should mechanics play in the game?
• How do we feel about character death, player absences, loot, etc.

And especially important once a game is underway:

• What's working? What isn't? Do we have any idea why?

The point of this is not the questions, nor is it the answers. The most important aspect of this is, in my opinion, the introduction of ideas. There's some communication theory⁴ behind this, but the basic idea is that by talking about different ways to engage gaming, we introduce that concept, and get ourselves thinking about it.

This can be hard. Human beings tend to view their own experiences as absolute. There's nothing wrong with the instinct, but it's incomplete. I love snacking on jalapeno peppers -- to me, they're not that spicy -- and I flat-out can't do olives or goat cheese. But man, I'll forget that when recommending restaurants. 

Same thing with gaming preferences. We don't to question why we like something; most folks break it down into Fun v. Not Fun. Talking about it gets us to stretch our legs a little. So even if folks aren't the most forthcoming with feedback, that's fine; they should still be more likely to consider the context of other players than if we'd never had the discussion.

In Conclusion

There's a lot to unpack here -- there's at least a Part II, and if folks like these, plenty more -- but the big takeaway is pretty simple. 

RPGs are a team sport. By being mindful of our teammates, we'll have a much better chance of winning; that is to say, having a damn good time. 

You know. Winning.

All of you.

See you soon for Pt. II, where I'll ramble incoherently about making a character.

Much love,
~Killstring

* * *

1 - To be clear, I'm not attempting to disparage any particular playstyle here. For example, I have a more theatrical, narrative style - I can trend towards trying too hard - whereas my S/O has a very simulationist, single-point immersion-based style, and tends toward the latter problem.

Different styles bring different challenges, as well as different strengths. 

2 - Yeah, so maybe that's cheesy. still true. 

3 - If this band existed, I would almost certainly love them to death. I guess Dream Theatre gets kinda close sometimes?

4 - Short version; Priming and Agenda Setting go into how we interact with stuff that's been previously introduced (as opposed to new information,) and how the mass media isn't very good at telling us what to think, but is super good at telling us what to think about. For our purposes here, we want players and GMs thinking about not just what they like, but what the other folks in the group like. 

Unorthodox Inspiration: The Undisputed Halflingweight Champion

(Based off of a conversation in the pro wrestling subreddit. Props to the r/squaredcircle community for a cool idea prompt.)

Hello! It's been a while since my last blog entry - as it turns out, writing for games takes up a bit of my daily allotted brainspace for writing about games - but let's enjoy our time together while I've got a break in assignments, yes?

I'm not tired! Just look at all of these words!

Spoiler Alert: this isn't gonna be the most serious post

While chatting with some fine folks on Reddit, the idea of incorporating some storylines from professional wrestling into a fantasy RPG came up. If you've read this blog for any length of time, you're probably aware of my deep and abiding love for borrowing inspiration from other media, as well as my unrelenting fascination with what Pro Grapplers can teach us about RPGs, so I was on-board from the start.

While discussing this, an idea popped into my mind: in a fantasy game with magic items, you could tell an awful lot of stories about different competitors vying to acquire belts, could you not? As it turns out, we weren't the first to have this idea, but the opportunities for long-term storytelling were interesting to me, so I ran with it.

Let's run a little more.

Belts of +4 Awesomeness

A particular class of semi-intelligent magic item has been making an increasingly large impact in adventuring culture. Competition over these potent - but finite - artifacts has seen a robust subculture spring up around the pursuit of, and competition for, these particular treasures.

These titled belts - created when a particularly competitive spirit is willingly bound to the item - grant enormous advantages to their wielders, but there's a caveat to each: for the items to function, a specific suite of circumstances must be met; otherwise, they're just awkward jewelry¹. Each spirit has its own requirements - some will only function for women, whereas the Halflingweight Championship only functions for small creatures, others still only work when paired up with their twin - the requirements are as varied, as they are precise. Whether because of malice or benevolence, these spirits want to see competition for their gifts.

But acquiring a belt is only the beginning.

Technically, you could try and hold multiple belts at once;
even Dragons have a hard time pulling this off.

Possession of a belt grants enormous powers - usually a standard deviation higher than comparable magic items in the setting² - but it also comes with a geas: if challenged to a duel for possession of the belt, the owner is compelled to accept. Many champions use every trick, excuse or loophole available to dodge challengers, but in the end, the geas always wins. Interestingly enough, a geas duel is under its own enchantments; competitors cannot die in the course of the conflict, and if the agreed-upon terms are violated, the enchantment won't transfer to the rule-breaker, even if they're victorious.

Live, on pay-per-view!

Perhaps unsurprisingly, the spirits who consent to these agreements have a desire to interact with the larger world. As such, it didn't take long for mages to figure out how to attune a scrying pool to their essence: after all, the spirits want increased competition. They want to be seen. Thus has remote viewing become an increasingly popular hobby amongst alchemists, wizards, and any tavern that can afford their services. Holding a title - or even having a competitive or entertaining duel - can lead to unexpected advantages due to the competitor's fame.

Of course, infamy works much the same way.

If you want some... then come get some.

So! These belts exist; and everybody wants them. More interestingly - to me anyway - a belt challenge isn't the end. Long-term rivalries, tenuous alliances; storylines involving recurring antagonists are bloody murder to pull off in fantasy games. Usually because they end in bloody murder at first contact. But with these belts, you can have an entire subplot of adventurers vying for these prizes, and even if your PCs stay out of the title picture, it's a part of the setting that can keep its inertia even without player involvement, and a way to believably power up (or down) enemies or allies at a moment's notice.

Also, if this idea is appealing in the slightest, there's a glorious opportunity to incorporate characters and plotlines from one medium to another. As always, when blatantly stealing borrowing ideas from other mediums, you want the serial numbers very thoroughly filed off - any references should be subtle nods, easter eggs, if you will - the point is not to seem clever, or make a joke, but to enhance the experience for everyone. Even in a comedic game, "lol it's the Undertaker" isn't going to get you as much mileage as the legend of the Dead Man, Markus Calloway.

I know! Subtlety and wrestling in the same sentence. I believe in you, though.

Contenders

Just for kicks, here's a couple translated storylines and characters.

MIGUEL MITZANIN
Human Bard/Rogue
A storied performer - at least in his own mind - Miguel came by the Wayfarer's title through dubious means, and defends it as little as possible. Considered a coward by many - notably, several former champions - he'll do everything in his power to skirt challenges, and plays extremely dirty when he can't, but don't be fooled; he's deceptively fierce when cornered.

REMAN
Werewolf Barbarian
The self-proclaimed "Big Dog" rose to prominence alongside Jonathan Moxey and Set Black in the adventuring company, Aegis. Reman fancies himself a champion of the people - never mind that said people are often unnerved by the idea - but every time he's gotten his hands on a belt, authorities of the Hunter's Guild have found a way to screw him out of it right quick.

RUBY KNUCKLES
Human Alchemist/Fighter
"Plucky Knucks" gained fame as one of the legendary Four Horsewomen - adventurers who toppled the reign of the Devas - though she's struggled to find her own way since then, only recently claiming her first belt.

Far too trusting for her own good, the number of times she's been (literally) stabbed in the back by her companions has become something of a running joke: no word as to whether or not she's in on it.


SACRED MASK
Halfling Monk
Nestled in the southern mountains lies a secluded monastery, home to an order of Halfling warrior-monks with a curious tradition: that one of their order forgoes their name to take on the mantle of the Sacred Mask. Leaving behind any remnants of their old life, these masked warriors wander the land, doing what good they can. Don't let their diminutive size fool you - whether by virtue of their training, or some power inherent in the mask itself, these diminutive dynamos strike like a thunderstorm.

THE DEAD MAN, MARKUS CALLOWAY
Human Lich Antipaladin/Blackguard
A former undertaker, Calloway is a peculiar phenomenon; by all accounts a lich, yet possessing very little - if any - magic of his own. Some say he was simply too mean to stay dead, while others attribute his condition to a higher - or lower - power. Others whisper of Moody William, a decrepit necromancer who once accompanied the Dead Man, and the urn that he carried. Rumored to be Calloway's phylactery, the urn certainly held some kind of power over him.

However, no one's seen William or the urn for quite some time.

BRICK
A Brick (Earth Elemental, if you must know)
Brick was put on this planet for one reason, and one reason only: to hurt people. He held a belt for a while, but frankly got bored with it - the enhancements made his fights too easy, robbing him of his one joy in life - so he's ignored competitions for some time.

Gods have mercy on everyone if he meets an adversary that genuinely gives him trouble, and he needs the belt again.

That's all the time we have, folks!

Anyway, that's my silly idea. Hopefully, if you haven't found anything useful for your own games, you at least got a chuckle out of it. Thanks, as always, for reading!

~Killstring

***

1 - Seriously! They're not even that great as actual belts; it's not like they keep your pants up. *shakes head*

2 - D&D tends to like increments of 2, so go with that. If Belts of Giant's Strength give +2, +4 and +6 bonuses, than the Heavyweight Belt should give out +8. If you want to introduce them earlier, then just have them scale with characters as they level, but they should always be the best available. Otherwise, why compete for them?

RPG TIME!

It's time.

It's been a quiet month on the blogfront. Coming off a string of deadlines and conventions, I've been thinking a great deal about time. 

Specifically, how there never seems to be enough of it.

Time is Relative

This guy knew what was up.

But really, that depends on what you're doing, doesn't it? I might not have enough time to vacuum the apartment, or finish reading Dan Abnett's Ravenor trilogy^1,, but I seem to keep finding ways I always have time to meet a deadline².

Its not that there isn't enough time - there very clearly is - it's that there isn't enough time to get to everything I'd like to. Like everyone else, I have to prioritize if I want to get anything done.

Now, this isn't going to be a post on time management strategies - goodness knows that a quick Google search will provide more than you'll ever need on that front - but rather, I wanted to talk a little bit about pacing and duration in fiction, but specifically how those elements come into play in RPGs.

Runtime

Not all mediums are created equal. A novel has more room for slow burn storytelling than an ongoing longform television series does, which in turn has a greater capacity than a film, which still trumps network TV. Now, that's not to say that more is always better - plenty of films have died an unpleasant death by trying to stretch a good thirty-minute story into a two-hour epic - but different types of stories benefit from being handled differently. 

It's not something we usually talk about in RPGs. 

In fairness, timeslot isn't always something we can control. You might have a killer group of dynamic, nuanced characters, a compelling and epic narrative, and truly deep strategic challenges all going for you, but if your gaming group meets for three hours on alternating Wednesday nights, that can be tough to pull off. Equally tricky is the superb "Popcorn GM³" who has a tight, action-packed romp all ready to go, and is now trying to fit that into an eight-hour long weekend game session.

Gameplay is also going to be affected by this. I love 2D fighting games - Street Fighter II Turbo remains my all-time jam - but matches are short for a reason. I wouldn't want to play a half-hour round of Street Fighter any more than I'd want to keep my chess matches to three minutes or less; and not just because in both cases, I'd be losing in embarrassing fashion.

I mean, that too. 

The practical elements of RPG mechanics can be deeply affected by time constraints. Games like Savage Worlds and Spirit of the Century (and later, Fate Core) have carved out impressive niches for themselves by mechanically supporting shorter sessions from the ground up. Easy to pick up, fast and elegant resolution, and character creation doesn't take long at all. If you've got a weeknight game with limited time, and an inconsistent cast - like the games' creators had when they were first making their rulesets - then you've got a toolset tailored to your needs. And if not, you might like those games anyway - they've certainly been used in long-running, long-term games over the years with great success - but then again, you might want something with a bit more detail, if you've got the time to make use of it.

Point being, there are a lot of practical things that your timeslot is going to affect, and it's worth keeping that in mind.

Duration

Let's say you've just read a good novel. Hooray! But now you're thinking: would it be even better as a trilogy? How about a seven-part series? Maybe an ongoing serial - like in mainstream comics or television - that just keeps going until interest wanes, or the writers go insane?

Or maybe, just maybe, it would have been best served as a short story?

On one hand, professionally produced entertainment has its own unique pressures - there's no producer breathing down the GM's neck, trying to wring a trilogy out of a completed storyline - so this should be easier to approach objectively. On the other hand, between creative fatigue, falling in love with a particular element, or audience demand, RPGs also grapple with the issue of how long a given story should run for. In some ways, it can be worse.

But not every type of story can hold up over long periods of time, or in short ones for that matter. Blitzing through the entirety of the Lord of the Rings trilogy in a 90 minute film would have been an unmitigated disaster, yes - but so would dragging Casablanca through three films at 11+ hours, with a prequel trilogy in the works.

"Hurry up and do it, Rick, before we get Casablanca: The Musical on Ice. Just, just let it end already."

Basically, you want to make sure you're giving your game the right amount of time for the story you're trying to create. Early D&D had a very strong serial episodic theme baked in - again, the game had a lot of qualities that we'd associate with "Roguelikes" today - and so most games were assumed to follow that model. Like comic books, or The Simpsons⁴, it was assumed that your game was a series of loosely-connected episodes featuring the same characters in the same world, and that you'd drive that car until it ran out of gas.

It's a good model! It's just not the only one.

If you're telling the kind of story that lends itself to that format - say, plucky teen investigators solve supernatural mysteries, and fight a different monster every week - then yeah, maybe ride that train all night.

Conversely, if you're trying to tell the story of how plucky teen investigators gradually discover the alien horror of their small town, in increasingly Lovecraftian fashion? Well, that story has a beginning, middle, and definitely an end. Too many games rob themselves of satisfying conclusions out of a (totally understandable) desire to keep a good thing going.

Sometimes, things come to an end, and that's ok.

Bottom line, the duration of your game has a sizable impact on the type of game you run, and vice versa. Getting those into alignment can go a long way towards a more satisfying experience from top to bottom.

Pace

In Hamlet's Hit Points - which is absolutely worth checking out - Robin Laws talks about the beats of a story; moments that lead the audience toward either hope or fear, taking them on an emotional roller coaster before the tale's through. And while this is entirely delightful on its own, it also serves to highlight another aspect of gaming that doesn't get talked about a lot: pacing.

Putting thought into the pace of your gaming sessions can work wonders. Not just from an emotional standpoint: while that's (really) important, there's also a variety of practical concerns to manage. In any given game, the PCs might be:

• Questioning witnesses
• Engaging in combat
• Getting to know other characters
• Searching a room for clues

...and so on. And while those are different scenes from an emotional standpoint - as audience and characters - they're also different from a practical standpoint as players. Simply put, we do a lot of different stuff in RPGs, and mixing types can be useful. Looking at our examples above, the players are doing different things, right? 

• Questioning witnesses - players are talking, possibly checking notes, maybe the occasional roll
• Engaging in combat - players are rolling dice, interacting with their character sheets, and possibly other peripherals like maps and miniatures, while also describing action
• Getting to know other characters - players are primarily talking
• Searching a room for clues - players are briefly describing action, listening to narration, and rolling dice

So that sequence alternates between roleplay-focused dramatic scenes and mechanics-focused procedural scenes. That's one way to do it, but certainly not the only way; just keep an eye on the flow of your sessions. If something's starting to feel a little stale, you might do well to shift to a different kind of scene, not just in terms of content, but in what the players are doing. A combat followed by a chase, followed by a combat can be exactly what you want - or it can be a bit too much of the same thing - but it pays to know which.

Like always, a dash of mindfulness regarding your group will go a long way.

Our Time is at an End

RPGs can be a time-consuming hobby, but that doesn't have to be a bad thing. Like anything else, we have to prioritize. And by keeping tabs on the runtime, duration, and pace of our sessions, we can master this terrible force, and put it to work for us, like ladies and lords... of time. I guess? If only there were a conveniently geeky pop-culture reference to make here.

It was my hope that this joke would be bigger on the inside.

Regardless, that's all the time we have. On a related note, if people would like to see a checklist for pace (as I've sometimes used myself,) let me know, and I'll whip one up.

Until next.... man, I can't do it. Until next installment.

Cheers!
~Killstring

***

1 - Which is a crying shame. Dan Abnett's a hell of an author, and after reading his excellent Eisenhorn trilogy, I finally understood why people like Warhammer 40K! Highly recommended.

2 - I've said it before, and I'll likely do so in the future - just being the person who reliably shows up to work is a marketable and important skill. Hone your craft, chase excellence, but for the love of all that is good, make your deadlines.

3 - Sometimes referred to as a "Beer & Pretzels GM," but I don't drink beer, nor am I super fond of pretzels. Trivia! Anyway, it's used to describe a more casual style, like a summer action flick - fun, usually violent, and don't think too hard about the plot as that's not really the point.

4 - Sometimes I think that The Simpsons will outlive not only its creators, but every human being who was alive at the time of its creation. In the post-apocalyptic hellscape of humanity's distant future, it'll be mutant cockroaches eating Twinkies and watching The Simpsons. 

In other news, life after the apocalypse sounds distressingly similar to my teenage years.