I forgot to say the best thing about the cyberpunk/apocalypse world game we're playing, which is the rules for the internet, which is just "open your brain" with no changes at all. It it sweet, sweet, sweet, and absolutely just like what the internet is like. Sometimes the internet is friendly and nice. Sometimes it's scary and dangerous. Sometimes it shows you eight hours of wierd porn instead of what you wanted. The internet is the psychic maelstrom.
The game is heating up. I was a bit worried about it at first, but the rules are doing their thing, spinning simple situations into wonderfully gnarled disasters.
Thursday, June 9, 2011
Friday, May 27, 2011
Kinds of Rules
Here's something I said on Vincent's blog, which I think is kinda smart. It's about classifying different kinds of rules. I'm usually pretty skeptical about classification systems, but I think maybe games are better when they use a variety of different "kinds" of rule, which this may help with:
Rules can usually be broken down to an "if/then" statement. That's almost never the best way to communicate them, or to remember them, but for the purposes of this analysis, it's useful.
"If [thing] then [action]"
The "thing" referred to above can:
a) Happen in the real world, or in the fiction
b) Happen frequently, or rarely
The "action" referred to above can:
c) Tell you something happens in the fiction, or tell you to do something in the real world
d) Be very predictable, or very unpredictable
I think that covers what Ben's talking about in this post, as well as Vincent's "Mediating Cues" stuff.
Very often, if the "thing" is very common, and the "action" is very predictable, we tend to internalise the rule, and it's never overtly invoked. That's what Ben means by "continuous" rules. They become part of the landscape of play. For example:
"If [someone is talking about something 'their' character does] then [give that credibility - it happens in the fiction]"
That's a very common rule, which is almost never invoked during functional play, because it happens very frequently, and the action is very predictable. The rule is rarely stated outright, but the rule influences our play anyway.
"If [a character is going aggro], then [roll +hard, ...]"
That's a rule from Apocalypse World. It's almost always invoked when it comes up, because it happens infrequently, and the resulting action is unpredictable (in this case, because you have to roll the dice).
Rules can usually be broken down to an "if/then" statement. That's almost never the best way to communicate them, or to remember them, but for the purposes of this analysis, it's useful.
"If [thing] then [action]"
The "thing" referred to above can:
a) Happen in the real world, or in the fiction
b) Happen frequently, or rarely
The "action" referred to above can:
c) Tell you something happens in the fiction, or tell you to do something in the real world
d) Be very predictable, or very unpredictable
I think that covers what Ben's talking about in this post, as well as Vincent's "Mediating Cues" stuff.
Very often, if the "thing" is very common, and the "action" is very predictable, we tend to internalise the rule, and it's never overtly invoked. That's what Ben means by "continuous" rules. They become part of the landscape of play. For example:
"If [someone is talking about something 'their' character does] then [give that credibility - it happens in the fiction]"
That's a very common rule, which is almost never invoked during functional play, because it happens very frequently, and the action is very predictable. The rule is rarely stated outright, but the rule influences our play anyway.
"If [a character is going aggro], then [roll +hard, ...]"
That's a rule from Apocalypse World. It's almost always invoked when it comes up, because it happens infrequently, and the resulting action is unpredictable (in this case, because you have to roll the dice).
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
Guest Post on Border House
I have a guest post up on the fantastic blog "Border House" about the process of getting a piece of cover art for my game On Mighty Thews.
Check it out!
Check it out!
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
Moorcock on World Building
My buddy Steve showed me this great quote from Michael Moorcock, which sums up exactly the approach to world-building used in my game, On Mighty Thews:
That's how you do it. I wrote a little about On Mighty Thews' map rules, which follow this process exactly, here.
I hardly know what this means. I used to draw a rough map if the story was a 'journey' adventure and made up the rest as needed for the story. My worlds are always inner (unconscious) worlds made manifest. I just learned to tap and shape that unconscious. I've never really understood 'world building' and it seems to derive from D&D etc. about which I know almost nothing.
I honestly believe this is what Howard was doing and what Leiber was doing. I grew up reading Freud and Jung (as it were) and I respond well to plots about people creating their own worlds in their minds. When writing s&s I made my landscapes and weather conditions fit the mood of the characters in straight Romantic tradition. Everything is co-opted into narrative and to a lesser extent character development. Realism or quasi-realism wasn't what I was attracted to in s&s and it's what I rejected in fantasy/sf. It became a convention to suspend disbelief by making the invented world as 'believable' as possible. I preferred mine to be as supportive of the story as possible and not bother to suspend disbelief because my readers already knew what they were reading and why. You don't have to persuade someone who has picked up a fantasy book that it is 'real'. What they want is a good story and characters, some good marvels, and maybe a bit to think about.
That's how you do it. I wrote a little about On Mighty Thews' map rules, which follow this process exactly, here.
Saturday, May 7, 2011
On Mighty Thews - Available for Purchase
In 2007 I was living in Japan, starved for gaming, and reading about amazing developments and innovations in design I was missing. I wanted to be playing these games, exploring these new ideas about play, and contributing to that conversation. But I was stuck in the wilds of Hokkaido, with no one to play with, and no way in.
Into that situation came my friend Rob. A victim of the collapse of the Nova English school, he was stopping past on his way back to New Zealand. Two or three nights, my chance at gaming for the first time in a year. I wanted something to play with him, something easy and fun, that showed off some of the exciting new ideas in gaming I'd discovered and wanted to explore. I hit the web, looking for something to play. "Donjon" was one of my favourites, but it was too complex, and the D&D parody aspect wasn't my thing. Dungeon Squad looked fun, but it was too traditional for what I wanted. I knew we wouldn't have the time or the inclincation for lots of prep or world-building. Time was limited, so I wanted to get into it right away. Nothing on the internet seemed to satisfy my needs: Quick, easy, "player-empowered" gaming.
So I wrote the game I needed myself.
The first iteration was a rough mashup of Donjon and Dungeon Squad, using some bits of my old favourite, Savage Worlds. I wrote it in fifteen minute while Rob waited in the other room. "We'll play for one scene", I said, "and see how it goes."
We played for two hours.
It was fun, it was easy. It showed off some of the exciting new ideas I was reading about. It did the job. There were rough edges, and I made most of the procedures up as I went along, but the idea was solid: If each player is called upon to create just a tiny bit of fiction, something fun and interesting, a little bit at a time, what the group creates together can be something greater and more exciting than they could have imagined.
I played the game non-stop for the next year. I introduced it to everyone. I met friends in Japan who loved to game and we played it every chance we got. I worked on the rules, defining the procedures and honing the rules to get at just what I wanted. Into the mix I added my love of Sword and Sorcery.
I was re-reading a lot of Moorcock, and discovering Tanith Lee and Clark Ashton Smith. The weird worlds these authors created seemed perfect for the games I was playing, filled with the bizzarre and the outre. My old favourite, Robert Howard's Conan, provided the style of action I wanted to create - bloody, visceral, filled with dangerous feats and daring escapes.
There was something I was trying to get at, something I loved (but not uncritically) about sword-and-sorcery stories. It was the way the characters lived in a kind of limbo, halfway between one thing and another. Conan, half-civilised, half-savage. Elric, caught between his fate and his passionate free will. These characters embodied a conflict that was reflected in the world around them.
Malcolm Craig (of Cold City and Hot War fame) provided the impetus to get the game finished. The game we played convinced me of its potential to provide really compelling fiction. Malcolm was excited about the game, and gave me the push to get it finished.
That was a journey in itself. Publishing is hard - far harder than designing. It's taken me years to get the game to its final state. In that time, the gaming world has moved on. What was cutting-edge in 2007 is old-hat now. My own tastes in gaming have changed, and what I'm excited about now is not what I was excited about then. On Mighty Thews is now an old-fashioned game.
But when I read over the text, when I look at the emails playtesters sent me, and when I think about the games I played, I can see there's still life in this game. It's not revolutionary, it's not life-changing, but it's a solid, fun, functional game, and it fills a niche.
If you have a couple of hours to fill, one or two friends, and a love of sword and sorcery stories, you could do worse than giving this game a go. I think you'll love it.
I'm proud to announce that my game, On Mighty Thews, is available for sale.
You can buy the pdf ($5) through its page at the un-store, here.
And check out the website for free downloads here.
Into that situation came my friend Rob. A victim of the collapse of the Nova English school, he was stopping past on his way back to New Zealand. Two or three nights, my chance at gaming for the first time in a year. I wanted something to play with him, something easy and fun, that showed off some of the exciting new ideas in gaming I'd discovered and wanted to explore. I hit the web, looking for something to play. "Donjon" was one of my favourites, but it was too complex, and the D&D parody aspect wasn't my thing. Dungeon Squad looked fun, but it was too traditional for what I wanted. I knew we wouldn't have the time or the inclincation for lots of prep or world-building. Time was limited, so I wanted to get into it right away. Nothing on the internet seemed to satisfy my needs: Quick, easy, "player-empowered" gaming.
So I wrote the game I needed myself.
The first iteration was a rough mashup of Donjon and Dungeon Squad, using some bits of my old favourite, Savage Worlds. I wrote it in fifteen minute while Rob waited in the other room. "We'll play for one scene", I said, "and see how it goes."
We played for two hours.
It was fun, it was easy. It showed off some of the exciting new ideas I was reading about. It did the job. There were rough edges, and I made most of the procedures up as I went along, but the idea was solid: If each player is called upon to create just a tiny bit of fiction, something fun and interesting, a little bit at a time, what the group creates together can be something greater and more exciting than they could have imagined.
I played the game non-stop for the next year. I introduced it to everyone. I met friends in Japan who loved to game and we played it every chance we got. I worked on the rules, defining the procedures and honing the rules to get at just what I wanted. Into the mix I added my love of Sword and Sorcery.
I was re-reading a lot of Moorcock, and discovering Tanith Lee and Clark Ashton Smith. The weird worlds these authors created seemed perfect for the games I was playing, filled with the bizzarre and the outre. My old favourite, Robert Howard's Conan, provided the style of action I wanted to create - bloody, visceral, filled with dangerous feats and daring escapes.
There was something I was trying to get at, something I loved (but not uncritically) about sword-and-sorcery stories. It was the way the characters lived in a kind of limbo, halfway between one thing and another. Conan, half-civilised, half-savage. Elric, caught between his fate and his passionate free will. These characters embodied a conflict that was reflected in the world around them.
Malcolm Craig (of Cold City and Hot War fame) provided the impetus to get the game finished. The game we played convinced me of its potential to provide really compelling fiction. Malcolm was excited about the game, and gave me the push to get it finished.
That was a journey in itself. Publishing is hard - far harder than designing. It's taken me years to get the game to its final state. In that time, the gaming world has moved on. What was cutting-edge in 2007 is old-hat now. My own tastes in gaming have changed, and what I'm excited about now is not what I was excited about then. On Mighty Thews is now an old-fashioned game.
But when I read over the text, when I look at the emails playtesters sent me, and when I think about the games I played, I can see there's still life in this game. It's not revolutionary, it's not life-changing, but it's a solid, fun, functional game, and it fills a niche.
If you have a couple of hours to fill, one or two friends, and a love of sword and sorcery stories, you could do worse than giving this game a go. I think you'll love it.
I'm proud to announce that my game, On Mighty Thews, is available for sale.
You can buy the pdf ($5) through its page at the un-store, here.
And check out the website for free downloads here.
Apocalypse World/Cyberpunk
I recently played the first session of an Apocalypse World game I'm MCing, where the concept is an Apocalypse World that's more cyberpunk-influenced. We're using the core rules, unchanged, but altering our setting expectations.
A key influence is the book "He, She, and It" by Marge Piercy. This is a fucking great book, and I can't understand why it's not part of the core cyberpunk canon. It was written in 1991 and won an Arthur C Clarke award, and yet somehow people who will happily rave at you about Blade Runner and Neuromancer and Snow Crash have never heard of it. I suspect if it had been written by "Mark" Piercy, and if it didn't have so many icky girly feelings in it, it would be more popular.
The setting of the book is one of environmental and societal collapse. A few large corporations control most of the resources, much of the world is uninhabitable, and most people live in giant sprawling burbs around the corporate enclaves, or else in independant towns struggling to survive in the wilderness. We've pretty much stolen that setting wholesale.
One of the things I'm finding exciting about doing the prep for the game after the first session is how the rules for threats are sparking off the setting in really provocative and unexpected ways. A mercenary working for one of the corps becomes a grotesque threat - a mutant, who craves restitution and recompense. The character leaps to life in my mind. The sprawling burbs aren't just a place to live, they're a landscape threat - a breeding pit, generating badness. The place takes on a life of its own.
As with the last game of AW, things feel a little thin after the first session. I'm worried that there's too much of a status quo, that we'll have to work hard to destabilise things, and I'll be working against the characters' best interests to change things up in the town. The character class mix is part of that. We have an Angel (with a clinic), a Savvyhead, and an Operator, all characters with established operations they're loath to jeopardise. We'll have another player joining us next session though, who hopefully will add some violence to the mix.
There are some juicy things coming out of the first session though: Mother/daughter conflicts, drug addiction, a creepy stalker in a position of power, shadowy corporations, a mysterious illness. I'm looking forward to seeing where they go, and trusting that, like the last game, the sauce will thicken up with cooking.
A key influence is the book "He, She, and It" by Marge Piercy. This is a fucking great book, and I can't understand why it's not part of the core cyberpunk canon. It was written in 1991 and won an Arthur C Clarke award, and yet somehow people who will happily rave at you about Blade Runner and Neuromancer and Snow Crash have never heard of it. I suspect if it had been written by "Mark" Piercy, and if it didn't have so many icky girly feelings in it, it would be more popular.
The setting of the book is one of environmental and societal collapse. A few large corporations control most of the resources, much of the world is uninhabitable, and most people live in giant sprawling burbs around the corporate enclaves, or else in independant towns struggling to survive in the wilderness. We've pretty much stolen that setting wholesale.
One of the things I'm finding exciting about doing the prep for the game after the first session is how the rules for threats are sparking off the setting in really provocative and unexpected ways. A mercenary working for one of the corps becomes a grotesque threat - a mutant, who craves restitution and recompense. The character leaps to life in my mind. The sprawling burbs aren't just a place to live, they're a landscape threat - a breeding pit, generating badness. The place takes on a life of its own.
As with the last game of AW, things feel a little thin after the first session. I'm worried that there's too much of a status quo, that we'll have to work hard to destabilise things, and I'll be working against the characters' best interests to change things up in the town. The character class mix is part of that. We have an Angel (with a clinic), a Savvyhead, and an Operator, all characters with established operations they're loath to jeopardise. We'll have another player joining us next session though, who hopefully will add some violence to the mix.
There are some juicy things coming out of the first session though: Mother/daughter conflicts, drug addiction, a creepy stalker in a position of power, shadowy corporations, a mysterious illness. I'm looking forward to seeing where they go, and trusting that, like the last game, the sauce will thicken up with cooking.
Monday, April 4, 2011
Stock Photos
Nowhere is the tyranny of white supremacy, patriarchy, and agism more visually apparent than in stock photo galleries.
"Woman" means "sexy woman".
"Police officer" means "white police officer".
"Person" means "young white man".
It is seriously grinding my gears.
"Woman" means "sexy woman".
"Police officer" means "white police officer".
"Person" means "young white man".
It is seriously grinding my gears.
Sunday, January 16, 2011
Stakes Setting
This thread on Story Games is what I'd like to see more of on that site, and I hope that it doesn't turn into a stirring defence of Shock: that would make people feel better but wouldn't really achieve anything else. There are real issues to discuss. Here's what I said on the thread:
"The issue of "downtime" in Shock: (and it is a real issue) is the same issue as exists in almost all stakes-setting games. Here's what I see the problems being:
a) There's uncertainty about when to engage the resolution mechanic. Has a conflict started yet or not? Sometimes, especially with talking conflicts, you're halfway through the conflict before you realise that you should be rolling dice.
b) Deciding what the stakes are takes time. Often there's negotiation, and that negotiation takes place outside of the fiction of the game. This problem is sometimes worse in Shock: because you have to decide on two non-contradictory sets of stakes, which isn't always easy.
c) Often if your resolution system is complex, it takes time to resolve who won which stakes. If resolution doesn't add more than yes/no to the fiction, this can feel like wasted time. I actually think Shock: is fairly economical in this regard.
d) Incorporating the results of the resolution into the fiction is often complex. If resolution assigns narration, that can be a help, but often there's a pause as people unpick the ramifications of what has been resolved (Shock:'s double-stakes can add to that).
e) Throughout, there's often an issue where it's not clear who is supposed to be talking, who has responsibility for deciding when there is a conflict, and how you arrive at good stakes. I think Shock: is better than many games in clarifying these issues, but they still exist.
In other words, I think Shock: uses the best technology that was available at the time it was written. These problems are more-or-less present in Dogs in the Vineyard, Legends of Alyria, Cold City, and a lot of other well-regarded games that use stakes-setting as part of resolution. I expect that Human Contact will contain a lot of advances that will help with the above issues, based on Joshua's evolving understanding of how to play the game."
I'll go further here. I think that roleplaying games currently are only scratching the surface of good design. Most games up until now have been average at best, in terms of what they can potentially be. Games like Dogs and Shock and Sorcerer were all brilliant and cutting edge when they were written, but they use old technology. They're steam-powered.
"The issue of "downtime" in Shock: (and it is a real issue) is the same issue as exists in almost all stakes-setting games. Here's what I see the problems being:
a) There's uncertainty about when to engage the resolution mechanic. Has a conflict started yet or not? Sometimes, especially with talking conflicts, you're halfway through the conflict before you realise that you should be rolling dice.
b) Deciding what the stakes are takes time. Often there's negotiation, and that negotiation takes place outside of the fiction of the game. This problem is sometimes worse in Shock: because you have to decide on two non-contradictory sets of stakes, which isn't always easy.
c) Often if your resolution system is complex, it takes time to resolve who won which stakes. If resolution doesn't add more than yes/no to the fiction, this can feel like wasted time. I actually think Shock: is fairly economical in this regard.
d) Incorporating the results of the resolution into the fiction is often complex. If resolution assigns narration, that can be a help, but often there's a pause as people unpick the ramifications of what has been resolved (Shock:'s double-stakes can add to that).
e) Throughout, there's often an issue where it's not clear who is supposed to be talking, who has responsibility for deciding when there is a conflict, and how you arrive at good stakes. I think Shock: is better than many games in clarifying these issues, but they still exist.
In other words, I think Shock: uses the best technology that was available at the time it was written. These problems are more-or-less present in Dogs in the Vineyard, Legends of Alyria, Cold City, and a lot of other well-regarded games that use stakes-setting as part of resolution. I expect that Human Contact will contain a lot of advances that will help with the above issues, based on Joshua's evolving understanding of how to play the game."
I'll go further here. I think that roleplaying games currently are only scratching the surface of good design. Most games up until now have been average at best, in terms of what they can potentially be. Games like Dogs and Shock and Sorcerer were all brilliant and cutting edge when they were written, but they use old technology. They're steam-powered.
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Sexiness and RPGs
Still waiting to see where the Story Games thread about this will go. I wanted to pull out a thing I said there (which I originally said on Vincent's blog):
Roleplaying is a really intimate, intense, vulnerable act. It's kinda sexy, even. But for a lot of us we learnt to play, and most of our experiences of play are with groups of just men (or boys) often during adolescence, a time of incredible insecurity, messed up interpersonal relationships, and frequntly homophobia (and the attendant hatred of the feminine, and anything that makes you vulnerable). Basically, roleplaying is kinda gay, so we butch it up with swords and guns and fighting and shit.
I think we also inherit from that tradition a stringent divide between players and characters. I think a lot of games really strictly police that boundary, maintaining the fiction that it's just a game, that it's not personal.
I think there's fertile ground for design in breaking down that barrier - play that's more personal, more intimate, more dangerous. Whether people want to play those games is another question. To be honest, I'm not sure if I'm even ready for that, or who I'd play with.
It's kind of where I'd like my most recent project, Dungeonfuckers, to go.
Roleplaying is a really intimate, intense, vulnerable act. It's kinda sexy, even. But for a lot of us we learnt to play, and most of our experiences of play are with groups of just men (or boys) often during adolescence, a time of incredible insecurity, messed up interpersonal relationships, and frequntly homophobia (and the attendant hatred of the feminine, and anything that makes you vulnerable). Basically, roleplaying is kinda gay, so we butch it up with swords and guns and fighting and shit.
I think we also inherit from that tradition a stringent divide between players and characters. I think a lot of games really strictly police that boundary, maintaining the fiction that it's just a game, that it's not personal.
I think there's fertile ground for design in breaking down that barrier - play that's more personal, more intimate, more dangerous. Whether people want to play those games is another question. To be honest, I'm not sure if I'm even ready for that, or who I'd play with.
It's kind of where I'd like my most recent project, Dungeonfuckers, to go.
Monday, November 22, 2010
World of Conan - Done!
It's done! Or, it's as done as it's going to be! (Unless I get some serious internet love for it, in which case who knows?)
Here's the link.
Feedback is welcome, either here or to my email, simoncarryer at gmail.
Which reminds me, I forgot to put my name on it. Don't steal it, anybody!
Here's the link.
Feedback is welcome, either here or to my email, simoncarryer at gmail.
Which reminds me, I forgot to put my name on it. Don't steal it, anybody!
Saturday, November 13, 2010
Give yourself over...
When you give yourself over to the inexorable urgings of your blood, roll +weird. On a hit, you hold yourself in check. On a 10+, hold 3. On a 7-9, hold 1.
Spend one hold to:
- When you inflict harm, inflict +1 harm.
- When you take harm, take -1 harm.
- When you act under fire, roll +1
On a miss the MC will make a hard move.
What does giving yourself over to the inexorable urgings of your blood look like? That’s for you to answer, but probably look at your race for some clues.
World of Conan is pretty much done! I'd love to get an external eye to read over it before I show it to the world though. Let me know if you've got a spare 20 mins to give it a once-over.
Spend one hold to:
- When you inflict harm, inflict +1 harm.
- When you take harm, take -1 harm.
- When you act under fire, roll +1
On a miss the MC will make a hard move.
What does giving yourself over to the inexorable urgings of your blood look like? That’s for you to answer, but probably look at your race for some clues.
World of Conan is pretty much done! I'd love to get an external eye to read over it before I show it to the world though. Let me know if you've got a spare 20 mins to give it a once-over.
Thursday, November 4, 2010
World of Conan - The Sorcerer
Here's a playbook for the AW Conan hack I'm fiddling with. He's pretty nasty.
Stygian, Khitan, Vendyhan, Zamoran, Pict, Thurian, Lemurian, Other.
Man, woman, other.
Frail body, lanky body, starved body, powerful body, desiccated body.
Stony eyes, crazed eyes, hollow eyes, piercing eyes, blazing eyes.
• Steel+1 Thews+1 Allure-2 Cunning+1 Weird+2
• Steel=0 Thews=0 Allure+1 Cunning=0 Weird+2
• Steel+1 Thews-2 Allure-1 Cunning+2 Weird+2
• Steel+2 Thews-1 Allure-1 Cunning=0 Weird+2
Choose 2:
Whispers: you can roll+weird to get the effects of going aggro, without going aggro. Your victim has to be able to see you, but you don’t have to interact. If your victim forces your hand, your mind counts as a weapon (1-harm ap close loud-optional).
All-seeing eyes: when you read someone, roll+weird instead of roll+cunning. Your victim has to be able to see you, but you don’t have to interact.
Mesmerism: when you try to seduce someone, roll+weird instead of roll+allure.
Genius: When you declare retroactively that you’ve already set something up, roll+cunning. On a 10+, it’s just as you say. On a 7–9, you set it up, yes, but here at the crucial moment the MC can introduce some hitch or delay. On a miss, you set it up, yes, but since then things you don’t know about have seriously changed.
Immortal: when you meet someone important (your call), roll+steel. On a hit, they’ve heard of you, and you say what they’ve heard; the MC will have them respond accordingly. On a 10+, you take +1forward for dealing with them as well. On a miss, they’ve heard of you, but the MC will decide what they’ve heard.
Visions of death: when you go into battle, roll+weird. On a 10+, name one person who’ll die and one who’ll live. On a 7–9, name one person who’ll die OR one person who’ll live. Don’t name a player’s character; name NPCs only. Thee MC will make your vision come true, if it’s even remotely possible. On a miss, you foresee your own death, and accordingly take -1 throughout the battle.
Death Spell: your pointed finger and a spoken word counts as a weapon, (6 harm ap close reload). If you are using a Death Spell, on a miss, you take 6 harm ap.
Youthful guise: in darkness or near-darkness, you have allure+2.
Master of Darkness: you get +1 weird (weird+3)
Then choose two pieces of Sorcerer gear:
Books of Lore: When you spend hours poring over your books of lore, hold 1 (max 1). Spend 1 hold to use any Sorcerer move, even if you don't have the move.
Altar Stone: When you sacrifice a human life or goods worth 1 riches on your altar, ask 1:
• who wishes me harm?
• which enemy is most vulnerable to me?
• which enemy is the biggest threat?
• what should I be on the lookout for?
• what’s my enemy’s true position?
Demon Familiar: The demon familiar counts as a weapon (3 harm remote alive, 2 armour). If you use the demon familiar with a move, on a miss it suffers any consequences, as an NPC, not you.
Mummy Dust: Mummy dust is a weapon (hand s-harm infinite).
Everyone introduces their characters by name, look and outlook. Take your turn. List the other characters’ names.
Go around again for Hx. On your turn:
• You are mysterious and inscrutable. Tell everyone Hx=0.
On the others’ turns,
Choose the character who you’ve sworn assistance to. Whatever number that player tells you, ignore it; write Hx+3 next to the character’s name instead.
Everyone else, whatever number they tell you, give it +1 and write it next to their character’s name. You see the truth about people.
At the end, find the character with the highest Hx on your sheet. Ask that player which of your stats is most interesting, and highlight it. The MC will have you highlight a second stat too.
If you and another character have sex, Roll+weird. On a 10+, hold 3. On a 7–9, hold 2. they can spend your hold, 1 for 1, by:
• giving you something you want
• acting as your eyes and ears
• fighting to protect you
• doing something you tell them to
For NPCs, while you have hold over them they can’t act against you. For PCs, instead, any time you like you can spend your hold, 1 for 1:
• they distract themselves with the thought of you. they’re acting under fire.
• they inspire themselves with the thought of you. they take +1 right now.
On a miss, they hold 2 over you, on the exact same terms.
Whenever you roll a highlighted stat, and whenever you reset your Hx with someone, mark an experience circle. When you mark the 5th, improve and erase.
Each time you improve, choose one of the following. Check it off; you can’t choose it again.
__ get +1steel (max steel+2)
__ get +1thews (max thews+2)
__ get +1allure (max allure+2)
__ get +1cunning (max cunning+2)
__ get a new sorcerer move
__ get a new sorcerer move
__ get a new piece of sorcerer gear
__ get a move from another playbook
__ get a move from another playbook
Sorcerer
Stygian, Khitan, Vendyhan, Zamoran, Pict, Thurian, Lemurian, Other.
Man, woman, other.
Frail body, lanky body, starved body, powerful body, desiccated body.
Stony eyes, crazed eyes, hollow eyes, piercing eyes, blazing eyes.
• Steel+1 Thews+1 Allure-2 Cunning+1 Weird+2
• Steel=0 Thews=0 Allure+1 Cunning=0 Weird+2
• Steel+1 Thews-2 Allure-1 Cunning+2 Weird+2
• Steel+2 Thews-1 Allure-1 Cunning=0 Weird+2
Choose 2:
Whispers: you can roll+weird to get the effects of going aggro, without going aggro. Your victim has to be able to see you, but you don’t have to interact. If your victim forces your hand, your mind counts as a weapon (1-harm ap close loud-optional).
All-seeing eyes: when you read someone, roll+weird instead of roll+cunning. Your victim has to be able to see you, but you don’t have to interact.
Mesmerism: when you try to seduce someone, roll+weird instead of roll+allure.
Genius: When you declare retroactively that you’ve already set something up, roll+cunning. On a 10+, it’s just as you say. On a 7–9, you set it up, yes, but here at the crucial moment the MC can introduce some hitch or delay. On a miss, you set it up, yes, but since then things you don’t know about have seriously changed.
Immortal: when you meet someone important (your call), roll+steel. On a hit, they’ve heard of you, and you say what they’ve heard; the MC will have them respond accordingly. On a 10+, you take +1forward for dealing with them as well. On a miss, they’ve heard of you, but the MC will decide what they’ve heard.
Visions of death: when you go into battle, roll+weird. On a 10+, name one person who’ll die and one who’ll live. On a 7–9, name one person who’ll die OR one person who’ll live. Don’t name a player’s character; name NPCs only. Thee MC will make your vision come true, if it’s even remotely possible. On a miss, you foresee your own death, and accordingly take -1 throughout the battle.
Death Spell: your pointed finger and a spoken word counts as a weapon, (6 harm ap close reload). If you are using a Death Spell, on a miss, you take 6 harm ap.
Youthful guise: in darkness or near-darkness, you have allure+2.
Master of Darkness: you get +1 weird (weird+3)
Then choose two pieces of Sorcerer gear:
Books of Lore: When you spend hours poring over your books of lore, hold 1 (max 1). Spend 1 hold to use any Sorcerer move, even if you don't have the move.
Altar Stone: When you sacrifice a human life or goods worth 1 riches on your altar, ask 1:
• who wishes me harm?
• which enemy is most vulnerable to me?
• which enemy is the biggest threat?
• what should I be on the lookout for?
• what’s my enemy’s true position?
Demon Familiar: The demon familiar counts as a weapon (3 harm remote alive, 2 armour). If you use the demon familiar with a move, on a miss it suffers any consequences, as an NPC, not you.
Mummy Dust: Mummy dust is a weapon (hand s-harm infinite).
Hx
Everyone introduces their characters by name, look and outlook. Take your turn. List the other characters’ names.
Go around again for Hx. On your turn:
• You are mysterious and inscrutable. Tell everyone Hx=0.
On the others’ turns,
Choose the character who you’ve sworn assistance to. Whatever number that player tells you, ignore it; write Hx+3 next to the character’s name instead.
Everyone else, whatever number they tell you, give it +1 and write it next to their character’s name. You see the truth about people.
At the end, find the character with the highest Hx on your sheet. Ask that player which of your stats is most interesting, and highlight it. The MC will have you highlight a second stat too.
Sorcerer Special
If you and another character have sex, Roll+weird. On a 10+, hold 3. On a 7–9, hold 2. they can spend your hold, 1 for 1, by:
• giving you something you want
• acting as your eyes and ears
• fighting to protect you
• doing something you tell them to
For NPCs, while you have hold over them they can’t act against you. For PCs, instead, any time you like you can spend your hold, 1 for 1:
• they distract themselves with the thought of you. they’re acting under fire.
• they inspire themselves with the thought of you. they take +1 right now.
On a miss, they hold 2 over you, on the exact same terms.
Sorcerer Improvement
Whenever you roll a highlighted stat, and whenever you reset your Hx with someone, mark an experience circle. When you mark the 5th, improve and erase.
Each time you improve, choose one of the following. Check it off; you can’t choose it again.
__ get +1steel (max steel+2)
__ get +1thews (max thews+2)
__ get +1allure (max allure+2)
__ get +1cunning (max cunning+2)
__ get a new sorcerer move
__ get a new sorcerer move
__ get a new piece of sorcerer gear
__ get a move from another playbook
__ get a move from another playbook
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Red Box Agendas
When I don't get immediate fawning attention for a post on Story Games, I take it to my blog.
Here's a thing I said about how I run red box D&D*, expressed as Apocalypse World agendas and principles.
Agenda:
Make the world seem real
Play to find out who survives
Show off the thing you've made
Do this by saying:
What your prep demands
What the rules demand
What honesty requires
What the principles require, namely:
Principles (not exhaustive):
Look at the player's characters through crosshairs (and your own monsters even more so)
Jump forward with quirky and memorable characters
Interpret the characters' actions charitably - give them a chance to reconsider
Digress occasionally - describe the mushrooms on a cave-wall or the stonework on an archway
Treat your monsters as real, living beings.
Look to the fiction first, and the rules second - roll as a last resort, but always roll when it's called for
Think offscreen (especially about adjacent rooms)
Revel in violence and gore - describe the terrible results of an axe-blow, the screams of dying goblins, the sound of arrows hitting flesh.
Principles for Prep (i.e. dungeon design):
Design an interconnected dungeon (see here for advice)
Include unbeatable threats
Make opportunities for experimentation and exploration
Make your dungeon part of the natural world
But also make it fantastical and weird
Include non-combatants, neutrals, and possible allies
*Mentzer, mostly. Moldvay is for RPG hipsters.
Here's a thing I said about how I run red box D&D*, expressed as Apocalypse World agendas and principles.
Agenda:
Make the world seem real
Play to find out who survives
Show off the thing you've made
Do this by saying:
What your prep demands
What the rules demand
What honesty requires
What the principles require, namely:
Principles (not exhaustive):
Look at the player's characters through crosshairs (and your own monsters even more so)
Jump forward with quirky and memorable characters
Interpret the characters' actions charitably - give them a chance to reconsider
Digress occasionally - describe the mushrooms on a cave-wall or the stonework on an archway
Treat your monsters as real, living beings.
Look to the fiction first, and the rules second - roll as a last resort, but always roll when it's called for
Think offscreen (especially about adjacent rooms)
Revel in violence and gore - describe the terrible results of an axe-blow, the screams of dying goblins, the sound of arrows hitting flesh.
Principles for Prep (i.e. dungeon design):
Design an interconnected dungeon (see here for advice)
Include unbeatable threats
Make opportunities for experimentation and exploration
Make your dungeon part of the natural world
But also make it fantastical and weird
Include non-combatants, neutrals, and possible allies
*Mentzer, mostly. Moldvay is for RPG hipsters.
Monday, October 4, 2010
World of Conan
I'm having just about the most fun possible noodling away on a Conan hack for Apocalypse World. Mostly I'm just reconfiguring and rewriting the regular classes, but check it out:
For the Tyrant:
When you send your armies to do battle, roll +army. On a 10+, you drive your enemies before you. You can:
- Capture territory along your border
- Quell rebellion and crush dissent
- Secure contested territory
- Loot and pillage an area, extracting slaves, food, and wealth
On a 7-9, choose one of the above, but:
- You must face your enemy on the battlefield
- You take heavy losses (take -1army forward)
- You incite rebellion and dissent
On a miss, you are exiled, besieged, or face a coup or assasination attempts.
Now I'm working on a replacement for open your brain. I'm thinking "when you give yourself over to the inexorable urgings of your blood..."
For the Tyrant:
When you send your armies to do battle, roll +army. On a 10+, you drive your enemies before you. You can:
- Capture territory along your border
- Quell rebellion and crush dissent
- Secure contested territory
- Loot and pillage an area, extracting slaves, food, and wealth
On a 7-9, choose one of the above, but:
- You must face your enemy on the battlefield
- You take heavy losses (take -1army forward)
- You incite rebellion and dissent
On a miss, you are exiled, besieged, or face a coup or assasination attempts.
Now I'm working on a replacement for open your brain. I'm thinking "when you give yourself over to the inexorable urgings of your blood..."
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Conflict and Task
Task vs. Conflict resolution is one of my favourite subjects, because it's straightforward, easy to explain, and immediately useful to design and play. This came up in a post on the Barf Forth Apocalyptica forums, and I thought it would be worth sharing more broadly, if only to provide me something to link people to, rather than swamping threads all over the internet.
Here's a task: "Swing my sword at a guy"
Here's a conflict: "Kill a dude"
Here's a task: "Drive my car real fast through the city"
Here's a conflict: "Get to the hospital in time to save my buddy"
Here's a task: "Climb in through a window"
Here's a conflict: "Get into the tower without being seen"
Tasks are what your character is doing. Conflicts are about what your character wants. It doesn't matter what scale your conflicts and tasks are at. Tasks are what the characters are doing - what's happening in the fiction. Conflicts are about the outcome - what do we care about?
All instances of play have task resolution. A character does a thing, and there's a way of finding out whether they do it well or badly. That system could be explicit in the text, or it could be implied (usually they're explicit though). The system could use some kind of randomiser or other resolution "Roll a d20, add your skill, and try to beat the number the GM says" "See if your Skill score is high enough for the task you're doing, and if it is, you do it well" or it might not: "Say how well your character does a thing. That's how well they do it".
I say "all instances of play" because although the text of the game's rules might not say anything about it, as soon as you have fictional characters in your game performing any kind of action, you have a system for deciding how well they do them.
All instances of play have conflict resolution. A character wants a thing, something is in the way, and there's a way of finding out if they get what they want or not. That system could be explicit in the text, or it could be implied (in traditional games, they're often implied or absent). The system could use some kind of randomiser or other resolution "roll a d10, add your strength. Subtract that number from their hit points. If they've got none left, they're dead" "See if your Will is higher than theirs. If it is, they tell you what you want to know" or it might not: "See how well you did the task, and then the GM will tell you whether that got you what you wanted or not"
That last example is the most common kind of conflict resolution in traditional games. Call of Cthulhu, AD&D (outside of combat), World of Darkness (mostly), all of those pretty much exclusively have systems where the dice tell you how well the character does a thing, and then it's entirely up to the GM whether that gets them what they want or not. People call those "task resolution" games, but in play they have conflict resolution too, it's just handled almost entirely by the GM.
A common thing GMs in those games do is to make conflict resolution depend on task resolution. They'll say "If you make your driving roll, you'll get to the hospital on time" or "If you make your climbing roll, you'll get into the tower without anyone seeing". That's not written down anywhere in the rules text, it's just a thing a lot of people have learnt to do.
Another thing a lot of GMs of these games do is make their decision dependant on their sense of drama and timing "Ok, you've succeeded on your roll, so you're driving fast through the city, and you're nearly at the hospital. But your buddy in the seat next to you, he's burst his stitches and he's bleeding out. You're gonna need to put pressure on the wound and drive at the same time!"
One more thing some GMs do is make their decision based on the needs of the story they have planned in their heads, or that they're imagining the players want. "You're driving fast through the city, you don't hit anything, and you pull up outside the hospital. You run around to the other door to drag your buddy out, but by the time you get there it's too late. He whispers one last thing: "Project... ...Manticore"
So that's one way of doing conflict resolution. Now lets look at an explicit (as in, contained in the rules text) conflict resolution system. D&D3E.
I know. You're all like "But!" and I'm like "Deal with it, haters." D&D3E has an unambiguous conflict resolution system. It's just really difficult to use, time consuming and fiddly, and frequently ignored in play. Except for combat. Combat is the most straightforward conflict resolution system in the game. Let's take a look:
You want to kill a thing, so you take out your sword and hit the thing with it. That triggers the combat conflict resolution system. There's some fussing with initiative and such, but the core of the system determines two things: How well you hit the thing with your sword, and whether or not that kills it. That's task and conflict resolution right there:
"Roll a d20, add your strength and attack bonus, plus any other modifieres, and try to get over the target's AC" This is task resolution. Do you hit it with your sword?
"If you hit, roll a d10, add your strength, and subtract that number from the target's hit points. If they've got zero or fewer left, they're dead." This is conflict resolution. Have you succeeded in making them dead?
All right? Now lets look at non-combat conflict resolution. Your dude wants to climb up a tower into the window, and he doesn't want anyone to see. The DM has prepped this area, so we know where the guards are and how high the window is off the ground, and all that. Lets assume right now that the guards are all elewhere, and all we need to worry about is getting in that window. The system says (and I'm paraphrasing right now because I don't have the books with me) "Roll your climb skill against a difficulty set by the DM. The difficulty is 15 for masonry walls, +5 if it's slimy or wet (which it isn't, according to the GM's prep). If you succeed, you move your speed score in feet up the wall. If you fail by less than five, you move half your speed. If you fail by five or more, you fall."
We roll the dice, you get a 20. So your dude moves 30 feet (your speed) up the wall. That's task resolution.
Is that high enough to reach the window? We look to the DM's prep. If so, you're in, if not, you have to roll again. That's conflict resolution.
In practice, most groups don't rigourously apply the conflict resolution rules in D&D3E, and end up leaving conflict resolution entirely up to the DM, who uses one of the process I described above. D&D3E conflict resolution requires immense dedication to following a lot of fiddly rules, as well as detailed and comprehensive prep from the DM. It's a huge pain in the ass, and hence, in my opinion, not a good set of rules.
Apocalypse World has an explicit conflict resolution system because if you follow the procedure set out in the books, conflicts between fictional characters will be resolved, without the decision being left up to the MC or to any player. Sometimes the MC will have to make a judgement about the fiction of play (will they suck it up, or give in?), and sometimes the player will have to make a decision (inflict terrible harm, or take little harm?), but those aren't usually in and of themselves deciding the outcome of the conflict. Sometimes conflicts won't be resolved by a single move. Sometimes there'll be a whole snopwball of moves before a conflict is resolved. We don't always know whether a given move is going to resolve the conflict right now or not. Sometimes it will be left unresolved for a while, but the immediate situation will have changed. This is what makes Apocalypse World different from explicit stakes-setting games like Dogs in the Vineyard or PTA, and more similar to other conflict resolution games like Sorcerer or D&D3E.
Here's a task: "Swing my sword at a guy"
Here's a conflict: "Kill a dude"
Here's a task: "Drive my car real fast through the city"
Here's a conflict: "Get to the hospital in time to save my buddy"
Here's a task: "Climb in through a window"
Here's a conflict: "Get into the tower without being seen"
Tasks are what your character is doing. Conflicts are about what your character wants. It doesn't matter what scale your conflicts and tasks are at. Tasks are what the characters are doing - what's happening in the fiction. Conflicts are about the outcome - what do we care about?
All instances of play have task resolution. A character does a thing, and there's a way of finding out whether they do it well or badly. That system could be explicit in the text, or it could be implied (usually they're explicit though). The system could use some kind of randomiser or other resolution "Roll a d20, add your skill, and try to beat the number the GM says" "See if your Skill score is high enough for the task you're doing, and if it is, you do it well" or it might not: "Say how well your character does a thing. That's how well they do it".
I say "all instances of play" because although the text of the game's rules might not say anything about it, as soon as you have fictional characters in your game performing any kind of action, you have a system for deciding how well they do them.
All instances of play have conflict resolution. A character wants a thing, something is in the way, and there's a way of finding out if they get what they want or not. That system could be explicit in the text, or it could be implied (in traditional games, they're often implied or absent). The system could use some kind of randomiser or other resolution "roll a d10, add your strength. Subtract that number from their hit points. If they've got none left, they're dead" "See if your Will is higher than theirs. If it is, they tell you what you want to know" or it might not: "See how well you did the task, and then the GM will tell you whether that got you what you wanted or not"
That last example is the most common kind of conflict resolution in traditional games. Call of Cthulhu, AD&D (outside of combat), World of Darkness (mostly), all of those pretty much exclusively have systems where the dice tell you how well the character does a thing, and then it's entirely up to the GM whether that gets them what they want or not. People call those "task resolution" games, but in play they have conflict resolution too, it's just handled almost entirely by the GM.
A common thing GMs in those games do is to make conflict resolution depend on task resolution. They'll say "If you make your driving roll, you'll get to the hospital on time" or "If you make your climbing roll, you'll get into the tower without anyone seeing". That's not written down anywhere in the rules text, it's just a thing a lot of people have learnt to do.
Another thing a lot of GMs of these games do is make their decision dependant on their sense of drama and timing "Ok, you've succeeded on your roll, so you're driving fast through the city, and you're nearly at the hospital. But your buddy in the seat next to you, he's burst his stitches and he's bleeding out. You're gonna need to put pressure on the wound and drive at the same time!"
One more thing some GMs do is make their decision based on the needs of the story they have planned in their heads, or that they're imagining the players want. "You're driving fast through the city, you don't hit anything, and you pull up outside the hospital. You run around to the other door to drag your buddy out, but by the time you get there it's too late. He whispers one last thing: "Project... ...Manticore"
So that's one way of doing conflict resolution. Now lets look at an explicit (as in, contained in the rules text) conflict resolution system. D&D3E.
I know. You're all like "But!" and I'm like "Deal with it, haters." D&D3E has an unambiguous conflict resolution system. It's just really difficult to use, time consuming and fiddly, and frequently ignored in play. Except for combat. Combat is the most straightforward conflict resolution system in the game. Let's take a look:
You want to kill a thing, so you take out your sword and hit the thing with it. That triggers the combat conflict resolution system. There's some fussing with initiative and such, but the core of the system determines two things: How well you hit the thing with your sword, and whether or not that kills it. That's task and conflict resolution right there:
"Roll a d20, add your strength and attack bonus, plus any other modifieres, and try to get over the target's AC" This is task resolution. Do you hit it with your sword?
"If you hit, roll a d10, add your strength, and subtract that number from the target's hit points. If they've got zero or fewer left, they're dead." This is conflict resolution. Have you succeeded in making them dead?
All right? Now lets look at non-combat conflict resolution. Your dude wants to climb up a tower into the window, and he doesn't want anyone to see. The DM has prepped this area, so we know where the guards are and how high the window is off the ground, and all that. Lets assume right now that the guards are all elewhere, and all we need to worry about is getting in that window. The system says (and I'm paraphrasing right now because I don't have the books with me) "Roll your climb skill against a difficulty set by the DM. The difficulty is 15 for masonry walls, +5 if it's slimy or wet (which it isn't, according to the GM's prep). If you succeed, you move your speed score in feet up the wall. If you fail by less than five, you move half your speed. If you fail by five or more, you fall."
We roll the dice, you get a 20. So your dude moves 30 feet (your speed) up the wall. That's task resolution.
Is that high enough to reach the window? We look to the DM's prep. If so, you're in, if not, you have to roll again. That's conflict resolution.
In practice, most groups don't rigourously apply the conflict resolution rules in D&D3E, and end up leaving conflict resolution entirely up to the DM, who uses one of the process I described above. D&D3E conflict resolution requires immense dedication to following a lot of fiddly rules, as well as detailed and comprehensive prep from the DM. It's a huge pain in the ass, and hence, in my opinion, not a good set of rules.
Apocalypse World has an explicit conflict resolution system because if you follow the procedure set out in the books, conflicts between fictional characters will be resolved, without the decision being left up to the MC or to any player. Sometimes the MC will have to make a judgement about the fiction of play (will they suck it up, or give in?), and sometimes the player will have to make a decision (inflict terrible harm, or take little harm?), but those aren't usually in and of themselves deciding the outcome of the conflict. Sometimes conflicts won't be resolved by a single move. Sometimes there'll be a whole snopwball of moves before a conflict is resolved. We don't always know whether a given move is going to resolve the conflict right now or not. Sometimes it will be left unresolved for a while, but the immediate situation will have changed. This is what makes Apocalypse World different from explicit stakes-setting games like Dogs in the Vineyard or PTA, and more similar to other conflict resolution games like Sorcerer or D&D3E.
Saturday, August 28, 2010
A Thing I've Been Thinking About
At the risk of stirring shit up just when folks were starting to have productive conversations.
"Play should be personally and socially fulfilling" is the one big thing to come out of the Forge in the last ten years, apparently. I'm like "Yup. Cool." Creative Agenda, as a thing that exists and makes play personally and socially fulfilling is something I can get behind, no problem. Things happen in a game, stuff changes, on your character sheet, in the fiction of the game, and in the social relationships between the players, and you notice and appreciate that change. You see it as "progress" rather than just change, because you've got a creative agenda.
So no problem with that.
But! I'm not sure that the specific formulation of creative agendas as falling into three general categories of "Story Now", "Right to Dream", and "Step on Up" is a useful way of thinking about Creative Agenda. I don't see it helping in design, nor do I see it helping in fixing problems in play. I do see specific understandings about how to design for Story Now play as being useful, but I don't see correlated insights into Step on Up and Right to Dream play. I do see a lot of arguments and explanations and wars over definitions.
So, anyway. Maybe related to that, maybe not, here's a thing I've been thinking about: There are three general things going on in roleplaying games, all of which seem rewarding to players in greater or lesser degree.
Theme
If you looked at the fiction of play as if you were reading a book, what would the book be saying? What's the game "about"? Is it about good triumphing over evil (or failing to do so)? Is it about what difference one person can make in a corrupt society? In the ficton this looks like when you find out that no, your Dog isn't going to shoot that woman in the face, or oh shit yes he is. It's when you discover (to little surprise) that there are no repercussions for killing all those orcs. On character sheets, it's you scratching out that "I will become King" belief, and writing in "I have no use for Kings". It's you checking off that last experience point for killing that dragon, and leveling up your character. Socially, it's having this shared understanding of an issue or an idea not because you've argued about it or maybe even talked about it, but because you've shared a story about it, and maybe you don't quite agree on how to interpret that story but you both see the story itself as true and right.
Experience
How does it feel when you're playing? Are you feeling what your character is feeling? Are you sweating over tough decisions for your character, or do they come easy? Is it scary? Is it sad? Is it hard to do or is it easy? In play this looks like how it feels when you are playing The Mountain Witch, and you're looking around the table trying to figure out what Dark Fate the other players have drawn. Or in Apocalypse World, your character is pinned down, under fire, and the MC gives you an ugly choice and you can feel that knot in your stomach. Or in Bliss Stage, that kind of weightless, shadow-punching feeling the first time your character goes into the dream, where you don't know how to make it work and you and the anchor play feel it out together. Most noticeably, it's that thing some people get where if their character is sad, they're feeling sad themselves, or angry, or whatever. I don't experience that so much myself, but it totally happens. I don't know what this looks like on character sheets. Maybe it's the feeling of leveling up a character - choosing different options and thinking about their consequences. Socially, it's that thing where, hey, our characters slept together and we both know that it's just a game and doesn't mean anything, but at the same time it totally does mean something and you flush a little when you think about it.
Performance
What skills are you showing off when you play? Acting skills? Like, you're speaking for your character, trying to give a convincing portrayal of emotions, an entertaining performance. Also, it's when you're showing off other skills, like, putting your guy in the right spot in a combat so you improve your chances of winning, or when you think of a smart plan and enact it well. In play it's any time you're speaking for your character, but especially when everyone is watching you speak for your character, the big moments. It's when you spend an hour arguing semi-in-character about the best way for your made-up dudes to attack a made-up fortress. On character sheets, I guess it's choosing the best options to level up your dude, or to demonstrate that you can make a better, more creative, more interesting character. Socially, it's like, when you are around the table, who shines brightest? Who is the best? How well did you do last week, and how well will you do this week. More charitably, it's like, we're all playing at a certain level, and we're all egging each other on, trying to see if we can take it to that next level. How far can we go, as a team? How good can we get?
"Play should be personally and socially fulfilling" is the one big thing to come out of the Forge in the last ten years, apparently. I'm like "Yup. Cool." Creative Agenda, as a thing that exists and makes play personally and socially fulfilling is something I can get behind, no problem. Things happen in a game, stuff changes, on your character sheet, in the fiction of the game, and in the social relationships between the players, and you notice and appreciate that change. You see it as "progress" rather than just change, because you've got a creative agenda.
So no problem with that.
But! I'm not sure that the specific formulation of creative agendas as falling into three general categories of "Story Now", "Right to Dream", and "Step on Up" is a useful way of thinking about Creative Agenda. I don't see it helping in design, nor do I see it helping in fixing problems in play. I do see specific understandings about how to design for Story Now play as being useful, but I don't see correlated insights into Step on Up and Right to Dream play. I do see a lot of arguments and explanations and wars over definitions.
So, anyway. Maybe related to that, maybe not, here's a thing I've been thinking about: There are three general things going on in roleplaying games, all of which seem rewarding to players in greater or lesser degree.
Theme
If you looked at the fiction of play as if you were reading a book, what would the book be saying? What's the game "about"? Is it about good triumphing over evil (or failing to do so)? Is it about what difference one person can make in a corrupt society? In the ficton this looks like when you find out that no, your Dog isn't going to shoot that woman in the face, or oh shit yes he is. It's when you discover (to little surprise) that there are no repercussions for killing all those orcs. On character sheets, it's you scratching out that "I will become King" belief, and writing in "I have no use for Kings". It's you checking off that last experience point for killing that dragon, and leveling up your character. Socially, it's having this shared understanding of an issue or an idea not because you've argued about it or maybe even talked about it, but because you've shared a story about it, and maybe you don't quite agree on how to interpret that story but you both see the story itself as true and right.
Experience
How does it feel when you're playing? Are you feeling what your character is feeling? Are you sweating over tough decisions for your character, or do they come easy? Is it scary? Is it sad? Is it hard to do or is it easy? In play this looks like how it feels when you are playing The Mountain Witch, and you're looking around the table trying to figure out what Dark Fate the other players have drawn. Or in Apocalypse World, your character is pinned down, under fire, and the MC gives you an ugly choice and you can feel that knot in your stomach. Or in Bliss Stage, that kind of weightless, shadow-punching feeling the first time your character goes into the dream, where you don't know how to make it work and you and the anchor play feel it out together. Most noticeably, it's that thing some people get where if their character is sad, they're feeling sad themselves, or angry, or whatever. I don't experience that so much myself, but it totally happens. I don't know what this looks like on character sheets. Maybe it's the feeling of leveling up a character - choosing different options and thinking about their consequences. Socially, it's that thing where, hey, our characters slept together and we both know that it's just a game and doesn't mean anything, but at the same time it totally does mean something and you flush a little when you think about it.
Performance
What skills are you showing off when you play? Acting skills? Like, you're speaking for your character, trying to give a convincing portrayal of emotions, an entertaining performance. Also, it's when you're showing off other skills, like, putting your guy in the right spot in a combat so you improve your chances of winning, or when you think of a smart plan and enact it well. In play it's any time you're speaking for your character, but especially when everyone is watching you speak for your character, the big moments. It's when you spend an hour arguing semi-in-character about the best way for your made-up dudes to attack a made-up fortress. On character sheets, I guess it's choosing the best options to level up your dude, or to demonstrate that you can make a better, more creative, more interesting character. Socially, it's like, when you are around the table, who shines brightest? Who is the best? How well did you do last week, and how well will you do this week. More charitably, it's like, we're all playing at a certain level, and we're all egging each other on, trying to see if we can take it to that next level. How far can we go, as a team? How good can we get?
Monday, August 16, 2010
Review Manifesto
Here's what I want to see:
"I played this game X many times, with Y people, in Z circumstances."
"I think the circumstances in which I played the game had the following effect on play:" (If you do a bunch of stuff in play that's not in the text, talk about that and why you did that stuff. If it's in the text, but maybe not obvious, point it out.)
"I was expecting this from the game, but the experience it gave me was like this"
"The effect of this mechanic on play was to..."
"This aspect of the game was effective in producing this kind of play"
"Games with similar mechanics are the following... ...here's how this game is the same, here's how it's different"
Criticism sandwich! Say something nice about the game at the beginning and the end of the review. Even if you don't really mean it. Even if you have to work hard to think of something. I cannot overstate how effective this technique is in making people actually read and understand things they don't want to hear.
Comparison with other games, or other techniques (in terms of effect on play, not in terms of quality).
Discussion of principles of design.
I care about what the experience of play is like, and how the game's mechanics influence that experience.
Oh! Make the review as short as you reasonably can, without compromising the content.
Here are some things I don't want to see:
A review of the game as a product. I don't care whether you would recommend I buy it.
A biography of the designer. It's cool to put the game in historical context, but it's a review of the game, not of the designer.
Words like "good" or "bad" or "quality". I think words like "useful", "effective" and "taste" are better (and more useful).
A review of the text. I don't really care if the text communicates effectively or not. Let someone else review for that.
Argument from authority. Don't reference theory in the body of the review, unless it's straightforward enough to be explained right there. It's cool to link to "further reading" at the end though. Quotes in the body are iffy. Only do it if it's really the best way to communicate the idea, not to make it sound like some important internet person agrees with you.
Don't make a whole bunch of other essays required reading for your review. Absolutely draw on that knowledge and those ideas, but if it's too complicated to explain in the review, it's probably not that clever anyhow.
Don't affect academic language. The Academic style is a shibboleth for excluding those who haven't paid their dues to the academic hierarchy. Just write like regular. Conversational.
Here are the kinds of games I think should be reviewed:
Any game. All games. Probably your decision about what to review should be informed by how useful your review will be to helping people understand broader concepts of design and play. So, probably a bunch of reviews of near-identical trad games isn't super useful. But I'd be pretty interested in a good review of a few of the more diverse traditional games.
"I played this game X many times, with Y people, in Z circumstances."
"I think the circumstances in which I played the game had the following effect on play:" (If you do a bunch of stuff in play that's not in the text, talk about that and why you did that stuff. If it's in the text, but maybe not obvious, point it out.)
"I was expecting this from the game, but the experience it gave me was like this"
"The effect of this mechanic on play was to..."
"This aspect of the game was effective in producing this kind of play"
"Games with similar mechanics are the following... ...here's how this game is the same, here's how it's different"
Criticism sandwich! Say something nice about the game at the beginning and the end of the review. Even if you don't really mean it. Even if you have to work hard to think of something. I cannot overstate how effective this technique is in making people actually read and understand things they don't want to hear.
Comparison with other games, or other techniques (in terms of effect on play, not in terms of quality).
Discussion of principles of design.
I care about what the experience of play is like, and how the game's mechanics influence that experience.
Oh! Make the review as short as you reasonably can, without compromising the content.
Here are some things I don't want to see:
A review of the game as a product. I don't care whether you would recommend I buy it.
A biography of the designer. It's cool to put the game in historical context, but it's a review of the game, not of the designer.
Words like "good" or "bad" or "quality". I think words like "useful", "effective" and "taste" are better (and more useful).
A review of the text. I don't really care if the text communicates effectively or not. Let someone else review for that.
Argument from authority. Don't reference theory in the body of the review, unless it's straightforward enough to be explained right there. It's cool to link to "further reading" at the end though. Quotes in the body are iffy. Only do it if it's really the best way to communicate the idea, not to make it sound like some important internet person agrees with you.
Don't make a whole bunch of other essays required reading for your review. Absolutely draw on that knowledge and those ideas, but if it's too complicated to explain in the review, it's probably not that clever anyhow.
Don't affect academic language. The Academic style is a shibboleth for excluding those who haven't paid their dues to the academic hierarchy. Just write like regular. Conversational.
Here are the kinds of games I think should be reviewed:
Any game. All games. Probably your decision about what to review should be informed by how useful your review will be to helping people understand broader concepts of design and play. So, probably a bunch of reviews of near-identical trad games isn't super useful. But I'd be pretty interested in a good review of a few of the more diverse traditional games.
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Master of Illusion
GM's Guide
When the characters aren't doing anything, choose one of the following:Threaten something they care about
Offer a clue to a mystery
Hint at a greater threat
Introduce immediate danger
When a character does something chancy, have the player roll a die, then choose one of the following:
They get what they want, but with a price
They don't get what they want, but they do get something else
If they rolled a 6, add:
They get exactly what they want
They get what they want, and something else as well
If they rolled a 1, add:
They don't get what they want, and now they're in even worse trouble
They get what they want, but it lands them in even worse trouble
When a character is seeking information, have the player roll a die, then choose one of the following:
They get a small clue, enough to lead them further
They get nothing about what they wanted, but they spot a different opportunity
If they rolled a 6, add:
They get a major break
They get nothing about what they wanted, but some other advantage instead.
If they rolled a 1, add:
They get stonewalled: Nothing
They get nothing, and they land themselves in trouble
In all cases, always:
Misdirect: Don't tell the players which option you chose from the lists. Pretend something in the fiction made it happen.
Make them Work for it: The more the character cares about something, the harder it is for them to get it.
Player's Handbook
Character Creation
Create a character which is a product of your unique artistic vision, and reflects what you desire from play
Make sure your character is compatible with the other characters in the group
Make a character which fits into the setting and story of the game to be played
Players, at all times:
Have your character act as you believe that character would, if they were a real person in those circumstances
Ensure your character is willing and able to follow clues provided by the GM
Speak for your character and have them only act on information available to the character
Express your character's unique personality, and try to "immerse" yourself in the game
Stick with the other characters, and don't fight with them too much
Do not question the Player's Handbook, or the GM
If anyone breaks any of the above rules, choose one of the following:
Accuse them of "metagaming" and make a scene
Complain to the GM that they are hogging the spotlight and being a primma donna
Put up with it, but sulk
Feel smugly superior, and look for a better group
If the player is a woman, add:
Tell them that girls don't understand roleplaying games
Explain to them in simple terms exactly what they did wrong
If you are the GM, add:
Have their character fail more often, until they learn how to do things right
Saturday, June 12, 2010
Modular Pre-gens
I wrote a Story-Games post about the Cold City game I ran at Day of Games, but I wanted to pull out here what I think is the stand-out technique that I used in that game, a technique for producing pre-generated characters, suitable for a convention game or a one-shot, that gives the players some choices about their characters. I think it helps make the players feel connected to their characters and to play them with more nuance and empathy.
I did this for a game of Cold City, but I think it'd work for any game where the characters have shifting agendas or motivations, and where revealing those in play is part of the fun.
I wrote four characters, each with a different national background and a different draw into the situation. By themselves, the characters were fairly stereotyped, straightforward archetypes. An American ex-diplomat, a Russian former soldier, a French Resistance fighter, and a German Bureaucrat.
I also wrote up four "secret agendas", representing a mission given to the character by the spy agency they work for, organisations like the CIA, Gehlen Org, and so on. Here's an example one:
My hope was that building the character themselves, out of pre-generated pieces, the players would feel a little more ownership of the characters, and play them with a little more nuance. I've found that sometimes in convention games, players can play their characters as slavishly devoted to whatever cause or motivation they're given at the start of the game. For this game, as I think Cold City requires, I wanted the characters to have multiple conflicting goals. I think having the players work on their characters themselves helped them buy into the characters' goals, but also helped them see those goals as negotiable.
In play, it worked out pretty well. The players all reported feeling pretty connected to their character, and they enjoyed answering the questions before and during play. I was really happy with how that aspect of the game worked out.
I did this for a game of Cold City, but I think it'd work for any game where the characters have shifting agendas or motivations, and where revealing those in play is part of the fun.
I wrote four characters, each with a different national background and a different draw into the situation. By themselves, the characters were fairly stereotyped, straightforward archetypes. An American ex-diplomat, a Russian former soldier, a French Resistance fighter, and a German Bureaucrat.
I also wrote up four "secret agendas", representing a mission given to the character by the spy agency they work for, organisations like the CIA, Gehlen Org, and so on. Here's an example one:
CIAAs well as the secret agendas, I wrote "personal motivations", individual motives for the characters, these were also randomly assigned. Here's an example:
Your Mission: There’s a Soviet mole in the RPA. Intercepted transmissions indicate that they’ve been assigned to this mission, but don’t give any clues to their identity. Find the Russian agent and eliminate them. You have a syringe of insulin which will kill someone without leaving any traces.
Questions:
Answer now: How did you come to work for the CIA?
Answer during play: Are you willing to kill a colleague, and possibly a friend?
AbsolutionSo you'll notice that in those examples there's a bit that says "answer now". After the players chose their characters, I randomly handed out the secret agendas and personal motivations. The players then had to work out how these three elements fit together into a whole person.
You did something terrible during the war, something you can’t forget. Maybe this mission is your chance to redeem yourself, or maybe it’s where you finally meet your punishment.
Answer now: What terrible thing did you do?
Answer during play: What will it take for you to find absolution?
My hope was that building the character themselves, out of pre-generated pieces, the players would feel a little more ownership of the characters, and play them with a little more nuance. I've found that sometimes in convention games, players can play their characters as slavishly devoted to whatever cause or motivation they're given at the start of the game. For this game, as I think Cold City requires, I wanted the characters to have multiple conflicting goals. I think having the players work on their characters themselves helped them buy into the characters' goals, but also helped them see those goals as negotiable.
In play, it worked out pretty well. The players all reported feeling pretty connected to their character, and they enjoyed answering the questions before and during play. I was really happy with how that aspect of the game worked out.
Thursday, June 10, 2010
The Fiction
This is adapted from the introduction to a game I'm writing.
Imagine you’re watching a group of mimes, performing for you. There’s three or four of them, and they’re doing some ordinary thing, like cooking a meal or cleaning the house, except that all the things they interact with are imaginary. They’re very skilled. When one of them picks up a bucket full of water, we see him strain against its weight, even though we don’t see the bucket itself. He sets it down. Another mime picks it up. We still don’t see the bucket, it’s imaginary, but when the mime goes to pick it up, she picks it up from exactly where the last mime put it down. The mimes pass each other things, open and close doors, trip over objects someone else left lying on the floor, and so on. Even though all the things they interact with are imaginary and invisible, as we watch them we feel we can almost see the bucket, or the doorway, or whatever it is. The rigourous discipline of the mimes, treating every object as if it were real, remembering where things are, their weight, their size, creates the illusion of reality. That’s what makes the mime show compelling (and creepy).
In roleplaying games, we’re doing the same thing as those mimes, except that instead of acting out a scene ourselves, we talk about a scene, describing imaginary characters and things. We each take responsibility for describing the actions of an imaginary person, and talking about how they interact with the world around them. Just like the mimes, when one person describes putting something down, the other players can describe their character picking that thing up. The characters pass each other things, open and close doors, trip over things, and they also explore dungeons and fight monsters.
Just like the mimes, the illusion of reality is important. We know the things we describe aren’t real, but we treat them as if they are, in the game. The sword your character wields has a particular weight and length, the weather is a certain way. Your character dodges like so when the strange subterranean horror lurches in her direction. We remember these things, and they form part of the ongoing narrative of play. They take on an illusion of reality.
In roleplaying games, that narrative, the things we’ve said, the weight of your sword, the slavering fangs of the monster, is called the “fiction”.
The rules of the game will sometimes refer you to the fiction of play. They’ll ask you “what is happening now?” and say “when this happens, do this”. You’ll know what rules to use by looking to the fiction of the game. You make a decision about whether the rules apply, but you make that decision based on the things people have said and that everyone has agreed to. It's not the same as looking at a number someone rolled on a die, or the card they drew, or the position of a miniature on a map. But it's not the same as someone making an arbitrary ruling either. You make your decision based on maintaining that illusion of reality. Just like a mime can't walk through the imaginary wall they've created without shattering the illusion, when you look to the fiction in a roleplaying game, you're making a judgement that's constrained by that illusion of reality, the fiction.
Imagine you’re watching a group of mimes, performing for you. There’s three or four of them, and they’re doing some ordinary thing, like cooking a meal or cleaning the house, except that all the things they interact with are imaginary. They’re very skilled. When one of them picks up a bucket full of water, we see him strain against its weight, even though we don’t see the bucket itself. He sets it down. Another mime picks it up. We still don’t see the bucket, it’s imaginary, but when the mime goes to pick it up, she picks it up from exactly where the last mime put it down. The mimes pass each other things, open and close doors, trip over objects someone else left lying on the floor, and so on. Even though all the things they interact with are imaginary and invisible, as we watch them we feel we can almost see the bucket, or the doorway, or whatever it is. The rigourous discipline of the mimes, treating every object as if it were real, remembering where things are, their weight, their size, creates the illusion of reality. That’s what makes the mime show compelling (and creepy).
In roleplaying games, we’re doing the same thing as those mimes, except that instead of acting out a scene ourselves, we talk about a scene, describing imaginary characters and things. We each take responsibility for describing the actions of an imaginary person, and talking about how they interact with the world around them. Just like the mimes, when one person describes putting something down, the other players can describe their character picking that thing up. The characters pass each other things, open and close doors, trip over things, and they also explore dungeons and fight monsters.
Just like the mimes, the illusion of reality is important. We know the things we describe aren’t real, but we treat them as if they are, in the game. The sword your character wields has a particular weight and length, the weather is a certain way. Your character dodges like so when the strange subterranean horror lurches in her direction. We remember these things, and they form part of the ongoing narrative of play. They take on an illusion of reality.
In roleplaying games, that narrative, the things we’ve said, the weight of your sword, the slavering fangs of the monster, is called the “fiction”.
The rules of the game will sometimes refer you to the fiction of play. They’ll ask you “what is happening now?” and say “when this happens, do this”. You’ll know what rules to use by looking to the fiction of the game. You make a decision about whether the rules apply, but you make that decision based on the things people have said and that everyone has agreed to. It's not the same as looking at a number someone rolled on a die, or the card they drew, or the position of a miniature on a map. But it's not the same as someone making an arbitrary ruling either. You make your decision based on maintaining that illusion of reality. Just like a mime can't walk through the imaginary wall they've created without shattering the illusion, when you look to the fiction in a roleplaying game, you're making a judgement that's constrained by that illusion of reality, the fiction.
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