OK, it’s been slow lately, I’ll acknowledge that. The exams have been tough on me, but luckily they’re over soon.
As an apology, I’m sharing this crazy interesting post I stumbled upon. It’s really thoughtful, and it actually made my stomach turn a little. Can’t explain why. Enjoy!
Over the years I have been asked what role-playing is so many times. It is one of the hardest questions for me to answer. I just can’t put words on it. I’ve tried so hard to explain people what it’s about, and I always feel that it lands flat. I’m terrible at selling this hobby to non-gamers.
After some thought, I’ve finally figured out why I can’t explain it. To me, roleplaying is all about the experience, the experience of telling a meaningful story without any safety nets. It is not about the game itself, though the choice of game certainly impacts how the story unfolds.
Maybe this is also the reason behind my sudden infatuation with improv-based roleplaying; I love playing games, all kinds of games, but as soon as I know how they will turn out, I quickly lose interest.
One of my buddies at the university, whom I have played a lot of board games with, once said it like this;
I don’t think winning is fun. I think it’s fun to be close to winning. When you know that you have won, the game is over.
He said it with board games in mind, but I think it applies equally to roleplaying games. We want to win, but we do not want to know that we will win. We want that uncertainty, because it is why the story matters to us.
When I say that I love the experiences of telling meaningful stories, I mean exactly that; telling stories that matter to us, whatever that may mean for the individual. Playing fantasy often have the implication that we want excitement and danger, so the story should have those elements. We want to be heroes, and true heroes don’t win cheaply.
I love to maim and hurt the PC’s as a GM, because it makes me feel that their lives are on the line, that their actions matter, and that the opposition in the story is there. If you read some of my Actual Play reports, then you might remember that I had a druid get a concussion from a skull fracture and break his ankle in a single session. I didn’t do this to be cruel, I did it because it made the story exciting. Having a broken ankle complicates matters just as much as a dragon chasing you does.
My experiences with Dungeon World has taught me many things about GM’ing, and it has taught me that players will accept more or less anything, as long as you don’t throw arbitrary mechanical penalties at them. Broken ankle is good, because it doesn’t mean anything unless it becomes important in the fiction.
I love stories. I don’t love telling them, I love making them collaboratively, hearing other peoples’ input, working on something totally meaningless for anyone outside the group.
Roleplaying is about friendship, wonder and excitement. It is about hearing truly unique stories that you actually care about, and it is about shaping these stories so they become meaningful. It is about creating something you like and building on the foundation everyone has collaborated to build. It is about instilling emotions like anger and fear, sorrow and despair. It is about victory and defeat. But most of all; it is about people we will come to love, people we will come to hate, and everything in between.
I sincerely love role-playing. Not because of “immersion”, not because I like to pretend I’m this other guy, but because I love to hear these fantastic (sometimes weird) stories that actually mean something to me.
Roleplaying is many things to many people. This is what it is to me.
Yesterday I read a post by Robert Hans on the Fate google+ community, and it was a quite enlightening read. I’m sharing it here, because I think there’s some pretty awesome stuff in it. The thread can be seen here.
Warning, extremely lengthy, but well worthwhile post ahead!
Fate Core Thought of the Day: Failure
So, before getting into this, I’d like to say again that these posts are about my experiences coming from a traditional game background. They’re also about how I play Fate, and in many ways about how I’ve figured out how to play Fate in a way that has little friction in the system, not by modifying it or changing in when I found friction, but rather by abandoning my preconceptions that were causing friction with Fate Core As Written.
So, again, don’t take what I write as any kind of authoritative source. Take it more as my revelations and me going “wow! It makes sense now!” rather than anything else. (This is also why I’m probably a bit more critical towards Fate hacks than many others – I’ve found in many cases that the ‘need’ for hacks is more about the preconceptions I’ve brought into the game than anything else, and that it’s easier to either abandon those preconceptions, or play something that’s better aligned with them if I really want that experience).
Also, keep in mind that if I say something about traditional games, or people that play them, I’m not being critical. I like traditional games! And most of the things that I portray as ‘things traditional gamers say’ are things that I’ve said myself at various points. So, again, nothing that I’m going to say in this is really intended as a value judgement at all.
One of the things that I’ve said here a bunch is that Fate is a game that encourages players to fail. I’ve also argued that just about any player-created plan should have a chance of working (which seems contradictory, I know). Recent posters have said that their players want a risk of death. In the past, I myself have argued that games without death were weak, and that allowing players to always have a chance of success was crazy.
These seem like a whole ton of unrelated topics, but they’re not. They all come down to a key concept: Failure, and what it means in the game. (At a slightly deeper level, it’s about game structure, and we’ll get to that).
So in a typical RPG session, you’ve got some goal. The GM probably has some kind of quest path planned out. Princess Perky has been cursed! You have to go into the Clammy Caves to retrieve the Dewdrop of Decursing! And, once you do, unknown to you, Princess Perky will tell you the name of the Wiley Wizard that cursed her!
Okay, great. Heck, you could even set up a Fate game like that if you wanted. Sure, it’s a deliberately cliché-ridden example, but the major elements are there.
So the characters go into the Clammy Caverns, and encounter a room with bad guys and traps and whatnot. Awesome. They get into a fight.
Okay, here’s the real thing. In most traditional games, you’re going to win that fight. Flat-out. Because the other real option is TPK, and that’s not fun.
The trick is that players want the impression that they may lose. And so a lot of the GM’s job in these types of games is to make the opposition hard enough that the players feel at risk, but weak enough that they will win.
Even players that say things like ‘I want death to be a possibility’ are kind of being vague and missing the point. They want the feeling of danger. They probably don’t want their characters to die (or, at worst, they want death to be an inconvenience). They surely don’t want a game so lethal that they have a character dying every session.
Here’s an experiment: The next time that a player says ‘they want a game where death is a real possibility’, ask them what percentage of games that they think the game should include their character dying, and whether they think that resurrection should be freely available.
BTW, I don’t blame players for this. When games are often about going through a series of challenges (whether they’re puzzles, exploration issues, non-combat challenges, combat, or whatever), and they’re gated by the solution, it becomes pretty obvious that they’re very likely to actually succeed, and that the ‘risk’ is mostly imaginary. They just want to believe it’s not.
There’s two fundamental reasons for this:
1) the number of games (‘Adventure Paths’, I’m looking at you!) that utterly remove player agency in terms of the overall story structure
2) the number of games that don’t provide for meaningful failures that aren’t death. If you lose combat, the orcs kill you. If you fail your jump, you fall into the deathy-death pit of death. Or, you lose hit points, which will either eventually result in death, or effectively has no consequence.
Okay, so let’s get back to Fate again, and more ‘narrative’ styles of games in general.
In Fate, death is a rare occurrence. By the rules. To kill someone, you have to Take Them Out before they can concede, and even then you have to explicitly choose that they die. There’s no automatic death condition, and Taking Someone Out before they get a chance to react or concede is virtually impossible.
To my traditional game eyes, when I snap back to that mode, that makes it seem like you can’t fail in Fate. So, why bother playing?
A similar issue occurs when you get to things like ‘if a player wants there to be a hidden passage, give it a chance to exist.’ My traditional gamer brain hears this and says ‘what? That fortress is a challenge, designed to test the players’ abilities. If you just let any old thing possibly succeed, then what’s the point?’
And here we get to the crux of the matter, truly.
I’ve described this kind of ‘gated event’ structure a bit before, I think. And you know what, it can be a lot of fun in the right game. There’s nothing wrong with puzzles that are meant to be solved – you can buy jigsaw puzzles all over, and they’re clearly meant to be solved, and the challenge of the jigsaw is figuring out how to do it. That’s a lot of fun!
But other things exist that let you make pictures. Like crayons. And crayons let you make any picture you want. That’s crazy! Where’s the challenge! How do you know you’ve done it right?
Here’s the thing. I adore Fate. Truly. It’s one amazingly elegant system. And I find it incredibly poor at producing the types of challenges I find in traditional games. It’s a weak tactical skirmish game, at best. The rules don’t have a lot of support for ‘puzzle-solving’ type activities, either. The existence of Fate Points essentially means that players can ‘buy’ success at just about anything.
And with a weak challenge system, the whole idea of ‘gated challenges’ utterly fails.
So when traditional game players say things like ‘what’s the point, you’ll always win!’ they kind of have a point. Fate is a pretty bad system to run traditional (gated challenge) adventures in.
So let’s not try. Let’s rethink what these ‘encounters’ are. And let’s use the rules to guide us.
Let’s look at an incredibly simple situation. A locked door.
In a traditional game, you’ll have a chance to get past this door. If you fail, you fail. If you really need to get past that door, you’re SOL. But nothing else will likely happen, just the door doesn’t open.
But if you really need to get past that door, other options will be available, somewhere – this is often called “The Rule of Three”. And while it seems like it’s not the “gated challenge” structure, it really is – there’s just multiple ‘solutions’ to the challenge.
But… what about in Fate?
Fate Core, pg. 187: If you can’t imagine an interesting outcome from both results, then don’t call for that roll.
Whoa. That’s weird. Does that mean if you can’t think of how to make opening the door interesting, then it just opens? Where’s the challenge in that???
But there’s a hidden gem in there that’s the key to understanding ‘failure’ in Fate. If you have an interesting outcome for both results, then opening the door isn’t a “gated challenge”. It’s a fork in the road. It’s a place where the story can go one of two places, and you don’t know which one will happen. So the roll becomes less about ‘do we pass the challenge?’ and more about ‘how does the story progress?’
So with the door, we want to break it down. Great. We now need to come up with an interesting failure, another way that the story can go. “It just doesn’t open” isn’t a story, it’s a stall in the story. It kills momentum, and doesn’t progress anything. But… trying to break down the door is probably pretty noisy – so if you keep trying it, maybe someone will hear you… Now you’ve got an interesting branch! You can either get through the door, or be found by the guards! Either of them will keep the action going, and either of them can make an interesting story.
I’ve suggested the idea of ‘Fractal Challenges’ before (the idea that a single roll can be expanded into a Conflict, Challenge, or Contest, and that the inverse is true as well). So let’s look at Princess Perky from the same view.
In the original version, if you don’t make it through the Clammy Caves, you don’t save Princess Perky, and she doesn’t tell you who the Wiley Wizard is. And, due to how traditional systems generally work, the available choices will probably be ‘you get the Dewdrop of Decursing’ or ‘TPK’.
In Fate, the same ‘interesting result’ rule for a single roll applies to a Conflict as a whole. If there’s not an interesting result if you fail the conflict, don’t have one. So what does failure mean? Well… it could mean you’re captured. It could just mean you don’t get the Dewdrop… which could mean that Princess Perky doesn’t get cured. What happens then? Maybe Princess Perky turns into some kind of demonic vessel? Maybe the curse spreads across the town over time, cursing NPCs that the players either have relationships with, or that are useful assets. Maybe Baron Boring even gets cursed, and declares the PCs to be outlaws, and causes them to be hunted! By viewing the Conflict as a decision point, as a branch in the story, rather than a challenge to be overcome, we allow for ‘failure’, where in the traditional game failure tends to be rather game-ending.
For the third example, finding a secret passageway – again, the roll indicates less ‘we overcame the challenge’ than it indicates ‘how will the story progress?’ Finding a hidden passageway doesn’t mean that the challenge is defeated. It just means that the story progresses a different way – it becomes a story about trudging through the dark, forgotten passages underneath the castle, and the horrors that lurk there. Maybe you figured that the game would be more about being sneaky and stealthy. Or heroically fighting into the castle. Or some masterful bluff. But a scary hidden passageway story is just as good, and can be just as tense. And you might still get your way – after all, if the attempt to find the passageway fails, then something bad is likely to happen as a result of the characters poking around!
And here’s the thing – since ‘failure’ will generally mean that things get worse for the heroes, it can be a real threat in every single encounter. You can run the game so that no encounter is guaranteed. Your failure rate can be 50%. PCs can go into every encounter knowing that something is on the line, even if it’s not usually their lives. Instead of winning 99% of the time, losing will be a real threat.
*I’ll go so far as to say that every die roll in Fate should be tense. That’s where the system works best. This isn’t a game where the goal is to stack your bonuses so high that you never fail. This is a game where failure should always be a possibility, where things getting worse can always happen.
Because here’s the thing – Fate Points and the concession mechanics also combine to ensure that, in almost any situation, players can get their way if they choose to dedicate enough resources, in terms of Fate Points and consequences. I’ve seen it said here that the initial die roll isn’t about whether you succeed or fail, it’s about the cost of success. And that seems pretty accurate.
So, when I see questions like “how do I make sure a fight is challenging, without having the players lose”, my answer is “who cares?” Make it tough. Let them buy their way out of it and carry those consequences. Or let them lose, and let the story go that way.
Fate isn’t easier because of these things. It’s harder. A Fate game, run as Fate can be far more brutal than any D&D game I’ve ever played. Embrace this. Embrace failure in your games. Embrace not knowing what will happen. Embrace rolls, Contests, Challenges, and Conflicts as decision points. Embrace Concessions, and don’t think of them as a cop-out.
Failure is a core part of Fate “as Fate”. Embrace it.
In Fate, your character will never die as a result of die rolls. It happens as a choice by the guy taking you out, and in that regard it’s very different from Dungeon World. I’m not saying either is bad, they’re just very different.
I agree that “Success / Failure” should be a story branching mechanic, not a “story stops or story continues” mechanic. A lot of systems use the latter though, which I find to be extremely annoying. It’s not a design choice per se, but a lot of systems has a “TPK versus victory” approach to dangerous challenges.
I dislike playing D&D for exactly this reason; if you are fighting monsters, they murder some or all of your party if you don’t win, or the players all get away. Personally, I’ve never experienced the latter, usually, they all just die. That’s it, end of campaign.
The DMG2 for D&D 4th Edition gave the sage advice that outcomes of encounters should always be interesting; you lost the encounter against the kraken? It destroys your ship and the party is washed ashore on a nearby island. Great advice, but one problem; if you lose a combat, most likely the entire party is dead, which is ultimately the most boring ending. That is why I think the concession option is so damn brilliant.
The thing that spoke to me so much was the notion of story branching; a failure is not meant to punish the players, but taking the story in a direction unwanted by the characters. This creates drama, action and memorable enemies, enemies your players will thoroughly hate in the game, but love outside of it.
There are outcomes that are worse than death in the game, but there’s rarely a greater turn down outside the game, if it is handled poorly. Death is integral to the theme of Dungeon World, and I wouldn’t give it up for anything. I would much rather make it meaningful, and give that player one last chance to show everyone how awesome his character is, giving the character a proper “burial”.
I want success and failure to be about the direction of the story, not the advancement of it. The latter shouldn’t even be a choice, it should just happen. I think Robert Hanz has given us some sage advice here. I suggest thinking about it, especially as the GM.
Last time, I came up with some criteria for good questions. Now I’ll put that into practice, by making some questions. The theme will be “wizards tower”, because I’ve been wanting to run such a one-shot for a long time now.
- How did you get onto the floating isle on which the marble tower stands?
- What is the name of the artifact you are seeking within?
- Who told you it would be here?
- Why do you need the artifact?
- What horrible rumors have you heard of this place?
- When did you learn that Morelia the sorceress was home?
These questions should obey the criteria i set up in the last article. The first most definitely sets the scene, and I think it’s quite evocative. They establish motivation, the characters are seeking an artifact, and they demand action by telling the players that it’s inside. I think they are fairly open-ended, especially the “horrible rumors” question.
The last question I added to give the tower that “wizardy” feel, and to feed the party some danger; there’s a sorceress in here, and she’ll probably get pissed when she finds out that somebody is stealing her stuff.
I’m going to pop these question in the next game with my wife. I’ll keep you posted!
Based on my former post, I’ve been thinking of how to ask proper “evocative” questions. I’ve been thinking about which criteria they should satisfy, in order for them to be “just right”. Dungeon World is all about discovery after all, and asking questions prior to the game can reveal too much. As such, I think it is more proper to ask a lot of the questions during the start of the game, instead of just before. That’s just my perception though, it’s not written in stone.
The criteria I’ve come up with so far is that the questions, and their answers, should…
- … set the scene.
- … establish character motivations.
- … demand action.
- … be “evocative”.
- … raise more questions.
- … be open-ended.
Set the scene
This one is pretty much a no-brainer. Until the scene is set, the players can’t actually do anything, because there’s no context to act in. At least one of the questions, or answers, should create some context. “What was the first thing you saw in these caverns?” does both sets the scene, and gives the players a means to say something about the environment.
Establish character motivations
The great big question of “why are you here?”. If the characters are not motivated to explore the cavern you suggested they start out in, then the players probably aren’t either. The only thing preventing them from leaving is bad die rolls anyway. “You are looking for an artifact here. What is it called?” The character obviously want this, but we do not yet know why.
The questions and answers should fuel the imagination of the players and the GM. “Why are you seeking out the Sapphire Tower?” is a question that does that. The neither players nor GM knows what the Sapphire Tower is, but the name itself gets the imagination flowing, without front-loading the game much except for saying “your characters want something here”.
So, assuming we know where the character’s are, we should want to give the characters something to do. If there’s nothing to do, the game will grow boring pretty fast. “From what are you fleeing?” pretty much demands action; they must get away.
Raise more questions
The questions asked should lead to more questions, questions we want answered. Otherwise there’s no real point in playing the game anymore. If we go back to the question under *Demand action*, the character are fleeing from something, but there’s a big “why?” to be answered here.
The point of asking questions is to get input. The question should be narrow enough to promote a kind of focus, but open-ended enough that the question is meaningful. “How does it feel to be locked up in a basement, stripped of all of your belongings?” is a pretty bad way to formulate the question, because the answer only elaborates on something internal to the characters. Instead, asking “How did you get locked up?” is much better, because it gives the players a chance to influence the external environment. It is pretty hard to answer this question without setting a theme to the game…
These were the thoughts I had on the matter. I suspect that it’s helpful to have theme associated with the questions, but I’m unsure whether its practical. The players will probably derail it anyway.
Not as in BadWrongFun, but I think I might have had a skewed view on the collaborative world creation part of Dungeon World. I figured it out, because Marshall Miller posted a link to some of his work on his homepage. Click here to see the stuff. It’s pretty awesome.
Of note, look at the “Dungeon Starters” link, and read a few of them. They’re a good example of how open-ended play can be done in an elegant format. To quote Marshall Millers site:
What is a Dungeon Starter?
Dungeon Starters are a form of GM prep for running the first session of a Dungeon World game. Dungeon Starters don’t dictate plot, they’re not Fronts (you write those after the first session), and they don’t replace the GM playbook. They are for those times when you want to just sit down and start a game right then. Dungeon Starters provide a unified flavor to your prep but, when you get down to it, they are really just an unordered cloud of blanks and hooks with some appropriate moving parts to make sure the players don’t catch you with nothing interesting to say. Dungeon Starters are made up of questions, impressions, custom moves, items and services, spells, and monsters (among other things).
The most important part about Dungeon Starters is that they contain questions, more specifically; loaded questions. Loaded questions are great, because they set a theme for the game without dictating what will happen. An example from “The Goblin Hole”:
This far from civilization, what was the last thing you saw as you entered the cavern?
This question establishes that the players are descending into a cavern or other dungeon-like environment, and that the players are a long way from the nearest town. It also gives the players a chance to make something up from their characters’ point of view that can (and probably will) impact the story. It gets trickier with the next question:
What have you sworn to do here?
So, the GM doesn’t even have an idea about why the characters are there, he’s leaving that open to the players. In this way, the narrative is shared between the players and the GM, leaving wiggle-room for making the story about the characters and not their opposition.
What I did “wrong”
In all sessions of Dungeon World, I have done something different. I asked questions about the characters and then about the setting, until I had a fairly clear picture about what the characters were doing, and where they were. Most often though, I also learned who the bad guy would be, which is bad because that implies that I’m not learning this through delightful discovery.
What the game was about, what the setting was like, and who the characters were deep down, all these things were answered before play actually began. I believe such things would be much more fun to learn through play. Next time I GM a one-shot, I’ll try to ask some evocative and loaded questions, and see if I enjoy that game more.
My problem now is that the exams are pretty tough this semester, mainly because I have to take care of my child all day next week. My wife has a course that spans 9 days, with lectures from 9 a.m. to 4 p.m., leaving me little time to work on my own exams in that period. I’ll try to find some time to play anyway.
I wanted to write something profound about this, but the idea just came to me. There’s really nothing else to say. Here, have a magic items. 🙂
The Horn of Sudden Storms
This horn has been carried by many warlords before you and has granted great victories to each them. It only requires your breath, yet if it takes that away from you, how can you defend yourself against your foes? Some learned the answer to this question a little too late; you can’t. This Horn will literally steal your breath, should it find you unworthy…
When you sound the Horn of Sudden Storms, roll+CON.
*On a 10+, a violent wind erupts from the Horn. It is strong enough to send your enemies flying before you, if only for a moment.
*On a 7-9, as with 10+, though the Horn takes its toll. You can’t muster to strength to blow the Horn again until you have had time to sit down and take a short rest. Until then, take -1 ongoing.
*On a 6-, the Horn finds you unworthy and steals your breath. You can do nothing but pant and gasp for a few minutes.
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