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Naming Games (part 2), Episode Titles

In my superhero campaign I name each episode. I tell the players the name at the start of the game session, sometimes even days in advance. I write it on the white board in big letters so everyone can see it throughout the game.

There are pros and cons to doing this.

The primary advantage is that the players have an idea of what the concept or theme of the session will be. Like the comic book reader turning to page one (or even just looking at the cover) they get to see the title in big bold letters, getting everyone metaphorically on the same page. And because they are informed, they can cooperate to make it happen, playing up aspects that fit the concept and focusing less on things that don't. It's metagaming power used for good. If the title is “Till Death Do Us Part,” the players can be sure that the planned wedding between two secondary characters that has been simmering in the background is going to come to the fore. They know that any otherwise innocuous scene where they are chatting with the would-be bride is probably central to the immediate plot, not just a background role-playing interlude. They know it is appropriate to take their time and talk, get into minutia, etc. It doesn't drastically change the players' behavior, but it lets them weigh where the focus should be. No game is a realistic depiction of every moment of the day, one minute equals one minute — important things are focused and played out, unimportant things are glossed over or skipped. Knowing the title reveals something about what is important.

Good players can do this kind of metagaming without changing their characters' expectations for trouble. Bad players will have their characters start to case the church for a bomb. Of course the good players will _expect_ the bomb, they'll just have the good graces to not mention it and play out their character being surprised.

If the title is “Revenge of Mephisto” (a major nemesis of one of the characters) the player of that character knows what is coming and has some time to “gear up” in their head for the vitriolic exchange that will ensue when the two meet again. Other players also know that it's an excellent time to coincidentally drop comments about how the current warm-up fight was hard but not as hard as that time they fought Mephisto and his demon hordes — sure glad he's gone for good! Less is better in this case, since too much prophetic exposition starts to get too tongue-in-cheek.

Just because the title tells you a lot about the game doesn't mean there can't be surprises. The players may know that “Til Death Do Us Part” is about a wedding, but will still be shocked to find out Mephisto is behind the plot to ruin it. You could have called the same game “Revenge of Mephisto,” in which case they would expect Mephisto, but not a wedding. You can intentionally give away some things but not others in the title.

We'll Get To It Next Time

One downside of naming an episode is that sometimes you won't even get to the part of the game you got the title from. It might be pushed into a second session (fine, we run Till Death Do Us Part, Part 2 next week) or things might go differently than you expected and the foreshadowed theme never gets brought in. As Jem will tell you, Train On My Parade was supposed to have a train at the end.

The pat advice would be to try to make sure the title was a sure thing, or part of the starting premise rather than a big revelation that might or might not happen, but sometimes you'll gamble because the whole foreshadowed/revelation moment where the players' eyes light up and they really _get_ what the title means is just too tempting. That's a risk we all sometimes take. It goes with the GM territory.

What, No Theme?

A bigger problem is that once you start naming every episode it's sets the expectation that each episode has it's own major event or theme, making it harder to tuck in low-key bridging episodes. That kind of background activity is the connective tissue of any campaign, but if you want to have a session with nothing but that kind of housekeeping you are forced by your own pattern to come up with an appropriate name like “A Day In The Life” or some such thing. Even then unless you tell the players outright that it's a bridging session, and that the title should not be examined too closely, they are likely to quietly ponder possible double-entendres and expect a theme to emerge.

Naming episodes is certainly more appropriate in some genres than in others. It works great for superhero games because it matches the original medium.

Be aware that declaring an episode name at the beginning of a game reinforces a sense of plot pre-determinism, not player-determinism — the players can do what they want within the framework, but you are making it clear that you have a plot in mind and you expect them to play it. It doesn't suit games where you want total player initiative or free form exploration (e.g. Promised Land or West Marches).

Naming Games

I always name games I run. Whether it's going to be a campaign or only one or two sessions, a distinct name gives the players a point of reference, both immediately and long after the game is over. What's more memorable, saying you played in West Marches or “that low level game, the one with all the wolves and that monastery we never cleared out”?

A good name is the first step of setting the framework of the game. The name may tell the players what the game is about or just set a tone. “West Marches” was called that because it was all about exploring a particular region (the West Marches, surprise surprise) not wandering off elsewhere. “Bitter Season” took place in a winter freeze that was a bigger danger than the monsters. “Bloody Ears” was all about the hazards of psionic combat and “Twilight In White” centered around the downfall of a guild of white-robbed priests (subtle, yes). Any guesses what “Escape from Ulshadore” was about? Hint: you start in Ulshadore.

A good name can be worth a lot of intro. Of course if you don't want to give away any facts about the game you can still pick a name that everyone can latch on to even if it is basically meaningless. A friend of mine was supposed to run a sequel game called “One Night In Bangkok” and, other than the catchy song reference, to this day I have no idea why the game was going to be called that. But everyone involved knows exactly what game we're talking about when we bring it up, even though we never actually played it, and that was 22 years ago.

Another rule is that the name has to be something the players will be comfortable saying over and over, or else they won't. If it's too much of a mouthful, or a bit too clever, or just doesn't strike a chord, the players are likely to come up with their own name for the game, possibly something witty like “Jack's spy game.” Sometimes this is unavoidable. Events in the game spawn an ad hoc title which overrides whatever name you had in mind (who would intentionally name their game The Duck Group?). Don't weep. If the players adopt it and it doesn't ruin or blatantly mock your game, run with it. You're better off having everyone on the same page, using the same name, yourself included.

Next up: Naming Episodes

What is an Action Shtick?

Zodiac Ring includes Action Shticks in each scene. Much like the hero strapped beneath the death ray by his evil nemesis, you ask me: what the hell are Action Shticks, exactly, in detail? We're primarily talking about gaming in the superhero genre, but the concepts can be applied much more broadly. Without the death ray, of course.

Shticks are classic situations or routines. They are set pieces, not something unique. Hanging from a cliff by your fingertips while your nemesis stands above you and gloats is a classic shtick. Swooping down to catch the falling innocent moments before he hits the pavement, also classic.

A shtick can be used over and over again, in different games, different stories, etc. They are some of the building blocks of a genre. The genre also determines what shticks are appropriate. A stampede is an appropriate shtick for a Western, just as getting slipped a mickey is appropriate for a Detective Noir game, but the reverse is not true (no stampedes for Sam Spade, please).

Even though a shtick might be used over and over again it still has meaning because it is happening to a specific character in a specific place and time. Captain Danger is hanging from the building – she is the one about to fall to her death. Everyone dies (making it something of a shtick in life), but that doesn't make a particular death any less important to the parties involved.

Some shticks work anywhere. They're intrinsic to the genre, like the superhero having a hard time finding a place to change into his costume. Others require a certain situation, and because they are not applicable all the time it's easier to miss a chance to use them when you're running a game. These are the shticks we're examining, shticks dependent on certain situations, scenes or action.

Characters get in trouble in all sorts of locations: in parking lots, on rooftops, and deep beneath the surface of the ocean. If the environment doesn't change the way the characters behave, it's just a backdrop and a flat place to stand. It's a fight in front of a blue screen.

In a battle on a train, characters can fight on top of cars, leap from car to car, and of course fall to their death if they're not careful. These “things you can do on a train” are Action Shticks. They are challenges or dilemmas that maximize the use of the environment or situation. They make fighting on a train different than fighting in a parking lot. They highlight that this setting is different from other some other setting and different dramatic rules apply.

Action Shticks give characters challenges and opportunities, opportunities not just to gain a tactical advantage but to play out drama that brings the scene to life. It's exciting to be the guy clinging to the edge of the rooftop for dear life. It's a tactical challenge, but it's a dramatic opportunity.

Another way to look at Action Shticks is as wrinkles or sub-scenes. The scene is the train as a whole, and this sub-scene is the sequence where the villain releases the couplings on the rear cars, forcing the heroes to keep leaping to the next car just to stay on the train. It's a sequence, possibly a change in the action, not a whole scene by itself.

Why use Action Shticks? They're fun. They let the players participate in classic dramatic moments. Even without formally listing possible shticks, a good GM will be looking for opportunities like this on the fly. Figuring them out ahead of time adds some twists and wrinkles to a scene, letting the GM throw them in whenever they want.

Later: More about Action Shticks!