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Rules Influence Style

Published February 27th, 2007 in game theory | 2 Comments »

When I was 19 I got in an argument with an older and (as it turned out) wiser gamer. He was talking about using Bushido to run a samurai game, and I was saying how I didn't like having to learn a new system for every different kind of game. If wanted to play a samurai game, I argued, I would just use D&D. Swords are swords, right?

Possible & Probable

Game rules influence the style of play in some obvious and some subtle ways. Many players (and GMs) may not even consciously recognize when the rules are guiding their choices.

The big obvious case is that game rules decide what is possible — they are the physics of the imaginary world. Can your elf fly? No, so don't even try. But rules also decide what is probable. When the rules set the difficulty of tasks, they are really setting the flavor of the game world. Can my cyberpunk street samurai spring over the taxi as it races towards him? In one system it may be an easy task, in another foolishly difficult. That difficulty sets the genre, whether you intended it to or not.

Figuring odds is something gamers are generally quite good at. Some players will do things “because their character would” no matter how bad the odds (bless them), but on a tactical level, players deciding on their next move generally try to pick something that is likely to succeed. In the long run they will wind up doing things the system has weighed as more probable. A gun game that gives cover a strong bonus encourages players to seek cover. If dodging is more effective, players will do that instead.

The first big hit comes in character creation before play even starts. How many times have you come up with an interesting character concept only to discover that if you built it in the rules, it would be completely ineffective? (paladin/bard, I'm looking at you). It's stage 2 of Making the Party.

Boredom & Confusion

Even if something is permitted by the rules and is effective in the rule system, the rules might make it boring to play out, effectively discouraging players (and GMs) from doing it.

Why aren't there more duels in D&D? Lots of people walking around with swords, but not a lot of actual duels even in aristocratic-style settings. Why? D&D rules are geared towards small group combat, not individual combat. Defense is basically static, so both sides just take turns whomping each other. Not a very interesting duel simulator, so who wants to do it?

Rules can also discourage particular activities by being excessively complex or confusing. I want to get in a starship dogfight, but the chase rules are twenty pages long and badly organized. Umm, maybe we'll just skip to the boarding action.

“Tired of the rules limiting your character?”

So, what can you do with this newfound wisdom? Well first off, don't argue with old wargamers when you're 19. No seriously, those grognards can channel the wisdom of the ages and lay it down like cannon fire.

Before you start worrying about the rules, think about what genre or style you want. Just kick back and imagine an ideal action sequence in your game. Is it “the hero hang-drops from the fire escape, twisting his ankle as he lands hard in the grimy alley, then scrambles to throw himself into an alcove as headlights bear down on him” or is it “the hero springs off the fire escape, landing on the racing car in a three point crouch that dents the roof, his katana swept behind him”? If you have a clear idea of what style you want in your head, it will be easier for you to detect when the rules are pushing you left or right.

Now that you have a clear picture, you can pick a rule system that matches your goals. No, d20 is not the answer to everything. But what about if you are using a system that mostly works? Adjust the difficulty level for tasks you want to encourage. Want more shields, less two-weapon fighting? Increase the shield bonus. Want more leaping and acrobatics? Give everybody a blanket “wire fu” bonus when they make those big jumps and flips.

Most importantly, tell the players you are putting these changes in effect so they'll be on the same page you are. If you all agree on the style you are going for, it makes it easier for them to recognize when the rules are pushing them away from the intended style. During play they can literally say “well I was going to pick up a bat and hit him because that does more damage, but this is supposed to be a martial arts game — should we just assume the bat is nerfed or are our martial arts too weak?” And then you can fix it together and still play the game you intended.

Bottling GM Skills

Published December 11th, 2006 in game theory | 2 Comments »

I just released Evil Genius #1: World Domination, and it occurs to me that I come up with much (much) more ars ludi material while working on games for publication than I do while working on games that I'm just going to run.

It makes perfect sense really: as a GM you may do all sorts of things that make a game good, but those bits of GM Craft only become crystal clear when you try to explain them to someone else (or watch other GMs make mistakes, even if they are mistakes you make too, which is why run club is so educational).

When I ran the original games that eventually became Lame Mage releases, I threw in situations like Action Shticks all the time, but it was only when I tried to prepare those same games for other GMs to run that I recognized the concept of Action Shticks as something that needed to be explained and written down so that other GMs could do the same thing. Likewise with Revelations, Give Them Details, the whole Anatomy of an Action Scene structure, and just about every GM Craft tip in a Lame Mage adventure.

It's all in the reflexes…

There's another dirty secret of GM advice, and that's that during the game, in the heat of the moment, you are not going to remember any advice someone told you, or that you read somewhere. You are not going to stop the game to flip through the adventure and find the sage advice that I wrote for you. The game is real time, and more often than not you will react in real time, make a call, and continue to run the game, for better or worse.

Afterwards there will be lots of time to analyze what happened, think about what went wrong, post questions on the boards about how you should have handled the situation, and generally weep. But that's no guarantee you won't make the same mistake again, because GM'ing is a reflex action. You can stop and think about some things, but the critical parts tend to happen very fast. The words that come out of your mouth, the ideas that spill off the top of your head, they are the game that happens, not all the notes and preparation of the game you intended.

So if that's the case, what's the point of all this GM Craft stuff? Why am I even writing all this? Well in the long run, you can absorb, reflect and alter your style, but it is more like changing your personality than just remembering some tips (because your personality is your gaming style, whether you're a player or GM). You may not eliminate those moments where you forgot everything you learned or planned to do, but you may reduce them.

Also, elements like Action Shticks, Revelations (all the Anatomy of an Action Scene components) are intentionally built into the structure of the adventure so you don't have to look after them — they look after you. If you write them in when you design the adventure (and I do), they reinforce a good game during play even if your reflexes betray you from time to time.

Computer Games vs Tabletop Games: Learning Curve

Published November 27th, 2006 in game theory | 4 Comments »

Why is it easier to get someone to try a computer game than a tabletop game? And by tabletop games we're including them all, board games on up to RPGs. Ignore the fact that you need a group of people (in the same place, at the same time) to play a tabletop game, and ignore the fact that tabletop games require social energy.

Computer games enforce their own rules, so participants can try the game without expending energy to learn or enforce the rules. You might play a computer game badly because you haven't figured out the best strategies, but it's impossible for you to actually break the rules and not play the game right. Unless it's a bug (or subject to odd MMORPG social rules) anything you can do in a computer game is technically legal.

In tabletop games, rules are accidentally broken all the time. You play a few rounds before someone notices that you've been doing the movement rules wrong, and that's after you all sat down and read the rules two or three times before starting. And because there is no omniscient arbiter (the computer), tabletop games grind to a halt when people disagree about what the rules mean.

Even after years of experience with a game, tabletop gamers have to watch and think to make sure no one is unintentionally breaking the rules, and that takes effort.

The Second AI

Published November 25th, 2006 in game theory | 3 Comments »

Problems with video games can highlight what is right with tabletop role playing games and vice versa.

When a player goes up against a computer opponent in a game, that opponent is controlled by an AI. The AI is supposed to simulate the tactics and decisions a real opponent would make. The orcs might be smart, the orcs might be dumb — it depends on how the AI is set and also based on how well it is programmed. If there are multiple opponents, there can be more than one AI, but each AI is basically subjective — it controls creatures in the game world.

What's missing is the Second AI, the AI that controls the game itself, the AI that tries to make sure the player is having fun. The enemy AI's aren't supposed to do that — they're supposed to try and win, not cut the player a break.

So what would this Second AI do? Moderate random events within the world of the video game, swinging them for or against the player to maximize the fun. Increase the challenge when the game is too easy, or foil the enemies a bit if the player is having too hard a time.

This idea probably sounds familiar, because even though it is non-existent in video games (as far as I know), it's ingrained in tabletop roleplaying, because that's what the GM does.

footnote: “Second” AI might not be the best term, since in computer games there could be any number of AIs running the adversaries. It's really a Gamemaster AI or Game AI.

Continuum of Roleplaying

Published March 5th, 2006 in game theory | 3 Comments »

Roleplaying can be a pretty broad term. Is a MMORPG roleplaying? Is Monopoly roleplaying?

You could spend a lot of time arguing what counts as roleplaying, but the answer is not yes or no, it's a matter of degree. Even “move your token” board games contain an iota of roleplaying. When you move the shoe on the Monopoly board, that shoe is your character, however minimal that character may be. If you identify with it, it's your character.

This is a stab at defining the complete spectrum of roleplaying, from barely having a character all the way to complete immersion. The order is not intended to indicate merit. You're not a better person if you're engaged in first degree roleplaying rather than second degree roleplaying. You're just roleplaying more, which could be appropriate or not depending on the game you're playing.

5th degree — You are not represented in the game even if you control events in it (third person, no representation). You have a god's eye view. You may control units but with the understanding that they serve you instead of representing you.

4th degree — You are represented by a token in the game, with no discernable personality or unique game stats (first person, token representation). You move your token but only minimally identify yourself with it.

3rd degree — You act as the character in the first person, but the nature of the character does not influence your decisions (first person, no decision alteration). You could be unaware of the rules of the game or just not taking them into account, or the character might not have unique stats. You might be ignoring the character's personality or the character might have no defined personality.

2nd degree — You make decisions based on the character's game statistics but not its personality (first person, rules conscious tactics). Again, you might be ignoring the character's personality or the character might have no defined personality.

1st degree — You take actions based on the personality of the character, including making decisions you know are unwise or poor tactically but which fit the character's knowledge or preferences (first person, personality roleplaying). Rules take a backseat to personality.

zero degree — You think you are the character. You are unaware that you are a player (first person, immersion). Not to be confused with someone who is just playing themselves, not a different character.

In tabletop roleplaying games we are mostly concerned with first through third degree roleplaying, but the fourth and fifth degrees reveal traces of roleplaying in other games. In a nation building computer game, you may have no in-game identity but you are still trying to be a good emperor and therefore literally playing a role (fifth degree). When you move your shoe around the Monopoly board it's “you” that lands on Boardwalk, not “my shoe” (fourth degree).

Second degree roleplaying (tactics) is where most computer MMORPGs hit, along with lots of other computer “RPGs” and not a few D&D games.

Is there a difference between someone who engages in first degree roleplaying (personality before rules) out of committment to their character versus someone who doesn't know or understand the rules? Maybe, but again it's not about merit.

Zero degree roleplaying doesn't happen in any game I know of, but I'm including it for perspective since it's the logical continuation of the spectrum. It's either the realm of virtual reality where the players don't know they are participating, or a player who has had a mental breakdown and can't distinguish reality.

Metagaming

Note that first through third degree roleplaying do not specify whether the player is making metagaming decisions to improve the game. A first degree roleplayer could make decisions true to the character which still hurt the game (slavish roleplaying). The druid who won't go into the city. The loner who can't imagine teaming up with the other players.

Blessing of the Dice Gods

Published February 17th, 2006 in game theory | 6 Comments »

“Good shot MacReady!”

So about a million years ago I'm running a Star Frontiers game. It's D&D in space, about an inch away from listening at doors. The PCs uncover a spy in the computer center, but before they can grab him he dashes into the maze of computer terminals, needler in hand. Two characters catch up with him and pile on, but they can't take him out. This is not their fault, since in Star Frontiers it takes about 18-25 unarmed hits to drop a normal person. Knocking someone out is even harder — roll a 01-02 on percentile. 2% chance. If you are using a blunt weapon and you get a roll ending in 0 that also hits, that also counts. So if you need a 45 or less to hit, you have a 6% chance of a knock-out instead of 2%. Woo hoo.

A few embarrassing rounds go by before John's character strolls up to the pig pile. John is the epitome of cool. He looks down on his fellow PCs rolling around on the floor.

“I got him,” John says casually, and then announces he will cold-cock the spy with his rifle butt.

02. Unconscious, one hit.

Is it lucky because the gods love it or do the gods love it because it's lucky?

Coming up with cool ideas that lead to a good scene is great, but nothing makes gamers cheer like when those good ideas are blessed by the Dice Gods. You pull a slick move and then roll a 20 (or 3, or 00, or a collection of successes, whatever). It's as though even though everyone at the table agrees the idea was great, stylish, climactic, etc., we wait for that die roll to validate it. As though some unseen observer is the real final judge of what's cool. We want fate to smile on the table and approve.

By the same token the only thing worse than a good idea getting a bad roll is a good idea getting a moderate roll. A terrible roll is a definite No vote from the Dice Gods. You immediately interpret it as meaning there was some fatal flaw in the plan or a stroke of horrible luck. But a mediocre roll, the roll that just says nothing, that's the roll that leaves the table just sitting and waiting. Waiting for something definitive.

Players take the opinion of the Dice Gods very personally. I have never seen a player roll consistently badly and not get depressed or mad, as though they had done something wrong or something had been done to them, even if the results of the rolls didn't have a major effect. Missing rats all night is depressing even if the rats still lose horribly. Consciously we know that dice are random, but we still think that if we roll badly, it underscores something about _us_.

Perhaps it's not so surprising that gambling is so popular, with everyone believing at some level that their rolls are influenced by how much the universe loves them.

Anyone who doesn't believe should just ask whether players mind having someone else roll for them. It should still be the same random results. It's not like you personally are influencing the dice right?

Right?

Developing a Gaming Vocabulary

Published February 13th, 2006 in game theory | 7 Comments »

We lack terms to discuss a lot of what goes on during games. We have lots of terms for things that are within the rules, Hit Points or THAC0 or Skill Ranks, but relatively few terms to describe concepts that are not covered by the rules.

We have terms for genre (high fantasy, western, space opera), but we lack terms for types of games beyond a basic of axis of combat vs roleplaying (aka is it hack-n-slash or not). A game can be episodic or regional, center around traveling and encounters or it can keep delving in the same locale. It could be all about plot and NPCs or just treat other characters as background.

These aren't monumental differences, but having terms for them would help GMs (and players) recognize what the differences are, letting them consciously make choices and sculpt their game. I tend to use comparisons to other games instead (“it was an Escape from Ulshadore scenario” or “it's a a West Marches style game”) but that only works if you played in that other game — not exactly a portable term.

As far as the participants go, we know there's a GM (or DM), and we know the other people at the table are all Players. If we were old school, we'd even say one player was the party Caller.

But we lack terms for the interaction between the people at the table, for particular behaviors that come up in games again and again. The player who can't figure out why their character would want to go along on the adventure and holds up the whole game struggling for motivation (“I'm a druid, I just can't see myself going into the city”). The player who tries to guess the entire plot in advance when there's still hardly any evidence and sends the whole game into left field (“No, there weren't any fingerprints on the gun because he must have been an alien shapechanger sent here by an intergalactic overlord from the future!”). Players that congratulate themselves on predicting obvious tropes of the genre (“I'll bet these villagers are endangered by some monster and want us to kill it, ho hum”).

Most of those are negative examples, but there's the positive too. The player who intentionally throws a bone to involve other players (“Gee I don't understand it, but I'll bet Doc Carter could figure it out!”). The player who metagames ignorance of hazards and gets their character into fun trouble (“Zombies? That's crazy talk! I'm going to the cemetery right now with just this flashlight.”).

Defining terms helps us recognize what we are already doing, and maybe do the good things more and the bad things less. It's easy for a GM to recognize that including a Power 15 monster in a Power 2 game is trouble, because the concept of a creature's danger has been codified as Power. Wouldn't it be nice if the GM had the same terms for other things to watch out for that could spoil the game? (q.v. Question Your Assumptions)

The odd thing is that without a vocabulary it's hard to even recognize what things we don't have terms for. I suspect that as we keep building this language more and more things that need names will be revealed.

Why Did Your Game Suck?

Published February 7th, 2006 in game theory | 4 Comments »

Sometimes your game sucks. Despite the best laid plans, these things happen.

Sometimes you never want to run a game again. You wonder why you are wasting your time doing it. In that case it was probably the players that messed things up. Probably.

Sometimes you want to run another game as soon as possible. That’s because you messed up and you want to make up for it. You want to erase the memory of the last game and prove yourself by running another better game.

If you’re not sure what went wrong in a game, ask yourself: do you want to run another game, now, or never again?

[I leave it as a exercise for the reader to apply this theory to other interactive "performance" arts like teaching or possibly acting - replace game with class or show where appropriate]

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