The Dynamics of Design

So, far be it from me to never learn anything from opening my big mouth, and I’ve been thinking lately about how I go about role playing game design – be it and adventure, a campaign, a character, and so on.

How much do you design from experience, and how much do you design from a standpoint of doing something different? Sub-question: If you’re designing from the standpoint of something different, is it different for you (something you’ve never tried before), or is it a reaction to things you commonly see (something you feel is unrepresented)?

I ask because, in my latest rant, I politely suggest that one could change the minor details of an adventure of other product to suit one’s desires. But how often do you do that?

For me, the answer is “quite often.” I have no problem with changing a product, however slight or large, to fit my gaming needs and to fit the personality of my group. I will fudge details just like I will fudge rolls, if it suits the needs of the story I want to tell.

Case in point: Monte Cook’s Ptolus, one of my all-time favorite RPG products, has some setting details that I don’t particularly like. My solution? Creatively throw them out/replace them with other details. The way I did this was pretty simple. I advanced the timeline of the world.

What I was left with was a Ptolus where the empire had fallen, technology had leapt forward in a big way, the planar focus of the world had shifted mightily, crime lords waged open war in the city, and one whole district (the Warrens) had been swept clean by city officials and is now the home of outcast races like Aasimars, Tieflings, and creatures who use Psionics.

That’s some pretty heavy editing, with some far reaching consequences and ramifications for the setting – some I am sure I don’t even see yet. But, all in all, it was pretty easy – just took some creative energy to tie it all in together. It makes something as simple as changing a character’s gender or an adventure’s setting a cakewalk.

How and why do you change material you use? Is it a matter of taste, of wanting to do something new, of wanting to represent yourself and your desires for a product more clearly, or something else all together?

Organized Play Vs. Home Campaign – Rules Interpretation

Both fighters retreat to your corners. When the bell rings, come out fighting.

DING!

Over the weekend, I had a brief conversation with my friend and gaming compatriot Ziz about one of the big problems with Pathfinder Society Organized Play, specifically that characters that are not built to maximize effect are somewhat hamstrung in the games.

In other words, for organized play, you really need a character that excels, mechanically speaking. Since the “role playing” at a table is different from session to session – as much as your table dynamic is different, with likely a different group of players and GM each time out – the best way to have an effective character is to have one that is mechanically sound.

The problem with this is, not everyone likes to min-max each character. Sure, it’s fun to play the dumb, ugly orc barbarian with an axe… but what about classes that need more than one or two high attributes to excel? What about developing a storyline for your character, to carry through from adventure to adventure?

I love Pathfinder Society Organized Play. Love it. It lets me come and go as I please, GM every now and then when I want to, and gives me a standard, organized and easily-understood method for advancement in character levels and wealth. I know what to expect going in. I know what I’m after and how to get it.

The downside is that PSOP, or any organized play, is bound to be dominated by mechanics than by good role playing. Take for instance my 2^nd level Elf Illusionist – I character I thought would own. The first session I played him (he already had 3 adventures under his belt, since I applied 3 scenarios I GMed to him), he was by far the least effective character in the group.

Some of that was the scenario, and some of it was the GM (I’d say it was 50/50). But the GM stuff was brutal. I found out why it’s unwise to play an illusionist in the pick-up style game – the rules are at the mercy of the GM and his interpretation of them.

Take, for instance, the spell Disguise Self, which was used by an NPC bad guy against the party. I was the first to speak with the bad guy in question… and apparently fell for the ruse. Except… I got no saving throw, no chance to disbelieve the illusion. Now, as an Elven Illusionist, my save bonus vs. Illusions, even at 2^nd level, is sick. Having access to the game material later, I was able to figure out the DC of the saving throw to disbelieve. The GM had asked us for will saving throws before the session began, and I know that my rolls were all in the mid 20s. There was NO CHANCE that I wouldn’t have spotted the illusion.

The problem? His interpretation of the spell. In order to disbelieve Disguise Self, you must interact with it. I take that to mean seeing, speaking with, listening to, etc. If ANY of my senses come into contact with it, then I have interacted with it. His interpretation was MUCH more stringent – that in order to disbelieve the illusion, you had to touch it.

Woah. That’s a pretty radical – and completely in the GM’s favor – way to read a rule. I mean, if I had known that, I would’ve cast Disguise Self on myself, and told everyone I was the Queen of Cheliax. So what if my voice doesn’t sound the same? Bow down or die. In this case, my wizard, who spoke to the “child” at great depth, and spent a great deal of time looking at her, was deemed to have not interacted with the character. Thus, when I stepped through the doorway and got sneak attacked by two thugs (complete with rogue sneak attack damage), I nearly died, and spent the rest of the session pissed off as a player (I did my best to continue, but this wasn’t the only issue at the table with this GM either – he seemed bound and determined to kill us all, methinks), constantly at odds with a GM who cared little for the fairness of his decision, and as a character completely doubting his self and the craft he though he had so painstakingly perfected.

Further, later discussion has done little to temper my issues, but pointed out one critical flaw in my character design – the character is built more for role play, rather than “roll play.” Leaning heavily on mechanics that are unclear, or up to GM interpretation, means that I can’t rely on one effective way to play the character. Trying to sneak, connive and trick my way through a scenario is going to depend almost entirely on the way the GM reads, interprets and implements the rules for illusions. Since I’m not one to throw a fit at a table (I’ll try and seek restitution and further explanation after the session is complete), it also means that there’s really no way to argue or ensure my interpretation is plausible.

Thus, my illusionist is effectively useless unless I’ve played with a GM before, and can be comfortably certain on how he’s going to rule regarding illusions. Unfortunately, the bad experience detailed above left me with a sour taste in my mouth regarding my character, and now, it feels like a wasted dud of a PC.

This is further complicated in that I now cannot apply the same sessions I GMed to another character, nor can I play the sessions I’ve played with him again for credit. Effectively, I’ve got a useless, disliked character I’m unlikely to ever play again. My attempt to do something unique and fun was squashed by the adage that, in organized play, min-maxing and power gaming are the only ways to be effective.

It Takes A Nation Of Mariks To Hold Us Back

What do you do when your favorite game’s setting takes a turn for the worse?

In the world of tabletop and rp gaming, our favorite settings become the homes where we tell our stories, where characters live out grand adventures, where kingdoms fall and nations revolt and the people taste tyranny or freedom. BattleTech was no stranger to these concepts in its heyday with FASA Games.

Set in a bleak, run-down sci-fi universe where petty lords fought over a long-lost and nearly forgotten unified humanity, BattleTech was a game of armored mechanized combat, and in the future, the rulers of the battlefield were BattleMechs, giant humanoid war machines that walked, punched, kicked and blasted their way through the galaxy.

Resources were scarce – not just war materials but water, food, and transportation from planetary systems. Realms fought tooth and nail over water worlds or a small cache of lasers and spare parts. Society had sunk to feudalism, and the ancient science of the gameworld was positively Aasimovian. Before the end of FASA, the company introduced the Clans, the returning warriors of that golden-age Star League before them, with vastly super technology.

And then… FASA folded, the game was in limbo. Soon, WizKids picked up our beloved robot mayhem franchise, and promptly destroyed the story-lines.

The line’s a little blurry in my memory – I’m not sure where officially the FASA produced story ends and WizKids’ begins – but I can tell you that it was they who first used the word jihad. A popular word in those early 2000’s, let me tell you. A few terrorist acts, and it became a HUGE buzzword, and all I could remember was it sure seemed like my favorite game was capitalizing on that buzz.

The story-line? A once-thought dead maimed leader is saved by technophiles, who secret him away while he becomes mad and, once the world knows his communications organization have been playing them for fools, breaks part of it away rather than face their secrets. After the golden age of humanity is poorly resurrected, these mystic technophiles – and their super duper new cyborg army! – are about to be inducted into the new Star League, but at the last moment, the League dissolves, leaving them with their peckers in their proverbial mechanical hands.

So they decided to destroy everything. And in the process, absolutely ruin a gorgeous, richly detailed setting that, while already somewhat suffering because of the earlier Clan technological revolution, was still worth saving.

Now, Catalyst Game Labs produce material for the game (still owned by another company, though). Another company owns other parts of it, and further ruined the story-line by advancing it by 100 years or so, making it nigh impossible to ride out the shitty ruin of the Jihad to a better, more satisfying conclusion. And Harmony Gold still owns the “unseen,” and those bastards still won’t let me have my damned Warhammer.

This game used to own. Thanks to idiots and buzzwords, now it just collects dust on my shelf.

GM Tips: Getting Started

So, you’ve found a game you want to play, and talked a few friends into playing it with you. Guess what? Chances are, if you bought the game, you’re going to be the game master. Now, this doesn’t necessarily apply only to role playing games – go ahead and figure on this for tabletop wargaming, collectible card games, and even board games and more.

In any event, what should you do first? Read the instructions. Then read them again. And, if at all possible, read those suckers a third, fourth, fifth and sixth time. You are going to be responsible for the level of enjoyment your friends/family/group of complete strangers get out of this game, so BE PREPARED. Read it. Know it. Love it. Recite it better than you did the Gettysburg Address in 3^rd grade.

Trust me on this. I bought Munchkin Quest because my normal group loved Munchkin, my wife played Munchkin once, and we both thought it looked cool. I opened it and glanced through the rule book, and attempted to play it based off of that quick glance. We’ve played it a total of two times, and both times, we house-ruled our way through most of it. (This game also brings me to another point, which is probably better served by a whole post that I won’t later write: research a new game before you buy it. Please.)

Back on track – let’s assume you bought yourself a bright and shiny new role playing game. Hooray! Read it. Read it again. Read it ad nauseum, if you ever want your investment to take root and grow. KNOW YOUR GAME.

Now, it’s not entirely, 100% necessary to know (and understand) every rule tucked into every cranny of a 300-500 page rule book. But you have got to have a basic understanding of the rules.

If you’re trying to sell your group on changing from an old system to a new system – such as from 3.5 D&D to 4^th Edition or Pathfinder – pay special attention to the details. Nothing is going to convince your friends/family/group of complete strangers that this game “sucks” quicker than saying, “Well, this situation resolved itself in THAT way in the old system, so let’s just do that.” Why change systems or try a new game if that’s the case?

Gamers are stubborn, skittish creatures. They are like territorial deer – they don’t want to leave their comfortable wooded homeland, and when they venture out, if you spook them, they're either darting for home or getting run over by your ’96 Cavalier, thereby ruining your shiny but kind of flimsy new compact car.

If you want to turn back the clock even more, ASK your group before you buy the new game if they want to play it. Then buy it, then read it. And read it again. And again…

Nothing kills a game, for the first time or the second, 99^th, or the last, than not knowing what you are doing. Breathe. You haven’t lost them yet. But after you’ve gotten over your own deer-in-the-headlights look… read the damn rules!

Be like a boy scout. Number one rule of Game Mastering: BE PREPARED.

Finding the Path

Odd how we meet people. Take, for instance, my introduction to my latest gaming friends. It all started with Twitter and a pain in my ass (sort of literally).

Working in the ecommerce industry, it was necessary to be connected. So I started a Twitter account. I then decided I wanted to keep professional separated from personal/gaming hobby, so I created an account for that. I figured out hashtags and found some gamers. Soon, I heard talk of Pathfinder.

My current gaming group (CGG) had decided to forgo 4^th edition D&D, since it seemed incompatible with the stack of 3.0/3.5 books we already owned. But when I heard about Pathfinder, my interest was peaked.

Around last spring, I had a wedding planned for summer. Problem was, I was having complications from severe “unspecific colitis” that I had the previous summer. I was sincerely afraid of having issues during our wedding or honeymoon. I bit the bullet and elected to have surgery on my digestive system in order to (hopefully) prevent any further issues and add some very missed comfortableness back into my life.

As a little care package (to me, from me!), I decided to pick up a few things to get me through my home- and bed-restricted post surgery blues. Samurai Champloo, Surrender (an erotic memoir – don’t ask), Rocco DeLuca’s I Trust You To Kill Me dvd, and the Pathfinder Core Rulebook.

My immediate reactions were, “these new caster abilities are amazing – more spells!” and “holy s#|t, CLERICS!” Sure, the other classes seemed improved too (particularly the ranger and paladin), but the caster classes? Revolutionized from 3.5, I tell ya! Of course, I dove in, got some more books, and by GenCon I was running it for my CGG.

But, ah… life gets in the way. My CGG had a way of not staying current. Players came and went all the time, usually during crucial campaign moments. I tried to structure, organize, add more players (Dragonlance campaign with 7 PCs, oh my), subtract players (Ptolus campaign with 3 PCs)… nothing work. I grew frustrated, a good deal of it because I was putting in the work to write and run these campaigns. Finally, I threw in the towel.

Then, a light from heaven… I clicked on the Pathfinder Society link on the Paizo site. Responded to a post on the message boards. Found a game in the Indianapolis area.

PFS opened up a whole new world of possibilities. And a whole new can of worms. Like, guys who really don’t shower, or guys who belch in your face as you move your mini on the battle-mat. But the worms were worth the possibilities – which included three cool guys with the same sense of humor, the same gaming style, and the same dedication to the game as I had.

I like to think of myself as a geek elitist, which I s’pose means I am hard to please. So falling in with a group of guys who don’t belch in my face when I move my mini pleases me. The fact that they like to see a campaign through to completion pleases me. They have lives, jobs, other interests, and this pleases me.

The great thing about this hobby isn’t your favorite system, or the cool miniatures, or the opportunity to be creative. Well, those ARE all great, but so to is this: people you can relate to, who are just as organized/dedicated/anal as you are.

Or, guys who belch in your face when you move your mini. If you’re into that sort of thing. I'll tell you one thing - it sure beats a knife in the colon and a pain in the ass!

A Kingdom So Far

It all started with a fearsome book, package of record sheets, and a cherry-picked set of solid and gem dice. It was my first role playing game experience, and like so many, it happened because of a friend. Sort of.

See, my friend, let’s call him “Horse,” had this wonderful book. The Advanced Dungeons and Dragons 2^nd Edition Player’s Handbook. On the front was a mounted soldier with bluish armor and a sword riding a charging steed. That’s all a junior high school kid needed to see.

So I got the same stuff – the PHB, the Character Record Sheets (oh how I miss those green sheets), and the dice. Problem here – no monsters, no dungeon guide or adventures. We didn’t quite get it at first… but maybe that was no problem at all.

We made characters. Lots and lots of 1^st level characters (to which I surely owe my steadfast approach to nearly always insisting on starting a new campaign that I am GMing with new PCs). And then… we played. Not by the rules, but by the only way we knew how.

We told each other stories.

Now, this was such a benefit, because a lot of the time during these story-tellings, we were mobile. On horseback. In the middle of the woods.

I grew up in rural, conservative Indiana, a farm boy on a small horse ranch. From the time my parents moved away from the city in 3^rd grade until I graduated high school, my life was surrounded by horses – riding, training, some breaking, lots of showing. And during the summer, a lot of trail-riding.

Exploring parks and trails on horseback is something truly unique and exhilarating. You’ve got speed, power, trust, all kinds of factors that make it fun and rewarding. But, when you’re 13 years old… it can also get boring. You need something to fill up the space in your head, because you likely don’t appreciate the serenity of it when you’re that young. At least, not for 2-10 hours of it. So… we told each other stories.

The heroes were our characters, and we raided castles, visited strange cities, and did other fun and generally heroic things. It was awesome. I still draw from the well of those stories to this day, though not too much – there’s only so much a 30 year old can relate to that comes from the mind of a 13 year old.

Long story short... he moved away, got into other things. We lost touch before we could drive. We moved on.

But… I still have those mismatched dice.