It's One O'Clock and I'm Fairly Certain the Rocket Won't Wait.

This evening I was reading a RPG book where the authors spent seven pages detailing how time passes in their game world. The days and months of the year were given these silly names. The phases of the moon were described, with each given a special name. Worst of all the hours were called out in a quasi-Latin style. It was clear that the intent was to create a sense of verisimilitude for the world that they were describing but instead it all came off a bit contrived and silly. This setting isn't unique in this foolishness. Just a quick pass through my game library and it seems like in practically every amateur and professional setting I've been presented with the latest 'unique' calendar and denotation of time. Over and over again it seems that the authors can't wait to tell me all about how special their world's understanding of time is. 

Why, it's not Monday here; it's First-Day. 

January? No, no. You're saying it wrong. It's Fireseek. 

What time is it? Why it's half past Qui'Tar Jut! 

Now maybe you're players are really into learning the minutia of your world and are all about calling the various months by these setting specific names and using the tongue-twisting variations for the hours - but I've yet to play in a group that was willing to expend the effort. Instead the days always revert back to Monday, Tuesday while the hours go back to One O'Clock, Two O'Clock, and so forth. 

For a while it bothered me that my players couldn't keep to the imaginary calendars I had brought to them and that they didn't care enough about the days of the week to use their 'proper' names. Then one day I had an epiphany: they don't have time to fool with this stuff because all they want to do is play the damned game. To my players calling Monday, First-Day was useless. It didn't improve their immersion into the game world because it produced a jarring, mental disconnect that pulled them out of it. They had to think to call it First-Day instead of just knowing that it was Monday. Calling January, Fireseek didn't tell them anything useful because they had to remember that Fireseek was a cold, snowy month. All I was accomplishing by forcing such contrivances on them was making my games worse. 

As I'm getting older I'm finding that the best policy as a Dungeon Master isn't to get cute and come up with special names for the things I'm doing - after all, my orc isn't any less an orc if I call him a Thute - but rather to build on the cultural and societal touchstones that my players can identify with and readily assimilate into their play. My games use regular names for the hours, days, and months of the year, but major events become the names of the years within the game. When they destroyed the city of Kimber by triggering a massive earthquake that swallowed it whole, the year became known within the game's world as "The Year Kimber was Swallowed." My non-player characters (NPCs) could mention it as a touchstone within a conversation and the players immediately knew when it took place in relation to where they existed in the game now. It gave the world a greater depth than telling them that the year was 447 CY. To them 447 CY might as well be 1779 BC. It was a meaningless number that they weren't all that interested in remembering, but those major events stuck with them and gave them a grounding in the world. 

Monster, Monster, Come to My Door; for I've Rigged It with Unstable Explosives and Am Loading My Shotgun as I Wait for You.

I was discussing villagers the other night with a friend of mine when she made the comment that the villagers in every book, movie, and game are just faceless masses waiting for their own destruction at the hands of the latest bad guy to pick up a rock and think that blood is a pretty color and should be used to paint a room with because no one ever considers the way that people actually act when they get scared. It's too difficult to imagine that we pick up guns and start shooting every mother fucker who happens to poke his head in our window. 

She's not wrong. 

Think about the games you run for a minute. When do the villagers pick up the torches and pitchforks? Do they do it once there's enough to get them scared? Or do they wait until things have really moved beyond the threshold of reasonable action? Do they ever do anything more than run away and die?

For a long time my villagers did nothing more than run and die (perhaps I was too busy concentrating on making sure that my bad guys lived long enough to be more than a footnote in the game's play). What turned me about on that noise was realizing that the people I lived around - men and women from a rural, mountain community - wouldn't act that way. They would have started shooting the monsters in their stupid, fucking faces for getting too close to their stills and meth labs. They would have picked up ball bats, axes, Bowie knives, pipe bombs, and every gun they could get their hands on and fucked up some monstrous creatures' days; and that might sound like a stretch to you but consider this: we have coyotes, bears, mountain lions, wild dogs, and all manner of rabid animals. When they get a bit too aggressive the people in my home town will kill every last one of them and drive down Main Street with the carcass tied across the hood of a pick-up truck while bitching that there was only one to kill. I know, animals are different from people. Except that they're not really treated all that differently in this area as I know old women who have incapacitated rapists that had intended to kill them by twisting their balls in different directions (when asked she said it was because she wanted to hear him scream); gangs of baseball bat wielding vigilantes searching for the sons-of-bitches that murdered some cats on an out of the way highway; and a group of twenty angry women armed with knives searching for the boy who raped one of their friends so they could cut his dick off and shove it up his ass (the cops caught him first for those wondering). 

This community isn't an aberration in our reactions. I can pick up a copy of the Atlanta Journal-Constitution and read news stories about vengeance murders, gang attacks, posses formed to ferret out fugitives, and hunters killing wild animals. If it's something that happens in communities large and small then why isn't it happening in your home games?

My initial answer to that last question was that I wanted the players to be the stars of the show. After all, the game is about their adventures not a bunch of corn gobblers from a village that only the five of us know the name of and that I'll be the only one to remember. Only that's really a bullshit answer. See your villagers aren't suddenly becoming the main attraction of the story by reacting to the events in the game; instead they're becoming a catalyst that will help propel the players forward. While absolutely true that some of the villagers are going to be running for their lives you're also going to be having armed groups of regular people turning back towards the danger to try and stop it. Bringing these cats who are fighting rather than taking flight into the game has really made village situations something more exciting and far less mundane - especially since I just assume most everyone in my villages is a redneck with a rudimentary knowledge of explosives and born with an eagerness to see something blown to hell.  

A Few Thoughts on Making Alignments a Meaningful Part of the Game

The School of Athens by Raphael

In order to make alignments a meaningful part of any role-playing game there has to be a real consequence to the actions that the players choose during the course of play that goes beyond the immediate reaction of the non-player characters close at hand. If a player decides to have the character be an awful mess of murder and predation on weak non-player characters then the world should react to her as such. But how do we avoid blanket responses that end up feeling like all evil characters are treated this way, while neutral characters are treated this way, and good characters treated yet another?

Nuanced reactions within the game world are generally not hard to accomplish over the short term as both the player and Game Master can easily keep in mind what has recently been done in the free city of Kimber but there is a mythologizing that occurs as time goes on around the characters previous actions. They become larger than life, so to speak, with the character's acts taking on a life of their own that often becomes far worse or better than what actually happened. For example, over time the story about killing of a town's sheriff expands to include his deputies and perhaps a few innocent bystanders.

Stopping the process of exaggeration within the average game (i.e. one not filmed or recorded) appears to be impossible. In truth it probably shouldn't be attempted as there is a natural enlargement of individual deeds through rumor and the retelling. Still, your non-player characters shouldn't know every misdemeanor and off-color joke the player's character has told in their lifetime; nor should they know every cleverly hidden away theft and undiscovered murder. How then do we keep the players' characters accurately assessed while still providing the room for rumor and exaggeration to take effect?

There is an additional problem that occurs to me at this point: how do we account for the differences between individual characters of the same alignment but who act in vastly different manners? For example, two characters of the chaotic evil alignment are being played. The first is a psychopathic killer who delights in acting out the worst aspects of human nature. By contrast the second player selfishly acts out her whims, often at the expense of everyone else at the table, but in general acts in a reasonable manner. Both characters are clearly chaotic in their actions and evil in their intent but there is a marked difference between them. How do we account for this difference in play?

In my experience such differences are hand waved with a look at a character's alignment and a dismissal of the actions as appropriate under that heading. Then the game goes on without any substantive difference in how the two characters are treated by the surrounding world (though that clearly isn't the case within the group). This sort of dismissal is a by product of the false equivalency produced by both characters being labeled as "chaotic evil." In our minds we equate all the vile actions of these players because of that descriptor with the end result being that all actions are treated as equals. The murder of a gigolo and the theft of a gambler's winnings are treated as the same even though they have very different consequences for all involved.

The problem of a false moral equivalent has been bothering me for a while when it comes to my own games. To help alleviate the discomfort I feel I have created a barometer to distinguish between the levels of evil and how others would perceive them in my game worlds.

This is the simplified version of the one I use in my home games. At the ends of the spectrum you have the Angelic and Diabolic ideals. These extremes represent the absolutes; the most extreme examples of good and evil that I can imagine. In between those two extremes there are four levels that I use to break up the levels of moral actions my players make. At the center of the barometer is the Neely Position which is the position of true neutrality on the moral scale. 

I've left the four positions between the end and the Neely Position blank for you guys to ascribe your own actions for each step. This should make it easier for people who want to use the scale to customize it for the morality of their game worlds with each position representing the actions of increasing magnitude (for example, in my games petty theft would be at the first position while genocide would be at the fourth position on the evil side of the barometer). This should make it easier to distinguish between characters of a similar alignment disposition without making the life of the game master into one of spreadsheets and hate.

Right, So Let's Talk About Neutral Game Masters.

So there is an old argument that you run across every so often online when it comes to problems with traditional role-playing games that centers around the role of the Game Master (GM) and how they should rule during a game. According to the argument the GM is supposed to be a 'neutral participant' in the action of the game. Now what do you suppose they mean by that?

After looking into it for a bit I discovered that what is meant by the phrase varies a bit depending on who you're discussing it with and what arguments they've been predicating their assumptions on; but there are some themes that tend to get repeated enough that I think we can come to a definition of what is meant here by a 'neutral participant.'

• The GM should not allow personal preference to color their rulings.
• The GM should only rule on situations explicitly covered by the rules.
• The GM should not move beyond the scope of the official rules.  
• The GM should not influence the outcome of a given situation beyond setting it up and rolling dice to determine outcomes. 

In other words a GM should behave, for all intents and purposes, as a mindless automaton spitting out rulings like computers used to spit out punch cards. I mean if you hold these positions then why have a GM at all? And that's kind of the point of the argument though. A lot of the people who try to push this idea of a neutral participant don't want the GM involved at all. "Those games," they argue, "fundamentally circumvent the rights and will of the players by placing one participant above the others to rule by their capricious fancy." For the moment, though, let's put aside the underlying theme of abandoning the Game Master and instead focus on the idea that the they should be a neutral participant in the game's action. 

As I was reading through the underlying reasoning against the Game Master as an active participant it became obvious that there was a fundamental misunderstanding of what a GM actually does in traditional role-playing games. According to the neutral participant crowd the GM should behave like a referee in a sports game; they keep the game running along within the framework of the rules, but by and large, they don't impact the way that the game plays. The problem with this line of thinking is that it takes a traditional role-playing game away from a creative endeavor where the GM can create monsters, house rules, spells, and items that fit her setting and instead makes it into a board game where players move their pieces about the board always knowing what to think and how things behave.

Here's the thing, being a Game Master in traditional role-playing games means that you are an active participant in the game's action. You are constantly making decisions about what's included in your game and how things behave there - and you aren't bound by the way that other Game Masters that your players have encountered before you did things. It is a fundamental aspect of the game that every table is a unique situation with its own monsters, items, magic, rule interpretations, and house rules. 

Murderer On the Loose

Last night we had a murder just down the way from our house. It's not the first one I've had happen nearby but as the police cars streaked by with their blue lights flashing it got me to thinking about prison breaks in role-playing games. As a player I've broken out of more jails, prisons, torture chambers, dungeons, and internment camps then I care to remember and then I'm always running for my life; but as I turned on the scanner to listen to the police I found myself wondering why I had never been on the other end of things. 

I mean I understand why I'm normally on the other end of things. Running from the law is terrifying and it raises the tension in ways that chasing someone can hardly hope to do if you watch modern films. You can't trust anyone and you can't rest until you get far enough away from them that there's not possible way they can get to you. In role-playing games that means you just have to press hard enough until you break out into some wild country where only God can get you (and even then He would be hard pressed to find you). So once you break out and get away you're relatively safe unless your Game Master decides to send a bounty hunter after you. Years can pass in the game without a worry of harassment from the law, but the specter of the bounty hunter is always there. The other side of the equation, though, has it's own tension and fear. Fear that the murderer will kill again and fear that what they do next will be far worse than what's come before. And if they get away? Then you have to start figuring out where they went. You have to search for clues and race against the clock hoping that you won't be too late. 

Why haven't I ever been on the side of law; hunting for the bad guys and dragging them back to stand trial for their crimes? 

After talking with a few of my old Game Masters I kept getting the same answer: because it's more exciting to be chased. Only I don't think it is. In a role-playing game it's very hard to create the excitement of racing away from the law like some Medieval Jason Bourne. Which is why those sort of escapes generally play out like a game of dramatic chess. Only without the drama. Or the fun. Still I see it over and over again as I read blogs and talk to my friends: we're always on the run. Our enemies pursue us and we talk about the dramatic tension that builds but so often it's a muted tension that fails to deliver the experience we hoped for. Yet the other side is hard, or so I'm told. I think it can be done, and done well, and I aim to prove it.

Death in the Underbelly

The room was small, too small for Step-up, and the dozen angry orcs throwing their bodies against the door really weren't helping his mood. Step-up ran his fingers across his thumb and bit down on his lower lip as he looked about the table and I could see the wheels spinning. Kid Icarus was on his last legs; the Mighty She was down to five arrows; Biggboy was clearly contemplating his last words; and the Glorious L was warming up her final fireball.

The door was breaking as the orcs continued to hurl their bodies forward.

Step-up stopped rubbing his fingers and cocked his head to the side, "Biggboy, give me your shield. I've got a plan."

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Over the course of the last ten years I've ruled on the deaths of nearly a hundred player characters and refereed two total party kills (TPKs).

There are two groups of thought when it comes to that last statement and both would hold that I am a terrible Dungeon Master, though for completely different reasons. To one group, we'll call them Dissenters, I am a terrible Dungeon Master because of how many player deaths I've refereed. To the other group, we'll call them Agitators, I am a terrible Dungeon Master because of how few deaths have occurred in my games.

I am supposed to be the enemy of my players. Every trap, every situation is to be manipulated by me in such a way as to where my players can not win.

Over the years I have encountered representatives of each group and I have always walked away confused with their rationale.  To the Dissenters my role as referee is that of a player advocate. I'm supposed to give them wonderfully powered items and fantastic rewards with minimal risk to their characters. Situations that should, logically, work against the players should always work out in their favor and they should be action heroes who always get the girl and never have to face a repercussion for their actions. By contrast, to Agitators, I am supposed to be the enemy of my players. Every trap, every situation is to be manipulated by me in such a way as to where my players can not win. There are never supposed to be magical items and what rewards they do gain are to be paid for in Pyrrhic battles.

Both groups are wrong. 

Death has to be something that matters

If I give my players everything in the world and there is no risk than there are no memorable moments in the game. Death has to be something that matters to my players or else they're just going to become bored and I'm going to become frustrated with my inability to provide an entertaining game. At the same time if I push things so far into the other direction then my players become timid and refuse to go out into the world - and why would you if every rabbit, toad, and fly carries your death?

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Step-up was ripping pages out of his spell-book and attaching them to the shield with a paste he had made from some rather sticky refuse. Just as he was instructing the others to construct a barricade from fallen masonry the door gave way. He turned the shield, now covered in explosive runes, toward the orcs.

"These guys ain't shit."

For Kid Icarus

Last night I was talking with Kid Icarus about an upcoming Greyhawk campaign he would be playing in and I wanted to share a bit of his concept with the world just so other people could appreciate his creativity as much as I do.

Kid Icarus wants to play a wizard that uses evil to fight evil. He had a name for the class but damned if I remember what it was. At any rate the thing that made me enjoy this concept so much was the part he needed my help for, his back story.

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The Story

Kid Icarus' character was an orphan who was raised in a temple of a good god, possibly Pelor. For years he grew up there learning the faith and growing to adulthood. Then one day a wondering cleric joined the church and slow things began to change. The good men and women who had raised him seemed in a daze and muttered darkly to themselves. The teachings of Pelor seemed to be altered, at first subtly and then more substantially till one day he found himself in line to be sacrificed before an alter in an obscene perversion of the faith. It was then that the vile cleric revealed himself as a follower of a dark god and summoned a demon to kill the entire congregation.

Kid Icarus escaped from the blood bath and has sense spent his life tracking down the murderer of his friends and family.

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Now where I come in is the Kid is looking for a location for his character to be born and a couple of good gods to throw in there. So here are my suggestions:

Location

For events such as those in Kid Icarus' story to occur he's going to have to be a nation where such things could easily go missed. I'm thinking that the best nations would either be the Great Kingdom, the Wild Coast, or the Pomarj.

The Great Kingdom is the mostly likely source for such a tale of woe. It has a large volume of land where this could occur without outside influence; a corrupt kingship that consorts with devils and all sorts of diabolic forces; and enough of a vengeful streak in its populace to serve as a cultural touchstone for his character. As for the city I'm thinking that a repurposed Jalpa would suffice.

If that doesn't really strike a cord the Wild Coast would allow him to call the settlement an old pirate outpost and he could just make up any name he wanted which would answer why no one knew of it and why they were undisturbed during the events of his story.

The Pomarj would work by in a similar manner to the Wild Coast with one additional detail: he would have to be a refuge from the Orc and Goblinoid uprising on that blood soaked peninsula.

Evil Gods

Wastri

When it comes to evil gods in the Greyhawk setting there are really only two or three that work in this story: Incabulos, Iuz, and perhaps Wastri.

Wastri is the least likely of the three vile gods to be of any real use to this story, but if Kid Icarus' character, and the majority of people in his temple, are of any race other than human then it would not be beyond the scope of a cleric of Wastri to do some sort of foul corruption upon the land as Wastri holds pretty close to the line "If it ain't human, it's dead." The problem with using Wastri is that he's pretty pathetic as an overall enemy. Sure he can cause problems, and his clergy are no joke, but when you think about evil frogs are not exactly the first thing you think about and that's really what Wastri is about: frogs, bullywugs, and amphibians. He's the creepy kid that used to harangue you about his amphibian collection and smelled of spoiled chili.

Iuz

Iuz could work in this situation as the vile god responsible for the cleric, corruption, and the later murder of the temple's populace but I would be hesitant to use him. Where Wastri's motive is easy to discern Iuz is a bit more difficult and would really require the Dungeon Master to participate a bit more in the backstory than I think Kid Icarus is comfortable with. You see, Iuz is like the Stalin of Greyhawk: evil, massively powerful, and power hungry. He won't risk his clergy on an evil act just for evil's sake. There has to be some sort of underlying intent whether that's an expansion of his boarders or some sort of payback from a perceived slight is up to the Dungeon Master, but it is a question that will need to be answered. Also, unless I were to want a heavily combat oriented cleric I just wouldn't want to use Iuz.

Iuz is responsible for so much visible evil in the world of Oerth (the Greyhawk setting's name for the planet) that a character bent on revenge would be constantly rushing off to fight. That's okay if you love combat as I do, but it could really put a cramp in your ability to develop a more nuanced character as the Kid is prone to do.

Incabulos

No, for my money the best evil god for this situation is Incabulos. His clergy is secretive and they love to corrupt others in their nefarious plots. But more importantly is Incabulos' relationship with the major forces of evil in the universe. He is feared by both good and evil, so much so that ". . . he is feared by even the princes of Hades and the dukes of Hell . . . (Dragon 71, pg 53 Gygax). That fear alone could make demons and devils do the bidding of his clergy without the usual caveats. That's a huge bonus in crafting the story that Kid Icarus has in mind for his character and presents a situation where revenge becomes a quest - unlike with Iuz where his followers are quite literally everywhere.  I guess what I really like about Incabulos is that using his clergy as the evil focus gives Kid Icarus a situation where he has to use all of his cleverness and creativity in order to find, kill, revive and kill again those vile bastards that destroyed the lives of everyone he has ever known and loved. Those are the sort of situations  where Kid Icarus really shines and where he makes a Dungeon Master better - because if you can't keep up with him once he starts rolling then you're going to look like a complete hack incapable of even tying your shoes let alone running a game of Dungeons and Dragons.

Good Gods

Trithereon

Now while Kid Icarus has a pretty good idea who he would like to use as the gods his character would be following I would like to make the following suggestion: Trithereon.

Trithereon, is the god to whom I would join if my faith in Pelor were shattered and someone had to fucking pay for the vileness that had been done to me, my family, and my friends. He is the god of retribution, individuality, freedom, and self-defense - and he's aligned with Pelor which is easier to rectify than some of the other gods. By following him I would be free to fuck up the people responsible for my temple's destruction without worrying about a bullshit alignment shift (which is a worry with the Dungeon Master Kid Icarus is going to be playing under).

Further, I would have access to the domains Chaos, Good, Protection, and Strength which is a pretty good selection and for my money better than Boccob's set of Knowledge, Magic and Trickery (the Kid is leaning toward Boccob from our last conversation). Also, my choice of weapons is far better as my deity's favored weapons are the shortspear, longsword, and greatclub; whereas, Boccob's favorite weapon is the fucking quarterstaff. Trithereon gives me some kick ass options, lots of room to grow, and if another cleric doesn't like the way I'm praying, fuck him. This is a god of individuality and freedom I can do as I want.

Trithereon!

No other god gives me as many built in protections for the sort of acts I would lay at the doorsteps of those responsible for the evils that have been visited upon me. No other god will respect the hell that I bring against those evil and vile fuckers and still hold me close to his bosom.

Trithereon!

The Railroad You Know

Seven years ago I was playing in a campaign run by the World' Greatest Liar. He claimed that the campaign would have a rich and evocative world attached to it; that our characters would develop a beautiful backstory and that this campaign, this campaign would change our perceptions of how Dungeons and Dragons is played and would give us a glimpse of the game's true potential. 

I was intrigued so along with Poot, Biggboy, and Kid Icarus we decided to join him for the night and see where this thing was going. We were given characters and told that we could not rename them, change their equipment, classes, or even their eye color. I started to leave but Poot talked me into staying for a few more minutes. 

The story began with a terrible dragon attacking the Good Kingdom. We were called before the king and our scripted conversations were recited by the World's Greatest Liar for us - how thoughtful of him. We then, apparently, agreed to leave the city immediately and travel across the Wastes to the home of the terrible dragon. It was at that point that we were allowed to act for ourselves which was signified by the World's Greatest Liar giving us three options for us to take. Go left, go right, or straight ahead. Our guide, we were told, was the good paladin Theobald and he could go no further. 

"Great," said I as I signaled Poot that the good paladin Theobald had to fucking die, "I would like to speak with Theobald."

"Certainly," said the World' Greatest Liar, "Theobald asks you what you need."

"Nothing but his attention." Poot attacked the paladin with a natural twenty while Biggboy dropped the horse. 

"Why would you do that! You can't do that!"

"We just did," Poot told him. "and I rolled maximum damage."

Not surprisingly the dragon killed us all on the spot. 

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I don't mind the idea that a game I'm playing in has a storyline or an overall story arc, in fact I love when a campaign has a theme or underlying direction; but when that comes at the price of my free will I get volatile.  I hate the idea that my character has a limited number of options based not on circumstance but on my Dungeon Master's unwillingness to allow for me to think my way out of a situation. 

Unlike the World's Greatest Liar I have always viewed my job as Dungeon Master not as a narrator telling a well orchestrated story but as a referee who presents options to my players and lets them tell the story. 

In my current campaign I have taken this further than ever before. I began with a simple one paragraph explanation of the immediate world around the city of Dyvers and then briefly expanded on that paragraph during the first five minutes of the campaign. After that the players were left to their own devices. I provide them opportunities for adventure in every direction they look and no matter where they choose to go, it is my job to give them something there. If they want to work in a bar as waitresses, cook, and entertainment then I let them do just that. But I have to make it fun. So I look for ways that such situations start going off the rails. Mobsters, wild magic, tantalizing tales - those are my tools - but no matter what it all comes down to them and to their decisions.

Anything less is asking to get burned.