Let's Make Bad Decisions Together

I've been thinking a bit about the amount of gods that we tend to throw into our role-playing game worlds, and in particular in the World of Greyhawk, and how as a community we tend to overpopulate them. Often the gods tend to cross over each other offering the same opportunities for a player mechanically while providing a limited difference in the character's narrative, if any at all. Take for example the way that the Living Greyhawk Gazetteer, the last real supplement on the World of Greyhawk as a whole, dealt with gods. In it players are presented with an option of 71 gods in all their various power levels. Each is presented with its own lore and their respective domains. Largely though it feels superfluous; like a tacked on afterthought, barely worth mentioning but still too expected to be left out of the book. 

On its face the obvious solution to this glut of gods is to limit the players choices in the matter and to focus on a core group that the Game Master finds palatable for the adventure. It's not a very satisfactory solution to the issue, though, and it leaves a bad taste in my mouth. The problem is that if you pick twelve gods to focus on one of your players is bound to have a love for some alternative god, such as Dalt, and if you allow the one exception then why not another? And suddenly your twelve is now sixteen, or 20, or 30 and your setting is dealing with a divine bloat all over again. 

Recently I've been considering a solution that feels a bit more satisfactory to my delicate sensibilities and that explains away the overlap in a fashion that I can accept. Instead of having a world filled with dozens or hundreds of individual gods there is a single, all encompassing god and all the various incarnations that people worship are just aspects of that being. Even the conflicts between the various aspects of the god are simply expressions of its natural conflicts; the various thoughts and urges within a being played out on a cosmic scale.

More later. 

An Evolving World Theory of Dungeons & Dragons

The Uncertainty Principle cover by Richard M. Powers.

This morning I was reading the Gamma World introduction when an idea struck me: what if all the settings that TSR produced settings were simply points along the same timeline of a world that was repeatedly rising to the heights of space faring civilizations only to be consumed in a globe-spanning holocaust that sent it back to its prehistoric beginnings. In this way Gamma World, Greyhawk, Boot Hill, the Forgotten Realms, Eberron, and the rest would all be a glimpse into the long line of a single world.

Imagine for a moment how this affects something as ubiquitous as ruins in the desert. These long lost cities that appear like the skeletal remains of some poor cock-sucker who couldn't remember where the next watering hole was now have a history built into them. They're Greyhawk, Waterdeep, Chicago, and Dyvers. Then there are the artifacts and magic items that were once tied to a setting, like the Lucky Ring of the Wild Coast (Greyhawk Adventures pg. 73), which now can be dropped in without any changes to the name or lore surrounding the item. Instead they're items that have survived the destruction of the world like the treasures of pharaohs hidden deep in their tombs beneath the Egyptian deserts.  

As someone who has no trouble blowing up a world because that's what the players want to do I really like the idea that these sort of world shattering events can happen and that the world still manages to survive and that the scattered remnants of the world can come back from the brink of extinction time and time again. Also, since I've been on a massive post-apocalyptic literature binge of late this runs right along with my personal tastes. 

 What do you think?

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. 

The Orcs are Here! Quick, Somebody Call the . . . Guys?

Call me old fashioned but I miss the days when there were good guys and bad guys in our games. Don't get me wrong. I'm not trying to launch into one of those foolish diatribes where I complain about all the young kids not understanding what it means to walk up a hill, in the snow, in fucking July, just to tell your teacher to fuck off for the summer.

What I'm complaining about is the way that so many of us are playing today where our players scribble evil or neutral in their alignment columns and then play the most lackluster and vanilla characters to ever be rolled up. I hear it in the live play podcasts and read it in the write-ups that appear on blogs and forums throughout this hobby. We're not being bold in how we play.

Look, if you want to play evil that's fucking great with me. Hell, I'll roll up a character and run right alongside you. But don't put the alignment down if the worst thing you're going to do is kill some poor corn gobbler on his way to church so that you can loot his body. Fuck, I can do that with Lawful Good and rock that shit so hard that the Dungeon Master will give me bonus experience points for playing my alignment to the hilt. 

If you're going to be evil, then fucking be evil! Sacrifice babies, offer virgins to dark gods - and for the love of god - lie, cheat, and steal your way throughout the game world! Be a fucking villain that will get under your Dungeon Master's skin and have him trying his damnedest to stop you with posses and the very wrath of the gods if you go long enough!

The problem doesn't end with evil though. Just look at our good guys who traipse about games trying their damnedest to do what the bad guys are doing only they'd like to get away with it. 

Why?

Why not be bold and try to be Ivanhoe? Why not try to be great like the Knights of the Round - who killed the shit out of everyone but had an honor system that made them something worth envying? Why not be something heroic that makes the game more than a bunch of jackasses wandering about the dungeon telling terrible renditions of Monty Python jokes?

Look I've listened and read so many accounts of these games and I can see that so many people are just muddling their way through because they either don't know how, or are afraid, to be bold in their alignment of choice. I'm telling you that if you want to play Chaotic Good get out there and be everything that choice means to you. Give away the Paladin's horse to the farmer who just lost his. Slaughter the Druid's pig companion to feed the village. Don't be a timid little thing that plays Chaotic Good the same way you played Lawful Evil and True Neutral!

When you pick your alignment and write those two words down on your sheet make them meaningful for you so that you're not just another forgettable character. Be bold and make that choice matter.

So You're Picking a Race to Play?

I picked up a new player this weekend and he was wondering about the races available for play in Dungeons and Dragons. So here's a quick overview of our conversation.

Elves

From the Hippy Elf Chick Blog, read her, she rocks.

While some claim that I hate these tree loving, sheep fuckers that simply isn't true. They're the environmental, vegan, alternative medicine using free thinkers that tend to get themselves and everyone they love killed in a blood soaked dungeon.

Wait, didn't you tell me that in order to go through their entrance into Castle Greyhawk they wanted me to eat a human heart?

You really need to stop mumbling son, it's hard to understand you.

Dwarves

Cornish Miners circa turn of the century

Do you remember when you were little and sat on your front porch watching the miners come out with the billowing lime covering everything for miles around? They walked right down from the mouth of that cavernous shaft and made their way across the street to Milo's Grocery where they bought moonshine and smoked cigars until they fell asleep in the street and we all had to go around them while the cops took them over to the trailers where they could sleep until their next shift?

I honestly don't ever remember that happening.

You're basically talking about Dwarves.

Gnomes

Rodeo Clowns by Jennifer Heisler

These tiny little guys are the professional clowns of Dungeons and Dragons. They'll stand on a cliff casting an illusionary gigantic, neon, cock to distract the dragon so that everyone else can get away and then dodge the dragon's attacks for the next hour just for fun.

Do people actually play these guys?

After reading that description how could you not?

Half-elves

New York Dolls by Yoni Goldberg

The belligerent, half-breed children a kinder god would never have allowed to be brought into this world. Hated by the elvish kin and distrusted by their human relatives; these poor bastards wonder the world over creating their own place in it. If they're lucky they make it to old age, but far more likely is the dark truth that they'll die alone in some forgotten shit hole far from anyone they know and love.

So I shouldn't play them?

It's up to you.

Halflings

From the tumbler From Greece to Anarchy

A fool will tell you that halflings are nothing more than a cheep knock-off of J.R.R. Tolkien's hobbits, but listen to me and know that these bastards danced on the embers of falling civilizations and ground the hopes and dreams of millions under their boots. They come out of the darkness and perform their weird rituals and mad dances while the rest of the world cowers within their homes, under the covers and praying to unresponsive gods.

Am I supposed to want to play these guys or kill them?

Play them of course, they're not Kinder for god's sake.

What?

Half-orcs

Chosen Few History by Elliot Gold

Half-orcs are the hard fighting, motorcycle riding, outlaws of the world. Too savage to be civilized and too crazed to be anything but a savage misstep in the evolutionary history of the world.  They're brought into this world through compromise and improvisation but stare it down with hatred and an uncompromising viciousness that's shunned by the rest of the world.

I recommend playing them only after you've finished your drink.

You just poured me a glass of antifreeze. What the fuck kind of game is this?

Humans

From this year's Burning Man

Some say they're just waiting around for the massive implosion that's bound to happen sooner or later; while others say they're just looking for a good time aided by unbridled pharmaceutical enthusiasm. Either way, lately they've been burning a lot of shit in the desert and picking fights with every authority figure on the planet.

A good time to play one, don't you think?

Summoning Magic, Part 3: Unleashing the Elemental Swarm

Elemental Swarm
Conjuration (Summoning) [see text]
Level: Air 9, Drd 9, Earth 9, Fire 9, Water 9
Components: V, S
Casting Time: 10 minutes
Range: Medium (100 ft. + 10 ft./level)
Effect: Two or more summoned creatures, no two of which can be more than 30 ft. apart
Duration: 10 min./level (D)
Saving Throw: None
Spell Resistance: No

This spell opens a portal to an Elemental Plane and summons elementals from it. A druid can choose the plane (Air, Earth, Fire, or Water); a cleric opens a portal to the plane matching his domain.

When the spell is complete, 2d4 Large elementals appear. Ten minutes later, 1d4 Huge elementals appear. Ten minutes after that, one greater elemental appears. Each elemental has maximum hit points per HD. Once these creatures appear, they serve you for the duration of the spell.

The elementals obey you explicitly and never attack you, even if someone else manages to gain control over them. You do not need to concentrate to maintain control over the elementals. You can dismiss them singly or in groups at any time.

When you use a summoning spell to summon an air, earth, fire, or water creature, it is a spell of that type. (Wizards of the Coast, 3.5 SRD, Spells D-E).

Unlike the spell Creeping Doom (see Summoning Magic, Part 2: the Creeping Doom for more on this spell) there is no need for us to invent a third party intermediary for use in making Elemental Swarm functional in relation to how summoning magic works. Yet there is a rather large variable in how many elementals heed your summoning.

Now why is that?

According to our understanding of summoning magic (see Summoning Magic for more on this topic) our magic user has a connection to the summoned creatures that allows them only to pull a single creature – that we are magically bound to - of any given type into this world. Yet here we are presented with a variable amount of elementals that come to us when we summon them. Why?

While it is entirely possible that our magic user is able to make multiple connections to different elementals, binding each to them as they do so, we are still left with the question of variablity. Namely, if we have bound these elementals to our service in such a way that they can be summoned into this reality, then why are some of them able to defy our call?

Two answers come to mind. 

On the one hand we could determine that the reason for variability comes from the elemental’s innate nature which allows them to defy our summons at times, while at others they must heed us. Yet, on the other hand, we could say that our binding is to a single, powerful elemental, who heeds our call by sending his subordinates in his stead. This would explain the variability and hold to our original understanding of summoning magic with out introducing a needless check for determining the elemental's resistance to our summoning.

As this spell is a ninth level spell and would only be used by the most powerful of magic users it seems reasonable to assume that our magic user would be bonded to a powerful entity - one that might be able to pull on the magic user as well. 

My natural inclination is to have the magic user bonding themselves to the Elder Elementals. Perhaps without fully realizing the danger inherent in using these powerful beings early on, but with a growing understanding of the deadly potential this relationship represents for them. Maybe something similar to the way that characters in H.P. Lovecraft's stories slowly become aware of the corrupting nature of the forces their wielding . . .

I'll need to give this idea more time to marinate. More later.

Is Dungeons and Dragons is a Race Fueled, Hate Machine?

There is a segment of this hobby that believes that the Dungeons and Dragons game is a racist, colonial extension of the American mindset drawing on our racially charged history to further propagate the idea that certain races are, by their very natures, somehow less than others. In order to further their assertion the proponents of this theory tend to focus on two avenues: the language used in the game; and the way that other, non-playable, races are treated by gaming materials through the use of racial alignments and the de-humanization of these creatures into moral caricatures.

I find this theory reprehensible and about as intellectually honest as those who proffer the Hollow Earth “truth.”[1] So as is my way I’m going to be working through each of these points and demonstrating how they’re built on false premises and draw incorrect conclusions based on the preconceived notions of their authors.

Language as Root Cause

One of the core precepts of this theory is that the language we use to describe our non-player races has a negative connotation designed to show these other races as lesser beings than the more complex and fully realized player characters. At times the other races are described as Savage. They travel in bands, and tribes; and exist as nomadic wanderers plaguing the civilized world. The problem with finding these terms objectionable occurs when you put them into the context they’re used as opposed to plucking them out of the text and proffering them to the world as proof of your own preconceived notions. The monstrous humanoids are called savage because of their “fierce and untamed nature,”[2] and not because they are some form of primitive that needs to be brought the light of civilization (see Dungeons and Dragons is Way More Racist than You Realize by Mark T. Hirsho for more).

“O ho!” I hear some of these supporters say, “but we don’t describe elves and dwarves as being grouped in bands and tribes. Clearly we do so with the monstrous humanoids to differentiate them as primitive tribes looking for the light of civilization!”

You betray more of your own prejudices by making such claims than do you articulate an argument in favor of your position. Bringing civilization to the wilds is not an activity inherently present in Dungeons and Dragons and if you encounter it in the game it is because you put it there.

Dungeons and Dragons is about exploring the wild places left in the world, finding long forgotten ruins, and returning to the safety of home richer and more experienced for the whole affair. We fight, we negotiate, we run from the monsters we encounter and we spend years developing complex strategies for dealing with the worlds we explore. We battle Slavers and turn back the vile machinations of mad demi-gods who would destroy the world. That’s Dungeons and Dragons; and the idea that all of that leads to colonialism is to misunderstand both the game and what happened during the colonial period.

The De-humanization of Non-human Races

It’s been argued that Dungeons and Dragons does nothing to encourage an understanding of the non-human races and instead goes out of its way to de-humanize them. Furthermore, this de-humanization is a direct result of our racism as we substitute the Other for the non-human races and allow ourselves to devolve in the worst manner possible (see Dungeons and Dragons and Racism by the Main Event, from the website Critical Hits for more).

This complaint is a modern dissatisfaction with the game manufactured by people who have little, to nothing, to do.

Without a doubt, we live in a world where morality is constantly in flux and it is hard to determine the motives of those around us. Every person we meet in this life has their own concerns, moral certainties, and stories. This is not the case for Dungeons and Dragons.

Gary Gygax once wrote “. . . This is a fantasy RPG predicated on the assumption that the human race, by and large, is made up of good people. Humans, with the help of their demi-human allies (dwarfs, elves, gnomes, etc.), are and should remain the predominant force in the world. They have achieved and continue to hold on to this status, despite the ever-present threat of evil, mainly because of the dedication, honor, and unselfishness of the most heroic humans and demi-humans-the characters whose roles are taken by the players of the game. Although players can take the roles of “bad guys” if they so choose, and if the game master allows it, evil exists in the game primarily as an obstacle for player characters to overcome. If they succeed in doing this, as time goes on, player characters become more experienced and more powerful - which enables them to contest successfully against increasingly stronger evil adversaries . . .”[3].

Let me put this another way.

The monsters are not stand-ins for the Other, but are designed as antagonists in the game that our players must overcome in order to progress. They are designated as evil creatures not because they stand in place of the Jew, Moslem, Black, or White but because it is the fundamental truth of the game that human beings – the people playing this game – are by and large good people. They are our contrast and our opponents; and without the conflict created by trying to overcome them there would be no game.

Your thoughts?

----------------------------------------------------

Notes

[1] While this theory has fallen to the wayside in recent years there is a small, but vocal group who continue to proselytize the idea that the world is actually hollow and that there is another, far better world inside. If you’re interested in finding out more about this try www.ourhollowearth.com

[2] The primary definition for savage as according to Webster’s New World dictionary (pg. 572).

[3] Gygax, Gary. Role-playing Mastery. New York. Perigee Books, 1987: 26 - 27.

Summoning Magic.

Over the course of the last few sessions of the Dyvers campaign my lovely wife has begun to develop here Sorceress into a pretty potent Summoning Mage. Which has been producing some really enjoyable results from my perspective; but I have a confession: I don’t know hardly anything about Summoning Magic.

In the nearly ten years that I’ve been running I’ve only had a handful of occasions when the magic user in my games has decided to Summon – which meant that most everyone else was as unfamiliar with the process as me – so I’ve always been able to just fudge the mechanics. However, with my wife getting really into this process it’s time for me to get off my rear and actually learn about this spell.

So that’s what we’re doing today.

“Summoning: A summoning spell instantly brings a creature or object to a place you designate. When the spell ends or is dispelled, a summoned creature is instantly sent back to where it came from, but a summoned object is not sent back unless the spell description specifically indicates this. A summoned creature also goes away if it is killed or if its hit points drop to 0 or lower. It is not really dead. It takes 24 hours for the creature to reform, during which time it can’t be summoned again.

“When the spell that summoned a creature ends and the creature disappears, all the spells it has cast expire. A summoned creature cannot use any innate summoning abilities it may have, and it refuses to cast any spells that would cost it XP, or to use any spell-like abilities that would cost XP if they were spells.” (Wizards of the Coast, 3.5 SRD, Magic Overview)

Let’s breakdown the salient points from this description of the Summoning Spell. (1.) the object or creature summoned appears in a place of your designation; summoned objects remain after the spell’s end but creatures do not; (3.) you can only summon one of any type of creature and if it dies under your summoning then you cannot re-summon it for 24 hours; summoned creatures will not use spells or spell-like abilities that cost XP; summoned creatures cannot hold any spells once they disappear.

There are some questions about these points that I need to address, though, before we move on to the actual spells.

Summoned Creatures and Their Possessions

According to the descriptor for Summoning magic creatures disappear when the spell ends but objects do not. Does this then mean that if a creature is summoned carrying an item that it will remain after the summons ends?

Not so much.

In the May 5, 2007 Sage Advice column this very question was asked. The Sage (who I believe was still Skip Williams at this time) replied “When a summoned creature goes away, so does everything it came with.

“If it’s holding or wearing something it didn’t appear with, that item drops to the ground in the creature’s space after it disappears . . .” (Source).

Now the interesting idea, at least to my mind, is that as a Summoner you can have your summoned compatriot retrieve most anything in the world, telling them any number of glorious lies, and then watch them disappear leaving it with you. Yet as appealing as that idea might be, the far more compelling idea is that the creature you brought into our world will take your most prized possession, hide it away, and then disappear into another realm where they then guard themselves from your re-summoning them to this realm.

The One True Celestial Dog

There is an interesting subplot working through these spells that had never occurred to me prior to reading the Summoning entry above: that for each of our characters there is only one creature that is ever summoned.

In the text above we’re told that a “. . . summoned creature also goes away if it is killed or if its hit points drop to 0 or lower. It is not really dead. It takes 24 hours for the creature to reform, during which time it can’t be summoned again . . .” (Wizards of the Coast, 3.5 SRD, Magic Overview). Which leads me to infer that for each magic user who summons a devil to do their bidding that there is only one such devil that they can contact.

In the terms of Third Edition this means that each magic user has a magical connection to one, individual, Celestial Dog and that only that single creature can be summoned when attempting to bring in that beast. In other words, though there may be hundreds of thousands of Celestial Dogs roaming about the planes only one of them is connected to your magic user and may be summoned by them.

That is a thoroughly interesting change in how the summoning spells should be thought about. Previously, I had always assumed that when you call on a Celestial Dog that you just happened to pull one from the ether to your side; but by this understanding of the spell you’re pulling the same Celestial Dog each and every time that you summon the creature. So doesn’t that mean you should know his name?

More later.

On Being a Hero, and the Illusion of Choice.

Over the last few months I’ve been reading a lot of archives, as you can imagine with the Great Blog Roll Call, and I’ve noticed that many of the bloggers I have read have come to the conclusion that while roguish characters are able to do anything they want and to exist in a fully free-form environment; heroes, on the other hand, exist in a limited environment where their freedom of choice is essentially illusionary.

Let’s look at an example:

A GM somewhere writes out the city of Metropolis and the city of Gotham and the rest of the world of DC Comics in excruciating detail. The train lines, the shop fronts, which hot dog store owners are secretly sharkmen, every inch of it. It's all ready to go.

Now here comes a PC playing Superman, into this sandbox.

"So what do you want to do today, Supes?"

"Uh, I guess I'll go on patrol."

Off he flies.

"Do I see any crime?"

"Umm, nope, not much, Metropolis is a f ully-f unctioning independent world going about its business."

"Ok, I keep going. Now do I see any crime?"

"Ok, some jamoke is robbing a bank."

"Well then I stop him!"

Now, what I want to say here is that this isn't really a sandbox. Why? Because Superman doesn't have any strategic choices here, really. He could decide to patrol (say) the docks instead of (say) the south side of town, but that's not a meaningful choice--i.e. it's like arbitrarily deciding "left or right"?

If nothing much is obviously going on, he keeps looking. If there's a crime, no matter how small, he has to stop it, because he's an Upright Hero. If there's a bigger crime, he has to stop that one first, because he's an Upright Hero.

While he has many interesting strategic and tactical choices about how to stop a crime, he doesn't have choices about which adventure to go on. ("Adventure" in the traditional sense--on his day off he could choose to stay home and read or curl up with Lois by the fire, but you get the point.)

Now let's say we have this same sandbox but the player is playing Lex Luthor.

"What'll we do this morning Lex?"

"Hmm...I say we send out some drones and look f or weak spots in the worldwide nuclear security apparatus."

"Do you have drones?"

"I'll roll on my Drone-Making. Oh, also, I want to blackmail the president, did I already say that? And then, hmm, I notice on this geological map that a mound of Fuckeverythingupium is just lying there underneath a mountain in Madagascar, I'll want some of that, and..."

In other words, whereas a villain confronted with a sandbox world will immediately start generating ideas, Upright Heroes (typical heroes) need a plot. Without the bank robbery, Superman would just endlessly circle Metropolis, then go to work at the Daily Planet. Without the whole problem with the Ring, Frodo would just sit and hang out in the Shire forever being wholesome and loyal and sipping tea. Without fires, firemen just hang out in their firehouse, Ever Vigilant, playing cards.

Now I don't actually want to talk about playing villains, I want to talk about playing Roguish Heroes. Grey Mouser, Conan, Cugel, Han Solo, and the stereotypically larcenous Old School D&D PC.

Now a Roguish Hero is not the same as a villain, and I am not saying everybody should play Lex Luthor but, functionally, pulpy roguish protagonists and villains have an important thing in common: they want something from the world. Gold, power, the admiration of attractive members of the opposite sex--something. The Upright Hero doesn't really want anything--or at least not anything that would bring him/her into violent conflict with the world as-is. The Upright Hero is not usually proactive, s/he waits until s/he sees injustice (even if it was an injustice that was there all along). Sandboxes And The Roguish Work Ethic by Zak S.

The goal of this example was to demonstrate that while each character had choices in how they acted during their time playing, only the Roguish character had true freedom of choice - while the Upright character only had the illusion of freedom of choice. Which would work if there wasn’t a false assumption involved in the example.

The false assumption in this example is that the Upright character is reactive, while the Roguish character is proactive. In other words, the Upright character only has the illusion of choice as he will always be reacting to the stimuli of the world by moving from location to location and acting based on what he encounters. By contrast, the Roguish character has actual freedom of choice as his actions are chosen not by reacting to the stimuli in each location but by proactively interacting with the world and creating the situations he encounters.

Which is a load of bunk.

At the start of play each character is presented a fully realized world. Then they are each asked the same question, “What are you going to do today?”

It is their answers to that question that dictates everything that comes after. Superman does not have be reactive by choosing to go on patrol. Instead he could be proactive and build himself a protective suit so that he can then fly about and eliminate all the kryptonite in the world; or he could choose to take Lois to Paris and screw until the world burns; or he could fly into Lex Luthor’s mansion and lobotomize him before he can cause real harm to the world. He has that freedom to proactively create the adventure he wants instead of reacting to the adventure he finds.

Once we dismiss the false assumption we’re left with a question: why do some players choose to be proactive and create the adventure they find, while others choose to become reactive and plod along in the adventures that finds them?

The answer comes down to the player’s motivation in the game. 

If you’re only looking to kill a bunch of stuff and take its loot then you’re not going to be waiting around for the plot to come find you. You’re going to actively seek out dangerous locations where treasure might be found and kill anything that’s rumored to have two coins to rub together – whether it’s the High Muckety Muck of St. Petersburg or the dragon that lives in Mt. Doom. But, if you’re looking for a world with a rich and detailed plot from the beginning of the game you’re going to be reactive to the world just like the Uptight character in the example I pulled from Zak S.

Let’s say that the problem in choice limitation isn’t based around the style of play adopted by each character, but by the moral limitations they place on themselves.

In this situation the Uptight character is compelled to react to the stimuli of the world because he cannot allow the bad acts of the villains to go unchallenged. In other words, he’s morally stupid and living in a black and white dystopia that will eventually drive him mad. The Roguish character, by contrast, is able to be proactive in relation to the world because his morals are assigned to a personal valuation. Therefore he is morally selfish and living a world where what the good is determined by how it benefits him and the bad by how it negatively affects him.

The problem is that the Uptight character doesn’t have to be morally stupid, just as he doesn’t have to be reactive. Instead he can choose to be a moral utilitarian or a moral pragmatist. As a moral utilitarian he will determine what is good as that which is best, by his own valuation, for the most people. So if killing the High Orc King of Mt. Tiny will save the people of his city, he’ll choose to do that. He’ll also choose to sacrifice a hundred lives to save the rest of the city - every time. But as a moral pragmatist the Uptight character will determine what is good as whatever is the best choice in his valuation given the present circumstances. So if charging down the stegosaurs saves his friends and family he’ll do it every time. He’ll also sack a temple of a false faith without thinking twice about it – after all, they should have chosen the right god to begin with. In each case the Uptight character will be able to exercise just as much freedom of choice as the Roguish character. 

Your thoughts?

Following Footsteps and Casting Shadows

This morning I was reading the article Resurgence of Gonzo by Norman Harman, from the blog Troll and Flame and it got me thinking about how there really isn't much of a chance for any of us to be wholly original. 

I should explain myself here. 

By that statement I do not mean that you cannot create an experience that is unique to you and your gaming group or that you cannot create a new thing that expresses your own unique view on the world and its influences on you; but, I do mean that there is nothing you can create that is without an outside influence that may be traced back to some earlier idea or thing you encountered previously. In simpler words, if you create a race of hillbilly dwarves it will be easy to demonstrate the influence of the trope and to point to similar works that occurred prior to your own creation as precursors. 

This is a fact of life: we are the culmination of our unique experiences and how we view, and interact, with the world at large is a result of those experiences. So being influenced by J.R.R. Tolkien or Jack L. Chalker and having our fantasy games take elements from those precursors is a natural extension of being human. That doesn't mean that it's okay to steal whole cloth from them and claim it as your own original idea, but you can take elements of their work and adjust it to fall in line with your own internal vision and sensibilities.

For example, I love the dwarves found in Terry Brooks' Sword of Shanara book. They're essentially a shorter stock of humanity that broke away from the more dominant branch after the fall of the old world - and naturally they tend to be miners. So for my games I'm going to make the dwarves a separate branch of humanity but rather than having them become shorter due to their time underground and the fall of the old world I'm going to have them being specially bred by a self-important corporation for use as engineers on galactic space freighters. 

Even in this idea, that I really enjoy, you can see influences that have shaped my internal vision. Not only can you see elements of Terry Brooks but there are also bits from William King's Gotrik and Felix novels, Jack L. Chalker's Midnight at the Well of Souls novel, Hewlitt and Martin's Tank Girl comics, and my own deep mistrust of corporations - which has more influences than I care to go into at this point. 

Now the dwarves I've created are original to me, but there is a clear line of influences in their creation. Does that mean that I shouldn't bring them into a game of Metamorphosis Alpha because they're the cumulative work of my experiences? 

Of course not.

If you were to eliminate all the races, settings, and games that were derivative works based on the efforts of those who came before them then you'd never play anything at all.