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|  To celebrate-slash-publicize Atlas Games’ release of WaRP, the underlying rules system for the Over the Edge game, under an open license, here’s a character in the WaRP stats. If you sense the presence of the Cut-Ups Method in the concept, you just might be onto something... While the WaRP license doesn’t grant the right to publish material based on the Al Amarja setting, hey, this is a blog entry and I’m a friend of the family, as it were.
Jewel Broussard
Weirdly Normal Person
Ever since she first saw the cartoon character Tiffany Trilobite on television as a young child and sensed weird depths in her, Kipton, OH native Jewel Broussard has instinctively pursued the random and offbeat. Now twenty-nine years of age, working as a substitute teacher, she has lived her entire life in this small village, never suspecting that the mundane events of her workaday existence play out in exaggerated parallel on the mysterious island nation of Al Amarja. When she spoke up at a village meeting for an increase in the firefighting levy, a new crew of violent, privatized emergency workers, the Broussard Clarions, sprang up on the island. When she caught a fellow teacher stealing money from her school’s prom fund, the dean of D’Aubainne University was arrested and executed by the government.
A few days ago, a plane ticket to Al Amarja arrived in the mail. Though usually cautious, Jewel has chosen to go to this place she’s never heard of, in hopes of discovering why someone would have sent it to her.
Mirrored Existence Events of her dull but happy life in Ohio reflect or create dramatic outcomes on the island. What happens when she gets there? 2
Substitute Teacher Knows a little about everything, but mostly how to earn the cooperation of unruly groups. 3
Inspiring Speaker Confidence and innate goodness make those who listen to her want to do as she suggests.
Sweetly naïve (flaw)
Hit Points 14
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| Earlier I argued that an RPG resolution system can—and should—help convey the game’s emotional message.
This raises a question: can we look at existing systems and ascribe an emotional message to their various interactions of arithmetic and die rolls?
We have no reason to believe that Dave Arneson and Gary Gygax were thinking about this stuff when they codified the “to hit” rolls. Nor was it an issue when designers of later editions expanded it into D&D’s unified core resolution mechanic. But what does a d20 roll do, emotionally?
A d20 is very swingy, offering the biggest range of results possible in the standard polyhedral toolkit. Its raw result introduces a high degree of randomness. You use the rules, in which a +2 bonus is consider mathematically significant, to try to shape its fundamental unpredictability. Stacking up bonuses from magic, items, feats, skills and situational modifiers, you try to move the needle from succeeding about half the time to instead about a 66% chance of success.
In other words, you are incrementally assembling small advantages into one big advantage, in an attempt to impose order on chaos. Through a kitbag of step-by-step accumulation you strive to dampen life’s fundamental arbitrariness. Roll well, and rationality prevails. Roll poorly, and you are reminded that disorder can never be conquered, only forestalled.
Years ago I argued that D&D is a celebration of naked capitalism, red in tooth and glaive-guisarme. Can it at the same time be our foremost existentialist roleplaying game?
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| Tsui Hark’s latest wuxia flick, Flying Swords of Dragon Gate is now available wherever you buy your Hong Kong video imports. (Remember, co-continentals: Asia and America share the same Blue Ray region.)
This sequel to the 1992 classic Dragon Inn serves up a study in contrasting eras of flying-people. The original is fast, energetic and sometimes technically crude. Flying Swords drips with mammoth production values, is Hark’s first foray into 3D, and relies as heavily on CGI-animated fu fighting as on wirework.
In plot embracing full convolution of its literary sources, Jet Li plays a eunuch-busting guerrilla who, after destroying the evil East Bureau, is hunted by the bad-ass prince of the even more evil West Bureau. Their paths take them to Dragon Inn, where the white meat in the noodles is people. Add a woman warrior disguised as him as an expression of unrequited love, a pregnant girl escaping the prince, and an assorted complement of treasure-hunting bandits, and you’ve got more story than you can shake a throwing dart at. And oh yes, there’s a gigantic sandstorm headed their way.
I wish this was as complete a return to form as Hark’s previous Detective Dee and the Mystery of the Phantom Flame. But here early reels that ought to be investing you in the characters is instead spent time throwing computer-animated objects at the 3D camera. Would I sooner see Jet Li in his athletic prime, fighting a dude in widescreen with a locked-off camera? Yes, but that was nearly twenty years ago now. If you’re a fan, lesser Hark and Li are still Hark and Li.
The trailer prominently features the opening cameo from a corrupt eunuch Gordon Liu.
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| Hey, guys. Happy early Mother’s Day to all the moms reading this. 
Two things for you today. First, part three of “Hell or High Water,” my Pathfinder serial fiction, is now up on the Paizo site. Take a look, let me know what you think, and come back next Wednesday for the final installment. (Again, link takes you to part one; just scroll down to get to three.)
Second, I’ve been given permission to mention another piece of short fiction on which I’m currently working. It’s a tie-in piece, for the official magazine of the property in question. I can’t go into a lot of detail, but here’s a hint:
It takes place a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away… 
(And if you don’t have the theme stuck in your head now, just from reading that, I don’t know you at all.) 
As I said, it’s a really short story, but I’m absolutely thrilled to have been invited to play in that particular sandbox, even if only a little. More about the story–including which issue of Insider it’s supposed to appear in–to come.
Originally published at Mouseferatu: Rodent of the Dark. You can comment here or there. | |
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| The late Maurice Sendak, who along with Theodore “Dr. Seuss” Geisel elevated the children’s book to high art, was often referred to as charmingly irascible. When people call you irascible with no further adjective, that’s usually a nice way of saying that you’re extraordinarily difficult but have somehow earned it. Charmingly irascible comes into play when your crankiness becomes entertaining—when you say the what we wish we had the cojones to say. Sendak wasn’t so much irascible as dead honest, and bracingly unconcerned with what you thought about that.
I’ve pointed it to again, but as we celebrate his life and work, here again is my all-time top statement of the governing ethos behind such classics as Where the Wild Things Are:
“I refuse to cater to the bullshit of innocence.”
We should all be so irascible.
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| Ego ManagementI get the question all the time: of everything you've worked on, what's your favorite? I've heard other people answer this question and say "they're like my children, I can't pick a favorite. I love them all." I might have used that myself once or twice. But the real answer is one that I've also heard other people use: "My favorite is the one I'm working on right now." That may sound like a cop-out, or just delusion, or perhaps shilling. But in fact, it's not. If you hear a creative person talking about their favorite project and say that it's the one they're working on now, it's the truth. It has to be the truth. Because if you don't absolutely adore what you're working on, and if you're not convinced that the world will stop spinning without it, you can't keep the motivation to do it. To put it another way, if you don't think what you're working on today is great, why are you doing it? Just for the money? Most creative people aren't that soulless. The moment I think I'm working on "just another rpg book," or "just another short story" is the day I hang it up. The problem is, of course, that some of us keep the attitude that what we're working on is the greatest thing since sliced pizza until well after the project is done. And that breeds ego and arrogance. Ego and arrogance is needed to fuel a project, but once it's done? It's good to back away. Oh, it's fine to be proud of what you've accomplished, and I think that's healthy and normal. But overinflated egos can be a real problem in creative industries. Not only does it make one insufferable to be around, it's detrimental to one's interaction with the people one is actually creating for. It turns people away. (The flip side is, however, don't mistake self-promotion--something a good creative's got to do to eat--and ego. There's correlation there, perhaps, but not causation.) I don't think there's anything I've worked on that I'm still not at least somewhat proud of, but I also know there's none of it that's perfect. Not one thing that I wish I couldn't go back and change, revise, or rewrite in some way. Ptolus, my beautiful and massive hardcover book is not without its errors. Third edition D&D? Plenty of balance issues, rules confusion, and design choices I would re-think if I could do it all again. I'm sure my co-designers would agree. My first novel? A bit cringeworthy, actually, but there's still a few passages I like. I find it difficult to navigate in a world surrounded by massive egos. I and my peers--whether it be in game design or fiction writing--are at best big fish in ridiculously small ponds. In the past, I have tried to remind them of that, but it hardly wins me friends, let me tell you. So now I keep it to myself. Ego and who is "deserving" of it, ultimately, is all a matter of perspective. Unless you've saved a billion lives, maybe, keep some humility. | |
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| How To Design Games the Robin Laws Way
(Part Six of Several; see part one for introduction and disclaimer)
With the core book outlined, it’s time to tackle the question of the game’s core resolution system.
(The reality isn’t so linear; thoughts about the book’s structure generally arise in parallel to ideas about the resolution system.)
If you’re designing a new game based on an existing core rules set, the choice is simple—let’s use that one. It might be dictated to you by the publisher, or a decision that you make as a designer. In the latter case, you'll obviously be constrained to the core rules sets available to you. Most likely, you’re working with a rules set by the same publisher. Or you might be using one available through a license, open or limited. We’ve already talked about the process of fitting a new game to an existing rules set; you’re presumably doing the Game X take on Y genre/setting.
If, however, I’m working from scratch, I want to design a core resolution system that creates the emotional dynamic implied by the core goal. Dying Earth, with its rolls and rerolls, evokes the comical back-and-forth of the source material. DramaSystem emulates the basic construction of dramatic scenes and otherwise gets out of the way. HeroQuest zooms out to a broader emulation of story construction, including the pass/fail cycle I later refined in Hamlet's Hit Points. GUMSHOE asks why it feels cool when heroes gather information in a mystery story, and brings that to the gaming table.
I never start out with a novel or abstractly intriguing mechanical idea and then try to build a game around that chassis. It starts with feeling. The mathematical construct is secondary; what the players are feeling when they use it is everything.
Recently I had the experience of switching from one core system owned by my publisher to the other. Before digging into the research for The Gaean Reach, I figured it would be Skulduggery-based, with bits of GUMSHOE sorted in. After reacquainting myself with Jack Vance’s delightful source material, I saw how the structure of its stories differed from the superficially similar Dying Earth tales the core rules were originally designed for. The SF novels played were more about investigation with the occasional setback than the constant picaresque reversals undergone by the likes of Cugel and Rhialto. So I shifted gears, to a GUMSHOE core with appropriate Skulduggery elements grafted on. Again this was a matter of creating the right feel, whether or not the crossover between the two systems introduces brand confusion.
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| Player Empowerment
I was recently chatting with a college professor about the origins of the word and concept of "power" versus "authority." The general gist is that power is something that you take (with the implications of taking it by force) while authority is granted. Thus, a military coup takes power. A democratic election grants authority. So it's technically wrong to say that something can "empower" something else. You shouldn't actually say that your new workplace is empowering for the employees. Power is something you take. Authority is something you grant.
There's your pedantic thought for the day.
Still, while I'll still likely use the word "empowerment" incorrectly, it's still an interesting way of looking at the concept of how a roleplaying game grants the authority over how the game is paced. Normally, we would think of the Game Master as being in control of the pacing of the game. Something that I've been thinking about for years (because I remember when I first started going down this game design road I happen to know that it's been twenty years, actually--weird how time flies) is empowering--or rather, authorizing--players to have a say in the pacing of the game.
Now, it's worthwhile to spend a second and discuss what pacing means in this context. For my purposes here, I mean the general flow of the game from encounter to encounter (whether those encounters are combat, roleplaying, general exploration, character development, or anything else). It's what keeps the beginning of the session, the adventure, and the campaign feeling different from the middle and the end. What keeps each encounter unique, and makes the story flow in an interesting and compelling way. In a traditional story--a book, a movie, a TV show--its both the foundation and the finishing touch that can turn a mediocre tale into a fantastic one. It's really, really important.
In an rpg, most people would say that the GM controls the pacing. But is this really true? In many game systems, players have the ability, at least occasionally, to decide, "okay, in this encounter I'm really going to use my big guns." In such systems, the player gets to have as much authority in how an encounter will play out as the GM. Consider the 1st edition D&D wizard at first level, with his one spell. It's probably sleep. Because now that player gets to go on the adventure and determine "okay, I'm going to take it easy in this encounter," or "okay, this is the encounter I'm just going to take out in one fell swoop."
Now, some people criticize that because it's swingy. (Or, that the wizard should have at least something interesting to do in those other encounters--but that's another issue.) And I understand that. But that swinginess is the player controlling the pacing. It doesn't have to be THAT swingy for the concept to work, however. That's an extreme example. A better one would be a 5th level wizard deciding, "is this a magic missile encounter or a fireball encounter?"
Traditionally, it's been spellcasters who get this kind of resource management system. But what if everyone in the game had that kind of authority? 4th edition D&D did that a little with giving everyone a daily combat power, but what if it wasn't just in combat? What if the very core mechanic of a game allowed for that kind of player authority?
Take for example, the locked door. Locked doors in rpgs are weird, because they would seem so straightforward, but really depend on the kind of game you're playing. Are you playing a sandbox simulation game? Because then the difficulty of getting through that door simply is what it is. If you can't get through it, then you don't get to see what's on the other side. No matter how cool it is--no matter how much the GM wants you to see it. GMs in such a setting have to be careful of locked doors. You might accidentally cut off the whole adventure (of course, good sandbox GMs don't care--the stuff on the other side of some other door is just as interesting). On the other hand, in a narrative story-game, how difficult the lock is probably depends on how important it is to get through it. If you're on a quest to save the captive prince and the tower he's locked in has a tough door, there HAS to be a way through it. The GM wants--no, he NEEDS--you to get through it or the adventure grinds to a halt. That GM, too, has to be careful about designing his locked doors. More so than even the other GM. That's why so many heavily story-based games have lots of ways for the GM to hand wave and say "you unlock the door." Unlocking the door isn't even really an aspect of the game. It's just a minor detail of the story, placed for verisimilitude's sake.
But while I want the GM to be able to determine how tough the locked doors are in any game I play (or design), I think it would be cool if the players had the authority to say, "okay, I'm really focusing my attention on this door." This would mean that the character doesn't have a flat lockpicking ability, but would have some kind of resource to expend (or not) to accomplish the task. So he could determine, "I don't really care about what's on the other side of this door, but I'll just try it," or "I really want to see what on the other side of this door, and so by gods, I'm opening it if it's at all possible." Or anything in between. We all have been in this circumstance in real life. We all know that sometimes we give something a shot, and other times we give something everything we've got.
Now imagine the players had this kind of authority in every kind of action. Not the ability to dictate (success wouldn't be assured or it wouldn't be interesting), but the ability to influence. They could have a say in the pace of the game. The flow of the story. And the GM could count on that. It would help ensure that the game goes the way that the players want without giving away everything. Players would feel more like they could affect the world, and might be more likely to be proactive not only in the small things (like getting a door open) but in the larger plot points as well. GMs would be free to not worry about the kinds of challenges they put forth, because the players would have a bit of a safety net if things went horribly awry.
Ultimately, the GM would still have ultimate authority over the setting and the challenges the PCs faced. But the players would have more authority over how their characters interacte with the setting and the challenges. Various games have put mechanisms like this in place. And I think it's really fascinating. It's something that I'm tinkering with now. | |
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| I started this story when I was in Austin and finally finished it over the weekend. Really, it's the start of something longer but as I may or may not pursue that, I decided to just post it here and see what people thought. I'll explain what I was trying to do in a later post but better if you don't read that first. The Man in the Ushanka It was cold. She tried to think of warm places. Summer in Catalonia, the streets of Barcelona baking in the noontime sun. The trip to Greece with her father when she was only 13. Walking through the Grand Socco in Tangier, sweating under her djellaba as she tried to shake the fascist agents tailing her. Thinking about the Franquist swine got her blood up and that helped. Reflecting on her comrades and what they had lost let her focus, let her remember why she had traveled so far from her homeland. A year ago they had lost the war. Franco and his fascists had conquered Spain. She had fled, like hundreds of thousands of others. Many had ended up in refugee camps in France or other nations, but not her. The war was over but she still had a purpose. She had wept bitter tears for her dead friends and then set about her task. Now she was here and it was cold. Harbin. Far in the north of China, a stop on the Trans-Siberian Railway. Her skills, her instincts, and her will had brought her here, to this city, to this street, to this building. Ten minutes ago a man wearing a thick, fur ushanka had entered the building. No one else had followed and the street was empty. No one else was foolish enough to be out after dark. She padded up to the door and paused to listen. Nothing. It appeared unlocked, so she eased it open slowly and slipped inside. The entry room was dark and empty. She heard voices beyond. The speakers seemed fully engaged so she gave herself a few minutes to warm up. Then she pulled off her gloves and reached under her coat to find her chosen instrument: a Mauser machine pistol. She did not bother to attach the broomhandle-shaped shoulder stock. That was used to steady your aim for distance shooting but tonight was all about getting up close. She moved forward quietly and scanned the next room. It too was dark and empty but a door across the way was open and light shined up from the basement. She made her way there and padded down the stairs. Now she could hear the speakers quite clearly: two men, both Russian. "...you see, comrade, this is why you must return to Mother Russia. We need men of science like you to build our great Soviet state." The speaker had his back to her but she recognized his voice. She was sure she would never forget it, in fact. Her grip on the Mauser tightened. "I have given you my answer a dozen times," the other man said, his voice agitated. "I came to Harbin to get away from Stalin and his cronies. I don't care about politics. I just want to be left alone to continue my work." "And as I've told you as many times, comrade, your work is why you are needed in Moscow. You won't be punished for your flight. You can have a comfortable life, an intellectual life...if you come voluntarily." She was down the stairs before the man could give his answer. "No one here is going to Moscow," she said calmly in Russian, leveling the Mauser at the man in the ushanka. "You least of all." “Dr. Karpenko,” chided the man as he turned around. “You didn’t tell me you had found love in Harbin.” His smile froze on his face when he saw the Mauser. “Your devotion is touching, my dear, but you better put the gun down before you make me angry.” “I don’t know this woman,” said Dr. Karpenko, backing away. The man in the ushanka looked from the gun to her face. Their eyes locked. “If you knew who I was, woman, you would run screaming into the night. Get out now.” “I know exactly who you are,” she said, and the man laughed. She continued, “You are Georgy Rakov, a Major of State Security of the NKVD. You learned your trade in the Lubyanka prison in Moscow. There you tortured and executed many innocent comrades during the purges. From 1937 to 1939 you were stationed in Spain, ostensibly to fight fascism. Your real mission was to set up secret prisons near Madrid, where you could bring a little bit of Lubyanka to the Spanish Republic.” Rakov took a step back. She tensed, thinking he might be trying to make a break towards an unknown exit, but now that she could see the basement she knew she had him cornered. The room was full of machinery, and strange machinery at that. She saw whirling gyroscopes, sparking antennae, and countless moving cogs. The work of Dr. Karpenko, she presumed, but what its purpose was she could not say. “You seem to have me at a disadvantage, madam,” said Major Rakov. “You know so much about me and I so little about you. Who sent you? The Whites? The Japanese or their Manchurian puppets? Franco?” She shook her head slowly. “You really don’t remember, do you? I suppose when you’ve tortured so many, the faces all blend together.” She removed her hat and tossed it to the floor. “I am Sara Nikas Ramon. Do you recognize me now? No? Perhaps you remember me better by my code name: Nike.” Rakov’s eyes went wide. “You! You’re supposed to be dead. I ordered your execution myself!” “So you did,” she replied coolly. “I’d tell you how I escaped but I want you to go to your grave wondering how I survived, and how I tracked you down.” Dr. Karpenko suddenly piped up. Sara had been so focused on Major Rakov that she had forgotten the exiled scientist was there. “I am no friend of the Soviets, but please do not shoot him down here. This machinery is very delicate and I will not see my life’s work ruined.” “Rakov seems to value your work,” she said. “That alone inclines me to destroy it, but I will not. I have but one purpose here.” “She thinks she is going to kill me, doctor,” said Major Rakov with a laugh. “Well, Nike, here I am. Shoot me, if you have the guts.” He thrust out his chest, daring her to fire. “Can you do it? Can you murder a man in cold blood?” He was using the voice she knew so well. The hard voice of command. The one that both guards and prisoners feared. She eased off on the Mauser and sighed. “I cannot kill a man in cold blood.” Rakov’s face lit up in triumph. “But you are not a man,” she said, snapping the machine pistol up and firing a burst straight into Rakov’s chest. He staggered back and crashed into a wall. He doubled over, coughing and wheezing. Then he righted himself and suddenly there was a pistol in his hand. His mouth and chin were wet with blood, but still he smiled as he brought his pistol up. “This is for my comrades,” said Sara icily, and she squeezed the trigger again. More bullets tore into Rakov and he fell heavily to the ground. To her amazement, his pistol slowly rose again but hand was shaky and it was pointing in the wrong direction. Sara shook her head, muttering, “Can’t you even die without Stalin’s permission?” She walked across the basement to finish the job and that’s when the pistol went off. She realized that he hadn’t been aiming at her at all, but at Karpenko’s strange machinery. Three shots rang out in the basement and then Rakov’s arm fell to the floor. It was enough. The machinery began to smoke and electricity arced off the antennae. “You fools!” cried the doctor. “You fools!” Sara turned to dash towards the stairs but it was too late. The machinery exploded with a roar, throwing her forward. It seemed like she flew through the air for a long time. She knew she would crash into the stairs or the wall and probably break her neck. Instead she had the sensation of falling from a great distance. She was sure her eyes were open but she saw nothing but white. Then she felt a chill shock and all the breath was knocked from her lungs. She didn’t know how long she laid in the cold. Was she dying? Was she dead already? Finally, the aches in her bones convinced her she was still alive and she struggled to her feet. She had fallen, Sara realized, into a snow drift, but how could that be? She had been inside a house. It was snowing and she was chilled to the bone. Sara cursed herself for taking off her hat in Karpenko’s basement. What little body warmth she had was being sucked away quickly. She put her gloves back on and began to move. If she stayed still, she was going to freeze to death. After a few minutes of trudging she came upon an arm sticking out of a snow drift. She grabbed the hand and pulled. The body would not budge so she used both hands and put her back into it. Suddenly it came free from the ice but now she was off balance. She lost her footing and fell to the ground, the body falling on top of her with a thud. She found herself staring into the frozen face of Major Rakov. Fear clutched her gut but it passed quickly. Rakov was dead, his lifeless eyes gazing into nothingness. Sara got up and dusted the snow off her coat. It was then she noticed Rakov’s ushanka in the snow drift his corpse had so recently occupied. She smiled and picked it up. In weather like this, a good ushanka could save your life. | |
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| As happens from time to time, a slot has opened in up in my weekly Thursday night game group. We meet from 7-10 pm in the Annex area of downtown Toronto. The game of choice shifts depending on what I’m playtesting or familiarizing myself with at any given moment.
At present I’m running a follow-up playtest of my new DramaSystem game. This will not use the standard Hillfolk setting, but will instead follow the conflicts and desires of a traveling circus troupe in Depression-era America. The players have asked that their carnies have supernatural powers. (I asked the group what setting they wanted to play and they settled on an homage to Carnivale. This blatant act of premise appropriation is for in-house purposes only and not for publication, so rest easy, HBO legal department.)
Once I’ve given the post-playtest rules draft enough of a spin, we’ll move on to Dreamhounds of Paris, a Trail of Cthulhu campaign in which you portray the major figures of the surrealist movement, after they discover the capability of consciously reconfiguring Lovecraft’s dreamlands. Goodbye Dunsany pastiche, hello melting clocks.
If interested, please shoot me a message on whatever platform you’re seeing this on. Give me a quick sense of your RPG tastes and experience. We’ve had a ton of fun over the years and look forward to bringing in an enthusiastic new player whose time commitments allow for reliable attendance.
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| Sure, I desperately want to see the Avengers. And Dark Knight. And Prometheus. But even more than those? This: The Amazing Spider-Man.
Yes, it’s an origin story again, and yes, it’d be nice if it weren’t. But A) it looks like a take on it we haven’t seen before, and B) far more important, it looks, from what we’ve seen, like a Spider-Man movie that gets the character completely right. (Something that, as much as I loved the Maguire/Raimi movies–and I really did love them, at least the first two–they never quite managed to accomplish.)
I don’t care if it’s an origin story. I don’t care if it’s “too soon” for a reboot. It’s freakin’ Spider-Man.
Originally published at Mouseferatu: Rodent of the Dark. You can comment here or there. | |
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| I’m pleased to announce that “Susan”, my story of undead unwholesomeness set during a queasy recovery from the zombie apocalypse, will be reprinted in Extreme Zombies, an anthology from Prime Books. Editor Paula Guran has packed its pages with impressive names, meaning that I’ll be sharing a masthead with such worthies as George R. R. Martin, Nancy A. Collins, and Joe R. Lansdale. Lest you conclude that only the middle initial users need apply, the book also makes gore-spattered room for Stone Skin Press contributors Jesse Bullington and Monica Valentinelli. Check out the full roster on the Prime Press site.
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