#RPGaDAY2015, Day 25: A Revolutionary Game Mechanic

For my Favorite Revolutionary Game Mechanic, I was planning on writing about Audience Participation rules for Primetime Adventures, but while it’s one of my favorite game elements, it hasn’t really been added to games that followed its introduction. This is a shame, but I can see how it was forgotten or ignored by later games. Most roleplaying games are thought of as being played in private, around a table or over a virtual tabletop or from the sofa and chairs in the living room. Audience Participation comes in when you’re playing Primetime Adventures in public. When a conflict comes up, people watching the game also get a card to vote for which side of the conflict they want to win. ((In earlier editions, they could also get narration rights, too, so they could definitively say what was going on in the conflict’s aftermath.)) It’s a neat rule that allows for interesting play at game days and conventions.

Huh. I guess I did write about that.

Anyway, my favorite revolutionary game mechanic that was used in games that came after it is found in the pages of Twilight: 2000, and it is similar to how PTA allows the players to take over and control the setting. I know, that’s a strange concept when thinking of Twilight: 2000. Games of that time went like this: the GM is in charge of the world and everything in it, the players are in charge of just one thing — their guy — and can only affect the GM’s world through the efforts of their guy. It’s the GM’s world, you just play in it. And that’s pretty much Twilight: 2000.

Except for one thing that I don’t many people noticed.

t2000Contacts.

As part of character generation, you get contacts for your soldier. Contacts are people you’ve known before the war, even dirty filthy commies, and with the setting of the war, it’s a bit of an odd coincidence that your Topeka-born G. I. Joe will run into his reporter ex-girlfriend in the wartorn countryside of Poland, but hey, that could really happen. But let’s narrow down a little bit into how you create contacts. You can do it the old-fashioned way, creating a little NPC with stats and everything, or you could do it the revolutionary new game mechanic way and create a generic contact. You leave that contact line blank, except for a generic type. Criminal. Military. Government. Whatever. And then, right there while you’re playing, you can point to an NPC in the scene and say “See that guy right there, The Butcher of Warsaw? I know that guy.

The GM rolls.

Whoa.

You totally do know The Butcher of Warsaw.

Players taking control of the narrative outside the in-game actions of their characters: completely revolutionary, found in — of all places — Twilight: 2000.

#RPGaDAY, Last Year: Day 25 – Favorite RPG Nobody Wants To Play

Aha! I did mess up the numbering for the last three #RPGaDAY, Last Year posts, but that’s because I was travelling about this time last year and had a whole bunch of posts lined up and squirted out into the ether, one day a year ago. Apparently I’m back from wherever the hell I was ((Probably camping in Acadia National Park.)) and thought it was high time to tell you about My Favorite RPG No One Else Wants To Play. Oddly, it hasn’t changed. It’s still Apocalypse World.

awI really like the system ((See this post at G+ and the footnote at this post)) and how the AW book delivers information to the reader. But we played the not-quite-final version of Dungeon World well before we ever played AW. Our Dungeon World game was quite an awful experience and I think some of that tainted our Apocalypse World game.

With AW, there’s all these other characters in the world to interact with, all these interactive situations where players can just go and the world works. Characters in AW don’t have to be opposed to each other; they can function as a team – some people in my group absolutely hate inter-party conflicts ((Fighting between the characters, that is. It’s okay if some characters have different goals, but when one player’s character attempts to kill another’s, that’s right out.)), and even still, AW can work.

dwDungeon World, because it sets up the game as a group of dungeoneers, separates the player’s characters from the “other characters” of AW. We ran the Bloodstone Idol adventure, which is a straight up dungeon delve. Your dungeon explorers may come into contact with a mad sorcerer, but there’s nothing that makes that “boss monster” as real as Midnight, a leader of wasteland scavengers, that you have to deal with in AW. This probably comes from one of the core principles of AW that doesn’t transfer over to DW: name everyone, make everyone human. When your characters come face-to-face with Midnight, they know her name. This implies that they’ve heard of her before. Maybe they’ve encountered some of Midnight’s men and heard her name that way. Our dungeoneers don’t know the name of the goblin chieftain that’s shooting arrows at them. AW focuses on interaction with others, DW focuses on interaction with the environment. When this happens, AW becomes a role-playing game, DW becomes a game where you’re moving pieces on a board and rolling, occasionally. ((Which is exactly what happened in our game. About three chambers into the dungeon and nobody was speaking in character. “I go over to this wall and peek around the corner.” Stuff like that. So when we got to the room where if anyone spoke these statues would come to life and attack us (which means that it just triggers a fighting sequence instead of any actual role-playing), the adventurers were just mute pieces moving around a board. No living statues. No nothing.))

Dungeon World didn’t work well in the dungeon. Last year, I played in a DW game and it worked well when we were at the Elf Queen’s court, negotiating, and at the village where we had to confront someone fleeing from the village and the people assaulting her/guarding the village. Both of these scenes would have fit into an AW game. We didn’t go into a series of caves or tunnels where we were cut off from the other people in the world, and it worked. If we had, we’d be forced to bounce off each other.

Which leads me to why I much prefer the Hx of Apocalypse World to the bonds of Dungeon World. In general: Hx shows the relationships between characters, bonds exist to set up conflict between them. Sure, there are a few Hx with “you left me bleeding and did nothing”, but that’s in the past, and not every character has those. Each character in DW has a bond that is about some sort of current conflict: “you are keeping an important secret from me”, “you know incriminating details about me”, and “I am working on converting you to my faith” as examples. Everything is current and everything is set up to foster dysfunction. ((Ryan Macklin speaks a bit about this at his website: http://ryanmacklin.com/2012/05/antagonist-bonds-toxicity-dw/ )) …which I suppose is how DW deals with three or four characters, deep underground, with nobody to talk to but themselves. But the linear dungeon crawl from Room 3 to Room 4 to Room 5 isn‘t really a good venue to discuss how St. Cuthbert is a really kewl dood you really should follow, room after room after room. ((Also, in that DW game with the Elf Queen and all, by the time we went through character creation and bond assignments, my character went from someone nice to a manipulative dick.))

The World After the Apocalypse Wallpaper__yvt2

But in Apocalypse World, we’re making it about the characters and how they exist and survive and function in this setting. Even with trying to get the focus on this, and having a great time running Apocalypse World, there were a few missteps I took that helped to tank the campaign. (Our apocalypse was Poison Ivy’s fantasy come to life: nature went wild and choked the world in plant growth. We were on the island of Manhattan.) We had a Hocus, a cult leader, and two other players who weren’t cultists. Now, when I decreed this, I meant that the other two weren’t people that the Hocus could push around, but I made the mistake of referring to them as outside the Hocus’ inner circle (when they should have been the inner circle) and having a believer assigned to the players to watch over them and make sure they didn’t step out of line. So right off, I started adding toxicity to the mix between the players’ characters instead of introducing conflict between the characters and the others in the world. ((Sorry, gang.)) We also didn’t have a hardhold to start in, so we went with a travelling band of cultists on the island, which meant that when there were conflicts between the Brainer and one of the cultists, it was a proxy conflict between the Brainer and the Hocus.

So that didn’t end well.

By the time the group stopped the game, we had the cult (and group as a whole) dealing with a warlord, a hardhold, and about to take on the Mayor of New York, so there were plenty of people to bounce off of, but we started with an unstable foundation in the group, and that snowballed downwards.

Despite that, I really love the system and I’ve seen/heard other groups play the game with some fantastic AP reports. I’d love to play it again, but I feel the earlier DW game and the way last year’s AW game imploded have soured *World on the other players in the group.

Any additional comments you’d like to well, add?

Yes! Thanks, me.

While I seriously think the reason why people in the group don’t want to play AW again is the inadvertent toxicity that I engineered at the get-go, one person I spoke to after that said they didn’t fell like their character was heroic. And to be honest with myself, I think there is something of that with not having a place to defend or protect, which meant that the protagonists didn’t have anything concrete to care about. We didn’t start off with a hardhold and the Hocus chose a nomadic cult (which meant the others were nomads as well). Instantly there wasn’t anything concrete for our Faceless or Brainer to grab onto to protect or defend or tie to themselves; the other cultists, maybe, but they were all the Hocus’ flock. ((And to complicate things, the Hocus didn’t want to lead them, they just followed him — further distancing from things to tie the protagonists to an anchor.))

I strongly feel that all three players in the game would enjoy playing Apocalypse World, if we had their protagonists tied more to something in the setting, rather than just floating from settlement to settlement. But because of our playthough of Dungeon World and how our last Apocalypse World game ended, I don’t think I’d be able to get all of us back to that particular game again. ((Plus, during daylight savings time, we’ve got a three-hour time difference between us.))

#RPGaDAY2015, Day 24: Favorite House Rule

Favorite House Rule.

Hmm.

511903Z0Q4LWell, I know my least favorite house rule. We’re playing Dungeons & Dragons and when in combat, we could only say three words per round to each other. That last sentence would take seven rounds for my character to complete. ((Round Two: “And Dragons and!”)) Really annoying. I suppose it was to cut down on table chatter and make combat faster or to realistically model how much one could speak in a game where an elf can summon a massive ball of fire to immolate an owl/bear hybrid. We said it was annoying, but the DM stuck to his guns.

So we had an encounter where some bandits in some bushes started shooting arrows at us and we nearly wiped them out in the first combat round, chasing two stragglers for two more rounds, which is what, nine, eighteen seconds of time in-game? So we’re chasing down the last two guys and my paladin shouts out to them, “That was a!” Next round. “Poorly planned ambush!” Everyone laughs.

Well, everyone but the guy behind the DM screen. ((After we left the game, I ran into one of the other players who told us he saw that DM break up three other groups by pulling stupid crap I could write and write and write about. The three word thing was the least of it.))

But favorite?

It’s probably going to be a rule that’s used in some other game, ported over to another one.

Fan Mail in Primetime Adventures — where players give rewards to other players for bringing something awesome to the table. ((The person that’s the show’s Producer puts chips in the center of the table to increase difficulty in a conflict; these chips are given to players, who can use them on other turns to gain a benefit in a conflict.)) But it’s a bit difficult to institute in some games. It’s somewhat equivalent to John Wick’s Fraternitas dice mechanic and somewhat close to Eberron’s Action Dice thing. Basically, you do something, someone rewards you with extra dice and you can use those to add on to another roll to do something. Throw a spear at a clockwork storm giant? Roll your d20, add your attack bonus, and — just to make sure — roll in that d6 Action Die someone gave you a few scenes ago.

Neat.

BurningwheelRPGCoverBut the one house rule I use (or try to) in all my games is “Let It Ride”, from Burning Wheel, I think. Once you make a check in the game, it sticks around for the whole of the thing you’re doing. Because making a whole series of checks for a thing your character is doing means that failure isn’t an option, it’s an eventuality. Sneaking into a building with a 50% Sneak Ability? Roll to get past the first set of guards. Now roll to get past the second set. Now roll to see how quietly you get up the stairs. Now roll to see if you can open the door without any of the guards detecting you. — No, just roll once, or else your little burglar is going to only succeed all four of those tasks 6.25% of the time. It’s not if she’ll be caught, it’s when. ((Plus, a hero is supposed to be good at what they do. Err on the side of fun.))