In Which The Warlock Blathers on Balance...

As you can imagine from my prior entry, I'm pretty high on Sentinels of the Multiverse right now.  Our Friday Night group has played it for two weekends straight, with FridayNightWill picking up the base game and both expansions!

So enthused, I decided to register on the Greater Than Games forums, where discussion between playtesters and the community at large has really sprung up.  One of the most vociferous and heated arguments thusfar has centered around three heroes:  the mechanic-themed martial artist Mister Fixer, the gunslinging vigilante Expatriette, and the icebound avenger Absolute Zero.  This argument centers on balance:  simply put, Fixer and Expatriette are viewed by many as underpowered, while opinion on Absolute Zero swings drastically between over- and underpowered, depending on who you ask.

Six of one, one of another?
Somehow, a designer has to make it all balance!

Now, there's an interesting conundrum running in the background here.  What, actually, does balance mean? Are two characters balanced if one person can sit down to play each and still have fun?  Each person's definition of fun varies drastically.  I tend to shy away from playing "cleric-type" characters in RPGs, while favoring charismatic, arcanely-powered blasters.  That doesn't mean that a cleric-type is imbalanced while in my hands, though my personal investment in the character may equate to a difference in gameplay.

Does balance imply mechanical equity?  When different mechanics are in play, the very nature of mechanical equity becomes a qualitative assessment.  Is a universal "+2 to damage for one round" buff equal to a power that deals 6 damage?  Thinking mechanically, one might figure that if at least 3 attacks are made using that buff, it would be as good as, if not better than, the single damage power.  But when chance enters the picture--perhaps through SotM's Villain and Environment decks, or through the machinations of a Wicked GameMaster--that simple equation goes out the window.

Absolute Zero, with two of his key pieces of equipment.
Does his reliance on them make him underpowered?
Or do his maxed-out combos make him king of the hill?

What about opportunity cost?  Decision-making certainly comes into play in terms of balance.  Using the aforementioned heroes, Absolute Zero hinges on having several key pieces of equipment out on the board in order to function on a basic level.  Zero's base power does not affect others--it actually damages himself though additional pieces of equipment allow this damage to be magnified and redirected to foes or even used to heal himself.  However, putting these pieces of equipment into play requires several turns of dedicated actions; actions which aren't spent dealing damage, conquering villains, or removing hazards.  This becomes particularly dangerous when many of the villains in SotM have cards that eliminate equipment or remove heroes' cards from play.  However, when fully equipped with his arsenal, Zero can throw down absurd amounts of damage, wiping the field free of minions and laying the hurt on a would-be supervillain.

Mister Fixer, on the other end of the spectrum, has little set-up time and is much less reliant on equipment and cards in play.  Fixer's base power deals damage to a foe:  very straightforward, though at slightly-lower damage than other heroes with similar powers.  Almost every card that Fixer can play adds to his base damage, though many criticize Fixer's deck for being repetitive--a large proportion of his deck consists of martial arts styles or "tools", each of which Fixer may only have one in play at a time.  In turn, this repetition limits his overall maximum damage, resulting in a lower maximum than other damage-dealing heroes, even as his damage requires less set-up and is more "consistent".

Is simplicity power or weakness?
This is getting a little Zen...

Does Fixer's lack of complexity imply that he's less powerful than Absolute Zero?  Does Fixer's speed of play mean he's more powerful than Zero?  What about his limited options?  Does Fixer's limited damage mean he's less powerful?  Does Zero's complexity and length of set up make him underpowered, or does his optimal upper-range combo push him into overpowered?

Answers to questions like these don't come easily in game development.  Savage Worlds attempted to quantify its racial abilities, putting them on a +/-2 point scale.  However, even when quantified in this way, imbalances still arrive.  Is the ability to breathe underwater equal to a free d8 in Vigor?  Is a free choice of Edge equal to a +2 bonus to get out of Shaken?  Who knows?  

This sort of question has recently arisen with a vengeance, as we've been moving ahead with Cold Steel Wardens revisions.  While metahuman powers seem to be in a good place and the base skills are solid, CSW's Masteries have been somewhat on the weak side.  Masteries are intended to allow additional uses of skills--using the Scientific skill for the purposes of computer hacking or using Athletics as an active defense, tumbling away from enemies.  However, in many cases, they fell into the ongoing issue of providing additional skill dice, given a particular situation.  That's not 'fun'.  That's not 'interesting'.  As such, we're going back to the board with them.

And that's not a bad thing!  We're still locked and loaded to hit our deadlines, with layout samples and art pieces coming in throughout the month.  I'm devoted to putting forward a great game, and I don't intend on being complacent in ensuring that the best possible Iron Age comics game hits the shelves.  We forge on, friends and neighbors!

In Which the Warlock Pencils a Potential Plotline...

It's been a while since I've jumped in on the RPG Blog Carnival, but this month's entry gave me some special impetus:  it's being hosted by Lindevi, over at TripleCrit.com!

In light of NaNoWriMo and the concurrent-running NaGaDeMon, DigitalKat posits the following question:

So what about you, RPG Bloggers?  Why do you write about games?  In what form does your writing crop up in your campaigns?  What's your process, your stumbling blocks, your passion?  How has writing helped you or your table?  Or is writing more like a CR 8 Succubus whose torturous siren song hurts so good and dominates your very being?

Writing is part and parcel of my gaming 'process', as you probably could imagine.  Between my work on Cold Steel Wardens and the various convention games I've run over the years, it's been my continual effort to provide a series of adventures and materials to serve as my role-playing "legacy".  While doing so can sometimes be tedious--writing up stat blocks is a particular bugaboo of mine--there are quite a few tasks that I particularly relish.

One of my favorites is the "character vignette".  Usually stemming from an NPC's contact with given PC, these vignettes flesh out the world at large by speaking within a character's voice.

Case in point:  my "Tear of Ioun" campaign from a few years back.  Chris II's character, Martook, came in a veteran of Blackfall's most elite guard, tasked with the unenviable task of securing and destroying evil artifacts.  Chris depicted Martook as a grizzled veteran and family man, on his last mission before retirement from the force.

However, when the group's mission went afoul and the PCs were accused of a series of murders which touched off a small-scale war, Martook and his compatriots had to flee to another plane.  Upon their return to the Prime Material, Martook received the following from his wife:

Dearest Martook— 

I don’t really know how to say this.  I’m going to do my best to not cry as I’m writing this, but I can feel myself already welling up. 

When you told me that you were being recruited to work in The Vaults, I didn't want you to go.  We had just started to raise our family.  We were only married two years when you started there, and Maximilian was only six months old.  But, I let you go, knowing you’d come back to me.  

When you were promoted to Field Agent, and you were sent to find these…things…I didn't protest.  That was last year, and Maria was just a bulge in my belly.   I let you go again, and I knew that you would come back to me. 

When you left to look for this Tear of Ioun, I didn't object.  Maria had just been born, and I was getting back on my feet.  Little Max was only 5, but he was helping around the house as much as he could.  The neighbors helped out, too.  I let you go one more time, knowing you’d come back to me. 

And now?  I have Cathedral Agents at my door, telling me that you’re wanted for murder and treason.  I have Max asking me if Daddy is ever coming back, now that the King’s Men are waiting for him.  He asks me, “Mom, what did Daddy do wrong?  Why does the King hate him so much?”  I don’t have an answer for him.  Little Maria barely knows you.  She’s three now, and caught Gray Fever last winter.  She wheezes at night still, but the clerics of Erathis are confident she’ll recover sooner or later.  

I've been waiting for you most of my adult life.  We've been taken care of, thanks to the Cathedral, but that doesn't mean that we have everything we've ever wanted.  The kids want a father.  I can’t say I blame them.  I want a husband again. 

But now, with you being hunted…I just can’t wait anymore.  There’s been someone else, Martook.  You know him—Dengild Oathhammer, from across the street.  He helped fix our roof about a year ago, after a snowstorm and I asked him to stay for supper and then one thing led to the next and… 

I told myself I wouldn’t cry. 

I can’t even tell you what I want right now.  I've stopped things with Dengild, but my children—our children—need a father, and I need my husband.  I just can’t manage to let you go, the one time where it might matter. 

The kids and I are about to leave Blackfall for a while.  We’re going downriver, to a cottage my parents had east of Kasserine.  I gave this to the priestess Valandor, at the Cathedral, and she promised that she would get it to you.  I’m not sure how, because they say that Wellspring, the town you were at, is in ruins.  I hope it gets to you.  You deserve to know, at least. 

I’m sorry, Martook.  I really am.  Please forgive me. 

---Maleena

Obviously--just take a look at my picture up yonder!--I'm no scorned woman, much less one with two children to take care of and an illicit relationship with her next-door neighbor.  But, being able to write as such a character allows me three primary benefits.

Firstly, it allows me, as a GM, to immerse myself in my own world.  Did I know about Kasserine or any of the other characters in this letter, prior to writing it?  Absolutely not!  But, by including them, I can help flesh out my own world, building in people, places, and ideas that normally would never make an appearance.

Secondly, this provides me an opportunity to directly address a PC's background.  When our group was galavanting through the Shadowfell, it became hard to justify any expansion on Martook's relationship.  But, by including this vignette upon their return, I've not only shown that time has passed (in the fact that Martook's wife has moved on) and hooks him with a personalized side-quest:  make it back to Kasserine to make things right with his wife.

Finally, this allows my player, Chris II, the opportunity to expose the other players to Martook's own personality.  While we can see Martook's personality in the context of the group, there are aspects to his personality which would only emerge when in the presence of his personal friends and family.  Our identity, many philosophers have claimed, is mutable over time--who we are varies based on the course of our lives, the experiences we've had, and the memories we retain.  As such, our group experienced a side of Martook that they might never see otherwise...

While I don't use the character vignette often--maybe once or twice a campaign per character--it provides ample opportunities for both myself as a GM and as a player.  Plus, since it usually takes up less than a page, it's quick!  Try it!  You'll like it!

In Which The Warlock Peruses the Perfect Party...

For those of you that were hoping for more cross-blog shenanigans, never fear:  it's just The Journeyman GM's turn to host our info.  This time around, we take a look at one of his games--his Deadlands "Heart of Darkness" conversion!

In the meanwhile, I wanted to spend a little time talking about a recent game that really blew me away, which is only more fitting considering the time of year!

I'm talking, of course, about the PlatinumChick's Call of Cthulhu game, "Welcome to Zendik Farms", which I ran for the first time this past Friday for the WittKids.  I've spent quite a while running over-the-top steampunk action in Deadlands, and it had felt like ages since I'd actually run a true 'horror' session.  Upon arriving, the PlatinumChick and I found ourselves with no less than 11 players--more than enough for two full tables.

I've got to say, though:  I think I ended up the beneficiary of that division, though.  My table was nothing short of immaculate, with a series of spectacular role-players who bought into the nihilistic, cult-driven storyline like none other.

If you haven't played the PlatinumChick's "...Zendik Farms" scenario before, you're missing out.  Based on an actual real-life cult (from which people have actually escaped!), the scenario seems simple on the surface:  characters start on what seems like a relaxing excursion to an organic arts community.  But, the plot delves into deeper secrets and horrors, the longer that the investigators stay.  No session ever truly plays the same way twice, as the farm itself provides a mini-sandbox for the investigators to play through.

So, let's talk a little about my players.  I was excited to have Lindevi (also known as DigitalKat) on board, as she was aching to play in horror game as much as I had been aching to run one.  She's well known my capacity for Wicked GMing, having played in my Deadlands "Follow the Walkin' Man" campaign as well as a Ravenloft one-shot I'd run years ago:  "An Incident at Ravencroft Asylum".  Lindevi was coupled by a familiar face from our Friday night sessions, Chris I!

I knew these guys could role-play.  I see it on a regular basis, as they delve into deep character interactions and difficult moral choices.  What I didn't know was how much the other three would get into it--two WittKids and a community member totally new to the Guild, LatinJoseph.  The three of them played their parts to the hilt, with WittDrew even converting to the Zendik cult partway through the scenario!  The stark looks of horror on the others' faces as their comrade willingly started going along with the farm's plans was priceless--you can't script emotional responses like that!

The segment of the game that struck me most, though, was the willingness for players to put themselves in vulnerable positions.  Characters continually committed that "cardinal sin" of splitting the party again and again, even isolating themselves with members of the cult.  LatinJoseph astounded me, leaving his traumatized college activist alone with Zendik scion Fawn, all the while under the effects of various psychotropic drugs.

I've posited before that the social contracts inherent to role-playing games are fundamentally a variation on the same relationships and contracts held between dominant and submissive members of a BDSM-style relationship.  I've been doing quite a bit of research into this concept, actually, in the hopes to expand my theory into an essay suitable for my upcoming Pendulum Method compilation.  LatinJoseph showed his flexibility and versatility in storytelling by allowing his character to submit to the given plot element:  the psychopathic Fawn.  His metaphorical submission allowed for fantastic role-play opportunities in that his own character slowly came out of their psychotropic haze (which he portrayed spectacularly!) but also for Lindevi, whose then-insane investigative reporter did her best to save LatinJoseph's college student!  By relinquishing a degree of control in the scene, that narrative power was magnified and spread out through my own NPCs, Lindevi's character, and even through himself!

It's okay to give up control
once in a while!  Cut loose!

Throughout the course of the game, the role of 'dominant' was passed back and forth between players and Keeper almost seamlessly.  Lindevi herself took the reins when a horrific event caused her reporter to lose a significant amount of Sanity, leading her to take WittSean's character hostage!  WittSean rolled perfectly with the scene, mentally handing over control of the scene to Lindevi.  Later on, Chris I's housewife stole the show, overturning tables in a desperate, last-gasp stand against the Zendik faithful.  However, the narrative power swiftly changed hands to WittSean's crisis of conscience:  does he betray his 'innocent' friends or does he believe the idyllic truth put forward by Wulf Zendik?

It's that sort of continued, extensive power exchange that takes an average table and makes it a good one or, in the case of this group, takes a good group of players and pushes them into an evening of phenomenal gaming.  This group's ability to build opportunities for one another through narrative power exchange allowed them to achieve some of the best table-based role-play I've ever seen.  When we staggered out of our room in Shouvlin at nearly 12:30 that morning, the group was worn, beaten down, and thoroughly smiling.  And, after a long session of dominance and submission, that's about all you ever want...

In Which The Warlock Lauds the Commendable...

So, last post was something of a downer, no?  It's easy to criticize, easy to point out the negative.  By nature, I tend to be a bit cynical--then again, who among my generation isn't?--but there's a lot to love within the pages of today's roleplaying games.  Let's pull some of my favorites!

The Doom Pool!

Roll that Doom Pool!

Chalk one up for Margaret Weis Productions' Marvel Heroic Roleplaying for an absolutely fantastic mechanic.  Even the most experienced GMs sometimes balk at having to make a judgement call on complex environmental actions, and even the most worthy of players sometimes chafe at the concept of 'GM fiat'.  For me, the Doom Pool mechanically addresses this difficulty in a simple, but effective manner.

Making your way through a burning building?  Roll against the Doom Pool to avoid falling debris or smoke inhalation.  Weaving through girders while flying?  Roll against the Doom Pool!  Need to make that super-science device extra-fast?  Doom Pool!

While it's not a be-all, end-all device, the Doom Pool serves as a quick outlet for all those times where a GM might be stuck.  It keeps play at the table moving and keeps the GM with his players, rather than referencing a rulebook.  Really, any mechanic that provides a quick resolution fits here:  the Savage Worlds "common knowledge" roll, the WEGS "frozen roll".  They're great!

In Text Fluff!

Now, this one's a spot of divisiveness.  Some gamers love the atmosphere and mood that in-text fiction brings, while others tend to loathe it.  While I tend to view rpg books more as instruction manuals than fiction collections, the occasional bit of in-character fiction really hits home the ideas and themes behind the game itself.  Plus, it pushes those archetypal ideas that form the core of a setting.

While I have issues with their fundamental rules-set, the Fantasy Flight Games' publications of Dark Heresy/Rogue Trader/Deathwatch really capture the essence of what it means to live in the Warhammer 40K universe.  While they have a ton of material from which to generate this setting info, the tone and descriptions in these books blend the world and the mechanics together beautifully.  If only the rules themselves weren't such a mess...

Focus!

This, above all else, is something that I've been reveling in.

Burned spies kill vampires?
There's a game for that...

So many games for so long have been about "universal" mechanics.  d20, GURPS, even Savage Worlds, all try to wear so many hats that they fail to focus on one particular sort of game.  As I mentioned last entry, Savage Worlds makes for a great system for pulp and action, but I'd never want to use it for a horror game--it's just not built for that genre.  But GURPS?  What's the purpose?  Why this system?  Yes, I'm sure you could run a horror game, a sci-fi game, and a fantasy game with it, but why would you?

The print-on-demand and PDF era of publishing has granted us not just the freedom of choice, but also the ability to enter new genres and tell new stories using systems built specifically for genre-emulation.  Want to run a game about down-on-their-luck boxers?  There's a game for that.   Want a game that focuses on the backroom dealings of Japanese samurai families?  Yup, a game for that, too.  Want to be a former CIA agent hunting vampires?  Yes, you're covered.

The Kickstarter Revolution!

Yes, print-on-demand and PDF are great.  But, as I'm finding out more and more, getting a product off of the ground takes start-up capital.  Kickstarter and other crowd-sourcing sites like it have become great ways for rpg designers to not only come up with said capital, but also to publicize their works.

That'd be great in and of itself, but what's best comes right alongside the Kickstarter revolution:  the discussion and analysis of an industry that, for a long time, really hasn't had any intellectual critique at the marketing and distribution level.  Now, it's a daily occurrence, through Facebook groups and message board discussions aimed not just at the design and development end of role-playing games, but also how to take a game and make it into a clean, published product in a cost-effective, efficient manner.

It's that type of discussion that really pushes forward revolution and innovation.  While I can't say that every product has benefited from these discussions, they're a massive benefit to any would-be developer.

In Which The Warlock Picks Nits...

Having a "real job" does have its perks.  While I'm still up to my eyeballs, between grading, planning, writing papers for online classes, and the struggles to finish out Cold Steel Wardens, the best perk of having a real job is undoubtedly the cash...which, in gaming terms, means gaming swag!

Since graduating and entering the workforce, there's hardly a doubt that my gaming library has increased.  It's overflowing our game room shelves, to the point where we swiftly need to rearrange our collection!  That said, I do try to be judicious in my spending--after all, there's only so much that one can spend on gaming!  I check out reviews on RPG.net, and try to read sample chapters or previews before I actually make a purchase.

But, even among the best of gamebooks out there, there are certain nitpicks that just drive me up a wall:

No Index!

Oh, man!  This one's an unforgivable sin.  You see, a game manual--particularly a core-rulebook--is, in essence, a reference book.  While full of flavor text, fiction, and setting material, a well-written game manual should make it easy to find information quickly and easily.  Indexes make character creation easier, rules referencing swifter, and overall organization more...well, organized!  With this age of print-on-demand and numerous print utilities, it's easier than ever to include an index any work.

Heroes Unlimited, the old warhorse that brought me into the gaming in the first place, is the biggest offender on my shelf in this regard.  While the Palladium rules set overall is messy enough, the lack of an index makes the rules almost impossible to navigate swiftly during a game session.  Situational rules become hard to find, which slows down the pace of a game.  A simple index could easily solve the problem, but such isn't the case.

Bad Font Choices!

Cursive!  Curse you!

As I'm learning, fonts are an incredibly powerful thing.  In choosing fonts for Cold Steel Wardens, I've been trying to find ones that exude a gritty, urban feel but are still legible and easy to read.  Fonts have a tendency to inspire irrational rage in certain people--just see the crusade against Comic Sans!

In this case, All For One: Regime Diabolique was the biggest offender for me.  While fancy cursive calligraphy perfectly fits the Musketeer-milieu, the cursive font chosen for chapter sub-headings came out gritty and grainy, making those sub-headings difficult to read, and impossible to discern at a glance.  I can't imagine how these headings look in PDF format--it certainly can't be legible!



Uber-NPCs!

NPCs are important.  We all know this.  I have a massive chapter in CSW devoted solely to populating the world and giving unique hooks and elements to base campaign sessions around.  That said, NPCs are there to provide opportunities for PC interaction.  They may be major players, yes, but they should never be the most major.

As much as I love it, Deadlands is a big offender here.  While significantly toned down in the Reloaded version, the Classic Deadlands rules made major NPCs into invincible killing machines with literally every power and skill in the book.  Worst of all was the time-jumping Jackie Wells, whom The Journeyman GM railed against in his sessions of the "Heart of Darkness" trilogy.  On the plus side, though, the current rules at let you destroy those NPCs in the Plot Point campaigns!

Kitchen Sink Gaming!

Great system.  Great setting.
Can't say that I cared for them together...

I'm a big believer in mechanics supporting a specific method of play.  While generic systems are neat and viable for some things, I find that they tend to leave the flavor of the game in the hands of the GM, rather than bringing it to the table through mechanics.  For example, Savage Worlds makes for great pulp games and, with its gambling and poker elements, fits the Weird West of Deadlands.  But, after reading through both Realms of Cthulhu and the Horror Companion, I'm more and more convinced that I never want to run a true horror game with Savage Worlds--the game simply isn't built around that concept, especially when games like Dread or Call of Cthulhu are available.  You can surely hammer a nail with a wrench, but wouldn't a hammer be easier?

The d20 glut was a huge offender here, but it's Mutants and Masterminds that gets my goat the most.  While I respect the game greatly--and, for Justice League or Avengers-style adventures, it can work very well--every time I've played M&M, I find that the rules just add nothing to the experience.  That, in my eyes, is a problem, but it's one I intend to fix...


Okay, so this post was a touch negative.  Next time out, let's take a look at some of my favorite schemes in game design!

In Which The Warlock Walks The Golden Mean...

The Oracle at Delphi

The so-called “Golden Mean”—as a philosophical concept, mind you—dates back literally thousands of years to the days of Aristotle and Plato.  Supposedly, as one entered the revered Oracle of Delphi, two sayings were inscribed on the doorway:  on the way in, “Know thyself”; on the way out, “All Things in Moderation”.  And, sure as anything, gaming tends to take a page from greater themes in life and in philosophy in general.

On its most basic level, balance must be achieved in terms of theme—even in the most dire of horror games like Call of Cthulhu or Kult, moments of success, lightness, and even humor must break up the oppressive atmosphere.  Even in a light-hearted or humorous game like Paranoia or ICONS has to come with degree of threat, else the players have no reason to actually play.  Role-players role-play to have fun, but also to tell a unique, collaborative story.  If there’s no story, the game loses focus and falls apart.  If there’s no fun, well…what’s the point?

I’m going to avoid going on another “Wizards of the Coast has it wrong” rant, but I will cite another of Rodney Thompson's editorials, this time as a grand step in maintaining balance in design.  Here, Thompson expounds upon the ratio that the 5e/D&D Next team intends to hold up in their coming rules-set.  Essentially, they’re shooting for a 1:1:1 split between exploration, role-playing, and combat.  While I think that that ratio can work well for D&D, it’s obviously not a sure-fire ratio for every game—just try having that much combat in a Call of Cthulhu campaign and see how long your investigators survive!

General Treister:
The inspiration for our Admiral Birmingham

Our weekly Deadlands game, in many ways, has walked both venues of this treacherous balance for the duration of the game.  Interestingly enough, I think that’s one of the reasons I’ve become such a fan of the setting:  while nominally a horror setting, it’s one where the players can achieve real victory against the forces of darkness; while full of ‘wacky’ mad scientists and hexslinging hucksters, Western genre tropes are played straight to the hilt.  In our sessions, we regularly drift directly from the high action of steam-wagon chase scenes and gunfights, to creeping investigative horror, to outright comedy—just ask ChaoticFrederick and Chris II about Confederate Admiral Birmingham’s waffle iron! 

Without that variety, without those alternated scenes, our game just wouldn’t be the same.  And, fittingly enough, Deadlands (and the Savage Worlds rules behind it) provides ample opportunity for flexibility in this regard.  Players are able to pick the skills, the edges, and the powers that provide them the most “awesome” for their XP.  And, that’s really the way it should be.

As I’ve mentioned in some of my prior design previews for Cold Steel Wardens, I’ve spent a good deal of my original design work establishing a degree of parallelism in my first draft.  Physical and Mental Strain run on parallel tracks—literally on opposite edges of the character sheet—and contribute equally to a burgeoning Hero’s well-being.  Skills are broken up into five categories of five Skills each, making them easy to manipulate and remember.  Those Skills have a nearly even distribution of linked Vitals, ensuring that no “dump stat” arises and that every choice—every XP spent and every choice made—matters.

But what about theme?  Surely, Cold Steel Wardens would suffer in this regard, as the game itself revolves around the rain-spattered dystopia of Iron Age comics?  Well, yes and no.  While maintaining mood is going to be of great import for any would-be Warden, the comfort and enjoyment of the table must always remain paramount. 

As for maintaining that Golden Mean?  Well, it seems I’ve already come across an answer for that…

Pendulum Theory!

While Pendulum Theory isn’t going to be part and parcel with Cold Steel Wardens, it’s a near and dear thing to carry over the innovations of The Pendulum Method into running a solid session of Cold Steel Wardens.

Stay tuned, friends and neighbors!  Grand things are in store!

In Which The Warlock Examines Some Ethical Dilemmas...

A bit of honesty here to begin this entry:  I've been a little bit skeptical of the upcoming The Dark Knight Rises.  While it's been extremely well-reviewed thusfar, 2008's The Dark Knight and Inception only made me more appreciative of Christopher Nolan as an introspective, nuanced filmmaker.

While I'll still be seeing it on Friday with the PlatinumChick before game night, The Dark Knight Rises has massive shoes to fill in the wake of both its predecessor and The Avengers, both of which stand as the crowning achievements in genre-filmmaking in this decade, maybe of all time.

The inspiration for 2008's
The Dark Knight.

The reason I'm so skeptical of TDKR comes from the moral and ethical weight of its predecessor, stemming directly from Jeph Loeb and Tim Sale's timeless Batman storyline "The Long Halloween".  The majority of the plot from The Dark Knight comes from that comic series, as Batman, Commissioner Gordon, and Harvey Dent work towards taking down the mob-influences that infest the city.  However, their uncompromising war on crime comes crashing down through the death of Rachel Dawes or, in the comics, the search for the killer known as Holiday.

The Joker sums this up concisely towards the end of the film.  Dangling upside-down from a half-finished building, he tells Batman: "This is what happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object. You truly are incorruptible, aren't you? You won't kill me out of some misplaced sense of self-righteousness. And I won't kill you because you're just too much fun. I think you and I are destined to do this forever."

The Joker:  madman, or simply
demonstrating the flaws in
moral objectivism?

Batman's attempts to do things "the right way" and without loss of life often serves to bring about great tragedy and  heartbreak, simply because he attempts to do what is "just" and "right".  The story could have ended much, much earlier had Bruce Wayne simply stepped forward though, truth be told, negotiating with The Joker isn't exactly something reasonable in and of itself!  That's what makes The Dark Knight such a great film, as well as what puts The Dark Knight Rises in such a difficult position.

Why do I bring this up?  Well, you see, Cold Steel Wardens is deliberately built to allow players to emulate and even play through this continued moral quagmire.  Every Hero in Cold Steel Wardens begins play with a series of Stances, in addition to their more standard background elements (Motivations, Flaws, and Origins).  These Stances represent important portions of a Hero's mindset and comprise their own moral and ethical "high ground" as they fight crime.  Perhaps a given Hero refuses to fight against police, or won't attack what he views as "children".  Maybe a Hero is driven towards vengeance against those who have committed sex crimes or crimes against police.  Maybe the Hero is outright bloodthirsty and doesn't care who gets hurt as they wage their war on crime.  There's room for all these at the table, as they're consistently meant to be challenged.

In addition to providing impetus for great role-playing opportunities, Stances provide a method for Heroes to add dice to the communal Hero Pool.  When the GM of a Cold Steel Wardens session challenges a Hero's Stance, the GM must add a die to the Pool.  However, if the player themself places their Stance into question--let the mafia thug get away, or pick up the gun on the floor and keep him from reporting back to his superiors?--he gets to add two dice  to the Hero Pool!  It pays to role-play!

Stances are simply one way to add dice to the Hero Pool, though they may certainly be the most dramatic.  When Heroes are forced into uncomfortable situations which question their morals, players themselves become engaged with the plot and its characters.  Here's for hoping that we see it  out soon!  With the first draft of Cold Steel Wardens nearly wrapped up--and in the hands of my two editors already--here's for hoping that we hit print in time for next August!

Next time, friends and neighbors--the results of my name-poll and my review of The Dark Knight Rises!

In Which The Warlock Comments on Comments and Consensus...

I've been lucky enough to have some great comments on my blog posts thusfar, coming from both my gamer-friends throughout the Miami Valley as well as gamers all over the globe.  But, my audience is still fairly small--no big deal, really:  I enjoy blogging for its own sake, and a small audience allows me to personally reply to any comments that I procure.

But, sometimes that little comment box isn't enough and, lo and behold, DigitalKat has dropped a bomb on me that really needs its own entry.  In response to my last entry on the exploits of my Friday night group's exploits in the Weird West, she mentioned:

My only observation would be that, having taken all the shooty fun skills, is that not the game they wanted to be playing, and not the gang rivalry one? Granted, throwing them a curveball every now and again keeps them on their toes, but when you make a party full of courtiers and throw them in a battlezone, or a party full of a warriors and put them in a palace, are you running the game you want to play, or the game they wanted?

Truth be told, this is a subject of some contention throughout gaming!  DigitalKat, in fact, tackled this subject herself in an earlier entry, but found herself in the same predicament I find myself in now. 

GMing a game, as I'm sure that many would agree, is a method of storytelling that's far outside the norm.  While writing a novel or filming a movie allows for a significant amount of directorial/authorial control, the amount of control held by a GM is...well, limited, at best.  The other players' actions, the improvisational nature of the game, and even sheer luck itself create for dictates that simply do not exist in other media.

The posse's ride...in Davy Jones' Locker!

Case in point:  in our last session of Deadlands: The Flood, our posse's escape route--one of Big Ears Tam's ironclads--was blown up, after the posse were discovered in Warlord Kwan's island citadel.  I had anticipated (and done most of my weekly prep assuming...) that the posse would try to sneak into the docks and steal a ship to get back to Shan Fan.  My posse, however, decided to row around the mesa, trying to find a place to hole up for the night while the search blew over.  While the PlatinumChick's shamaness warned the group against "natural hazards" of doing so, the group was insistent, searching the sea-caves for a spot to bed down. 

Thinking quickly, I checked the encounter table for the Great Maze and flipped a card--Black Joker!  A mighty Maze Dragon!  Immediately, I started dealing out cards, but the PlatinumChick had other ideas...she hoped to distract the Maze Dragon into attacking Kwan's citadel!  But, while her plans succeeded at first, the dice had their say:  Snake Eyes! 

The story being told in our game could not have been told with any single element--player, GM, or chance--but rather, emerges as a strange amalgamation of consensus.  While every person at the table may not necessarily advocate a given choice, the understood social contract of the table leads to consent for these story elements to take place.  While the PlatinumChick might not have been happy to roll snake eyes--and was certainly less happy with what I ruled about that fateful roll--she was willing to let the story continue.

There's a difference between "unanimity" and "consensus".  While everyone would surely love to game with people that share their personal interests in what they want out of a game, people are simply too different for that to be entirely feasible.  Achieving a "unanimous" decision on what type of game to run is just...not something one should expect.  But, there are going to be similarities and trends between what players like!  Making sure that everyone enjoys the game and has the ability to contribute equally provides consensus. 

Relying on those trends and those common elements provide a start for story-building.  Our group decided to play Deadlands because of a common interest in the setting.  I certainly have players more interested in role-play, while others are more interested in the setting, and still others in the mechanics.  All are fine, but we achieve balance between all three by enabling collective storytelling.  Plus, we find new interests, new combinations, and new likes and dislikes each time we play.

Constructivist Educational Theory:
The Zone of Proximal Development!

In the constructivist theory teaching, there's a term for this concept:  the Zone of Proximal Development.  When a child learns, there's a "sweet spot"--an area lying in between what a student is capable of performing on their own and material outside of their comfort zone.  In this zone--the aforementioned ZPD--the student requires additional reinforcement, guidance, and practice to achieve the stated goals of the curriculum.  A teacher in the constructivist philosophy does their best to push the boundaries of the ZPD each day, providing reinforcement and support as necessary to expand the student's "comfort zone".

In gaming, we do much the same.  While each of us certainly have our own preferences, we push outside to include other elements, introducing elements to the story that not only make them enjoyable to that player, but also introducing others to elements that they may not have considered or thought interesting previously.

That's the advantage that gamemastery has over other forms of storytelling--by providing collaborative elements through GM, through players, and through pure chance--gamemastery allows us to challenge our own wants, interests, desires, and even our own perceptions of plot, characterization, genre, and story.  That's heady stuff, right there!  And, that's worth doing...

In Which The Warlock Pushes Player Possibilities...

As I mentioned a few posts ago, my players are somewhat up to their eyeballs in plot hooks in our Friday night Deadlands game.  But, as my players are slowly finding out, it seems that those plot hooks really seem to be playing into their weaknesses.

You see, in amongst the major plot points of The Flood, there are two major background events:  an attempted invasion of California from Mexico--which I've hinted at and foreshadowed, but not really pushed as a major point--and a coming conflict between the rival Chinese triads around Shan Fan.  After becoming involved with Big Ears Tam so early on in the campaign, my players have become well and truly embroiled in the conflict, particularly ChaoticFrederick's scrapper, Mary-Ellen Hardigan, who's best known as Tam's "delicate little lotus blossom".

The results of the PCs'
actions on Dragon Breath Mesa.

However, when Tam asked Mary-Ellen and the group to investigate a potential alliance between Kang, the ruthless railroad baron of Iron Dragon Railways, and Warlord Kwan of Kwan Province.  Unfortunately for our posse, a few botched stealth rolls totally eliminated any chance of escaping unscathed.  While the party was able to escape the citadel with the information they needed--mainly due to the Byzantine decorum of the Chinese mob--their ride home out of the maze exploded before their very eyes!  And worse, the explosion awoke a nearby Maze Dragon on an adjacent mesa!  Eep!

While the posse managed to drive off the dragon--not before Chris II's hexslinger, Angus Cole, picked up a few more scars to go with his already-marred face--the real danger was returning to Big Ears Tam with the news that the mission had been compromised...

...something Tam already knew, after his ironclad failed to return...and after Kwan's ancestral daisho went missing.

Needless to say, Tam was infuriated.  While FridayNightWill was astute enough to hide the stolen daisho, Tam not-so-subtly indicated that the insult required vengeance...

...they done messed up good!

And this leaves our players in a bit of a bind.  You see, the majority of my players have focused on only a small set of skills.  Fighting, Shooting, Notice, etc. are all common, but nearly every party member in the posse seems to have some kind of social faux-pas.  And few, if any, have invested in the social skills--Persuasion, Intimidate, Streetwise, and the like. 

So, my party has found themselves in a bit of a predicament.  How do you settle the highly-delicate social balance between Chinese warlords, when you can't really talk your way out of a paper bag?

This portion really pushes the challenge level up on two fronts:  as characters, but also as players.  You see, as characters, the posse simply isn't equipped for the situation.  Their funds are running low--primiarly because they've had to keep their steam wagon fueled up and ready to go--and they simply don't have the social acumen to run "in the big leagues". 

As players, however, the challenge intensifies.  Players have to invest more bennies and the like into succeeding at tasks that a more-socially apt character might find easy.  But, just as they do this, the players have to find ways to adapt the situation to one more suitable to their own, whether through a convoluted plan or through some other means.  Needless to say, that's hard! 

So, going into next week's session, my posse is faced with some tough choices to make.  They're slowly coming up with a plan, involving implicating the enigmatic Ramirez in the theft of the daisho and peeling apart the alliance between Kang and Kwan, based on the actions of so-called "Emperor" Norton.  Time will only tell if they can succeed...and if they can get back to what really matters:  taking down Reverend Grimme!

In Which The Warlock Has a Love-Hate Relationship...

It's been a while since I've done one of these, but I figured that it's about high time that I return to the RPG Blog Carnival.  This month's topic, hosted over at Nevermet Press, is "Things to Love, Things to Hate"--essentially, what do you (as a GM or as a player) look for in an RPG, an adventure, a system, etc.

So, take a gander at my personal perks and gripes when looking at games:

Perks:

• I love a game system that attempts to echo the genre being played. 
• My favorite part about Deadlands is the fact that the cards-based initiative, the use of poker-chips, and the dueling/gambling mechanics push the idea of the Wild West, "gamblin' man" action.  Similarly, with WEGS, the use of poker chips enforces the idea of an adventurer "gambling with their fate".  ICONS uses the FATE mechanics to emphasize in-character actions and Determination points to encourage over-the-top action and power stunting.  All of these mechanics are built to better emulate the genre of game being played, and do so admirably, filling holes that a generic system simply can't do.
• I love a game that facilitates ease (and speed) of play.
• While I can give or take "fiddly-bits," I run far too many convention games to rely on them regularly.  Maps, dungeon tiles, miniatures and the like take up far too much room for my taste, and often slow down the pace of a game.  This takes away from investigation and fast-paced action, as people fiddle with movement rules or cover mechanics. 
• I love an adventure with awesome set-piece locations.



The Warlock's favorite adventure!

• My favorite adventure of all time is the wacky, fun-house dungeon crawl known as "White Plume Mountain".  It's not a particularly well-written adventure, but my goodness, the locations!  A fight above a boiling mud pit, with swinging platforms suspended by chains from the ceiling?!  A semi-permeable bubble of water?!  An enchanted-freaking-water-slide?!  Sheer unadulterated awesome!  Without locations like this, the adventure would be nothing more than a fetch quest, but these put it way over the top.
• I love an adventure with multiple, conditional endings.
• One of the things I was happiest about when writing "Westbound on the San Juan Express" was the multiple scenarios that could unfold.  Depending on whom the posse supports, the PCs could end up in any of 6 potential end-game scenarios, none of which resulted in a TPK or any sort of "loss".  That's a rarity to find, but it makes for sheer, unadulterated awesome! 
• I love it my players have too many PCs they want to play.
• You know how I know when I've picked the right game to run?  When my Friday night group starts planning out characters over and over again, and have trouble deciding what they actually want to play.  Too much inspiration is never a bad thing!

Gripes:

• I hate when a game tries to do too much. 
• This was my biggest issue while reading through Lost Colony, the Deadlands sequel game.  While the system mechanics for Deadlands worked for the base game and for Hell on Earth, Lost Colony seemed to drop much of the horror of its predecessors in favor of introducing sci-fi colonial action.  Already a packed setting, it just did...well, too much.  Lack of support certainly didn't help it, but Lost Colony definitely felt like a game stretched too thin.
• I hate it when a game tries to reinvent the wheel...and gets run over by said wheel.
• Wild Talents was my biggest offender here.  I picked it up at Half Price Books, while doing research for Cold Steel Wardens.  The "width vs. height" mechanic used in the game was particularly innovative...but the game (and the NPCs within it) became so wrapped up in numerics and modifiers that the core game--a dystopian superheroes game--became utterly lost in a sea of numbers.  That's anti-fun in a nutshell.
• I hate it when an adventure stacks the deck.
• Ever have this happen to you in an adventure:  your heroes are fighting bandits in their own lair, which is full of nasty traps--caltrops, deadfalls, etc., none of which ever seem to affect them, even when you deliberately try to turn the tables?  That's a sure sign of poor adventure writing and inflexible gamemastery.  While occasionally such things make sense--fire elementals being immune to environmental hazards in a lava realm, for example--but under normal circumstances, there's no excuse for this poor design.
• I hate it when adventures "settle".



Warning!  King in Yellow ahead!

• There's a fine line between providing an adventure "suitable" to a genre's idiom and becoming utterly predictable.  Start hearing word about a strange play and a "yellow sign"?  Yeah, it's Hastur again.  While there might be investigation and conflict, it's simply a matter of going through the motions.  The drama, the challenge...it's gone.  Why bother?
•    I hate it when players don't give me anything to work with...then complain about it.
• GMing is hard work.  It's a lot of prep, and it's a lot of writing.  If I'm asking you, as a player, for a background, that means that I need your help in contributing to the world and to have an active investment in it.  It means that I want to engage you as both a player and a character.  And, when you reject that?  Yeah...that sends a pretty strong message that you don't really care about playing.

How about you guys?  Other thoughts?  Am I off-base?

In Which The Warlock Mulls a Manifesto...

Once again, my compadre at The JourneymanGM has stumbled upon something of particular interest.  This time, it's a Reddit page, entitled "My Gamemaster Manifesto".  Essentially, each manifesto is a series of pledges or promises each makes to their players, as part of the game's fundamental social contract.

A fair amount of these elements are very similar to one another, or are the sort of things that simply go without saying for me.  In other cases, the statements are simply impossible to guarantee, making a guarantee less than worthless.  Saying "I will provide a story with a beginning, a middle, and an end" or "I pledge to create a game that is fun for both myself and all players at the table".

So, given those caveats, here's my own list...with a few items that deviate a bit from the norm.

1.  I pledge to challenge you as a player and as a character while at the game-table. 
When I run a game, I intend to challenge the interests, the desires, the strengths and the weaknesses of your character, but also those of you as a player.  Whether that means taking advantage of character flaws on your character sheet or pushing your own tendencies as a player, I will not be complacent in challenging you during the course of the game.

2.  I will help you play the character you want to play.
Your character is your purview and, barring certain occasions befitting the plot, you are the final arbiter of what goes on your character sheet.  If I am running a game, it's because I feel that I have a degree of system-mastery over that game.  Further, your character is a primary player in the grander plot.  If you are having difficulty with either portion, I will offer unbiased, honest feedback on how to approach your character.  However, the final decision as to any character changes belongs to you as a player.

3.  I will make the game as interesting and accessible to all members of the table as possible.
Fun is subjective.  I can't make you have fun.  What I can do is make the game accessible and active, which makes it more likely that you will have fun.  What we do at the table may not be to your taste.  If that's the case, you're welcome to bow out.  However, I intend to make our shared storyline interesting to you and accessible to someone not necessarily a fan of the given genre conventions.

4.  I pledge to be true to the given genre.
If I'm running a horror game, you should expect cults, creeping monstrosities, and ancient terrors.  If I'm running a steampunk game, you should expect airships and mad science.  This is true for both my own creations and for those brought to the table by others.  I will be vigilant in maintaining a truth-in-genre for all of my games.

5.  I will bring something new to the table each session.
I will not be complacent as a GameMaster, and will challenge myself with each session that we have.  I will not rely on 'old tricks' or previously-used techniques simply because they worked once, but rather will refine and hone my technique with each game, each plotline, and each session that we share.  Gaming evolves, and so shall I.

6.  I will call attention to the positive and the negative.
When you (as both a character and as a player) do something cool, you will receive the attention and adulation deserved.  You deserve the opportunity to shine.  If the inverse is true, I will speak up, so that the offending behavior/tactic/what-have-you is not repeated.  I will not be content to sit back or be passive-agressive in my dealings with you, simply to have another player at the table.

7.  I will be open to feedback and will be easily accessible.
Gamemastery is a form of writing--a specialized and shared form of writing, but writing nevertheless.  Writing cannot take place without revision.  I will listen openly and share honestly about my design and development process and take thoughtful feedback under deep consideration. 

Thoughts?  Additions?  Subtractions?  What do you think?

In Which the Warlock Contemplates Game Against Story...

Okay, fellow gamers.   Bear with me for a tick, once more, as I do some rambling.

The games that I tend to enjoy stem from a fairly diverse number of systems and fundamental game theories.  But, the systems that I tend to favor most recently all have one major thing in common:  the ability to manipulate and even to defeat luck.



The Copper Pot collects some fate...

In WEGS, every Ark comes ready-equipped with a number of Spoints, which can be used on nearly any percentage roll in the game, and even on some non-percentage rolls.  It's entirely possible--and sometimes more than desirable!--to use Spoints to achieve a percentage-chance of success that exceeds 100%.  While this all but guarantees success--barring a really horrible Bad Shot or a Wicked Failure--luck has effectively been removed from the equation.  The spell goes off, the sword strikes true.

In Savage Worlds and its numerous settings, every hero comes equipped with Bennies (or, Fate Chips, if you're playing Deadlands), which can turn a seemingly lethal blow into a near miss, or allow for complete and total re-rolls on skills.  In ICONS, heroes get Determination, which allows them to create power stunts, achieve massive levels of success (regardless of dice roll), and even "retcon" details in a scene, changing the narrative.

Not all games include such a system.  Aside from a brief flirtation with them in Eberron, D&D has never used such a mechanics.  Action points in 4e rarely grant anything but an extra action.  Call of Cthulhu and other "atmospheric" games don't use such a mechanic.

So, as I continue working on Cold Steel Wardens, a major question arises.  Do I put such a mechanic into the game, or do I "let the dice fall where they may"?

Representation of GNS Theory

I believe that the rub lies in what's referred to within game design circles as GNS Theory or, later, The Big Model.  Ron Edwards--creator of the Sorcerer RPG--created this theory as an ongoing set of theory regarding social interactions through role-playing games.  It's been one of the longest running controversies within game design circles since Edwards came up with the idea, but for me at least, Edwards' ideas run true.  Edwards claimed that players (and the games that they prefer) typically would fall within a given category--Gamist, Narrativist, or Simulationist.

My main impetus in creating Cold Steel Wardens echoes a fundamentally Simulationist.  As a representation of the Iron Age of Comics, CSW is built to emulate a certain era of comics, including all of the conceits and hallmarks of that era.  As I told ChaoticFrederick--whose commentary and revisions have been invaluable as I've moved forward!--I expect there to be ninjas, I expect there to be lots of guns, and I expect there to be mafia bosses.  Those are all stereotypes that are hallmarks of the Iron Age of Comics, for better or worse, and they tend to appear quite often.

However, I have a strong desire towards specific Narrativist goals.  The system for Aspects, Motivations, and Stances--which I'm about 2/3 of the way through!--encourages players to test their Hero's assumptions about ethics and morality.  While this stems from such storylines like Miller's Daredevil: Born Again and O'Neil's run on The Question, it's a fundamentally Narrativist idea.  Further, the investigative nature of the material itself lends itself towards storytelling, on the player level, the GM level, and the table-wide level.

However, the mechanics of CSW also provide for a degree of system mastery and "optimal build", which are hallmarks of the Gamist idea.  There's a strong desire for me, as a designer and as a gamer, to try to build "The World's Greatest Detective" or "The Martial Arts Master" in this system.  And, as with nearly every system out there, I've spent more than my share of time dealing with combat at this point--the "throne room" of the Gamist player.  Plus, the ideas that I've been kicking about, regarding a system for in-depth investigation, are solidly gamist--it's a matter of how well the Heroes can access the clues, and how well the Players can put them together.

So, where does this leave us?  Well, with the Hero Pool.  This is to say, the fate-defying mechanic I'm debating building into Cold Steel Wardens.  It's a simple mechanic--a pool of d8s equal to twice the number of players, which can be used to add to any test.  They're one use only--once they're gone, they're gone, unless the GM refreshes them (usually by challenging the PCs in underhanded ways). 

One might say that it's a fundamentally Gamist mechanic--it's something built in to defeat luck, and can be exploited.  It doesn't add much to the story, says the Gamist, but it lets us hit once in a while.  The Narrativist would probably disagree, adding that it adds more creative control to the minds of the players, and allows the Heroes to add in that "last-ditch effort" on a test that really requires a success.  A Simultationist might decry such a mechanic, due to lack of "realism", but simultaneously uphold it as a fitting representation of the genre. 

So, again, where does this leave us?  I'm not really sure.  I wouldn't be so arrogant thusfar as to say that CSW is going to be the mystical Zen-center of the GNS spectrum, but it's raised quite a few questions in my mind, as to where CSW is going.  Let's see how playtest rolls out, and we'll go from there...

A few links for you, in case you're curious:

• The Forge--Articles (Some quality viewpoints on GNS/Big Model Theory)
• "System Does Matter"--Ron Edwards' view on system choice.
• More on "The Threefold Model"--GNS Theory FAQs, included.

In Which The Warlock Ponders Parallelism...

It's no secret that I'm a writer.  I'm up to nearly 300 entries on this blog, to say nothing of my writing and editing within the gaming world.  But, even beyond that...I'm an English teacher full-time, with a full Bachelors' degree in English Literature.  What you may not know is that I got my start at revision while in undergraduate at Wittenberg.  As a member of the Wittenberg Writing Center, I worked part-time assisting other undergrads with their academic papers and the like.

As such, I had to be on top of my game.  One of the biggest offenses in most of their writing was something referred to as parallelism. 

Parallelism in math...
Parallelism in writing...

Any kid who's taken algebra or geometry should know what parallel lines are--two lines that continue on indefinitely through a two-dimensional plane, in such a way that they will never cross.  Parallelism in writing is similar, yet not quite so finite.

Under usual circumstances, parallelism comes on the individual sentence level.  To use the example from the Purdue Online Writing Lab,--one of the more pre-eminent writing centers in academia: 

Incorrect:
My degree, my work experience, and ability to complete complicated projects qualify me for the job.
Correct:
My degree, my work experience, and my ability to complete complicated projects qualify me for the job.

The 'correct' example uses the same structure throughout the sentence, which is more correct from a grammatical standpoint and is more appealing when read aloud.

Now, what does this have to do with gaming, you may ask?  Well, you see, while most RPG manuals are fairly well-edited, parallelism doesn't just stop at the sentence level.  Rather, it can (and should!) be continued on a paragraph and even on a piece-length scale.

But what about parallelism within actual game structure? 

4e D&D was unique for its verisimilitude between classes.  While each individual class received its own class abilities at level 1--Fighters got a Weapon Talent and Combat Challenge, Warlocks got Shadow Walk and Warlock's Curse--every class worked in the same manner:  2 At-Wills, Encounters on levels that ended with 3 and 7, Dailies on levels that ended on 5 or 9. 

Many gamers critized for 4e for this maneuver, saying that classes were "too similar", but from a written standpoint, the design was flawless.  But, it made me wonder whether parallelism in design could provide a driving force behind a game mechanic....which explains some of the reasoning behind my work on Cold Steel Wardens. 

Part of the "MAFIANAP" mechanic--the fundamental system that I'm writing to drive CSW is built on parallelism--players have 8 Vitals, four of which govern Mental faculties and four of which govern Physical ability.  The 25 skills are arranged into five groups of five--Physical, Investigative, Social, Knowledge, and Technical. 

But, what I'd like to consider the most crucial bit of parallelism to CSW is the "Strain" system.  Every hero can take a specific abount of Strain, before bad things begin happening to them.  This occurs in both the Physical realm (through fights, wounds, and physical exertioin), but also in the Mental realm (through stress, fear, and mental trauma). 

Don't reach your Breaking Point,
or you'll be taking a MAFIANAP!

In either case, every CSW Hero has a "Breaking Point" on each Strain track.  The Breaking Point represents a threshold, at which the Hero's resilience has finally broken down.  At the Physical Breaking Point, the Strain no longer represents"bumps and bruises", but rather broken bones, shattered ribs, and grievous bodily harm.  At the Mental Breaking Point, the Strain no longer represents everyday stress that can be wiped away with a good night's sleep, but rather damage to the Hero's psyche, resulting in psychoses or other mental disorders.

If CSW comes out as planned, the game should be streamlined and easy for newbies to understand, with mechanics that fade into the background during investigation and social encounters.  We'll see, though!  Next up:  Powers!

In Which The Warlock Takes Issue with the Old School...

I've often stated that I tend to straddle the fence between the feel and conventions of old-school gaming and the streamlined, unique mechanics of more modern games.  I tend to find bits and pieces of various games that I like, then toss them into other systems if I need a mechanic to fit a unique situation.  Players around my table often end up tossing WEGSified Cold Rolls and INI rolls in the midst of my D&D games, and I use Savage Worlds style initiative when playing ICONS. 

I don't have much real affinity for the mechanics of the original versions of D&D, and have been a fan of the mechanical innovations that both 3e and 4e have brought to the table.  With a healthy dose of skepticism, I've felt that much of the "Old School Revolution" is a matter of nostalgia--it's an attempt by gamers to recapture some misperceived "glory days" of gaming, when in all actuality, they're wanting simply that feeling of novelty that comes with the first time fighting a dragon, the first time crawling through a dungeon, the first time they pick up a Sword of Sharpness.

Mythmere Press's
"Swords and Wizardry"

So, up late last night and poking around online, I stumbled across an essay that frustrated me greatly.  Two years ago, Matthew Finch of Mythmere Games put forward The Quick Primer for Old School Gaming as a "newbie primer" for old school games.  And, I've gotta say...most of what he's putting forward is biased in a manner that's damaging to all games, reflecting an aura of nostalgia that's cancerous to the idea of an 'evolving' game.

Finch attempts to put forward a veneer of civility, by putting forward a disclaimer before his 4 Zen Moments, stating that the examples he intends to use are hyperbole.  But, the fundamental ideas being put forward are still unchecked swings with no focus.


Let's take his first example:  a Pit Trap, shown in a monotonous "modern style", and then a zesty, descriptive "old style".  The peril here is that of a logical fallacy:  either you narrate your way through the trap entirely (the "good" result) or you let it come down to a series of die rolls (the "bad" way).  No middle ground is mentioned or described.  A good GM or player can describe a unique trap disarmament in 4e, just as easily as a poor GM can let that same trap become an uninteresting series of die rolls in 1e.

Holy logical fallacy, Batman!

Further, the insinuation is misleading--more modern incarnations of D&D  and other games have included the same fundamental determination charts, but the mechanics of that determination are the elements currently evolving.  Earlier editions didn't change because there was or was not a trap-disarming chart; rather, they just changed the mechanics of doing so.  Instead of consulting Sub-Table 43d (which wasn't fun for anyone), Trapfinding was streamlined to a "Thievery" check.  That doesn't preclude or eliminate narration; it simply puts a different structure to it.

Finch continues, extolling the virtue of player skill over character abilities.  He decries skills such as Bluff and Spot as cop-outs, provided in-lieu of asking questions and providing a narrative between GM and Player.  That's a wonderful ideal, but it's just that...an ideal.  If you locked me in a dungeon room and told me that there was a secret door somewhere, I'm sure I could spend hours on end looking for it and never find it.  However, when that room is only being described to me, we're already in the realm of abstraction.  Expecting a player to search through rooms like that, time after time, not only borders on un-fun, but teeters towards GM-narcissism and unnecessary bookkeeping.  We end up sacrificing story and action for a focus on minutiae, when a balance of description and abstraction would serve better.

If what matters is the story, why are we putting additional obstacles towards telling it?

Finch further encourages the GM to throw balance out the window, and focus on the heroes as humanized figures.  Again, I find fault with this:  the fundamental idea behind a storytelling game is just that:  tell a story and be fun.  As I've ranted about earlier, sitting behind the fighter while you're out of spells is un-fun.  Playing the second-fiddle bodyguard to a powerful mage is un-fun.  Dragging 15 wild dogs through the dungeon with you, just so you can manage to survive a kobold skirmish is un-fun.  Yes, challenge is necessary, even vital--conflict is at the heart of any story.  But this?  This is excess.

Finch offers some quality GM advice at the end of his essay, particularly in his encouragement to add description to combat.  But, what he fails to take into account is that games like 4e already work to build this in.  A simple at-will power like Tide of Iron comes with pre-built descriptors, waiting for the GM or player to take advantage of them: 

How about this:  "You slam your shield into your foe's chest, driving him backwards." 
No shield?  No problem:  "You slash at your enemy's legs, then kick upwards, pushing him back a step."

Just because there are minis on the battlemat or power-cards in hand does not mean that narration becomes impossible or unlikely.  In fact, those are the hallmarks of good GMing.  But the fact that Finch ascribes these features only to old-school games is troubling, particularly when so many new games encourage this sort of behavior.

Since I've been on a Deadlands kick, it behooves me to bring up Savage Worlds.  The powers in Savage Worlds are specifically made to be generic and multi-purpose, with the player and GM coming to consensus on what exactly a "Bolt" looks like, and what effect it has. 

Even within the scope of the setting, I just yesterday put together a Deadlands Huckster specifically meant to defy traditional perceptions:  rather than visualize his Dealing with the Devil as a card game, he visualizes it as a fencing match.  Rather than cards appearing in his hand, he uses a Relic saber as an arcane focus, enhancing his spellcasting abilities.  Rather than a gambler, he's a student of the Destreza school of fencing, which was based around Greek philosophy and geometry.  All this, from just a simple series of generically-labeled powers:  Bolt, Quickness, Deflection, Smite, and Boost/Lower Trait.

Simply by adding description, even a decidedly modern and generic game like Savage Worlds brings forth creative, new ideas.  While Finch offers some good advice in his primer, his targeting is woefully off.  The problem doesn't lie with old-school vs. new-school gaming.  The problem lies with lazy GMs and players, unwilling to add in their own creative touches.  And those additions, my lovelies, are what takes a game from good to great.