From the Blog

Apr
08
Posted by Daniel at 5:35 pm

Sidequests are the worst.

They really are. Let me tell you it:

Here’s how a lot of RPGs work (I’m talking about computer RPGs, videogames, that is, but a lot of tabletop stuff works similarly):

You are tasked with a blah blah blah epic quest to save the world and so forth, defeating hugely vile creatures and removing the despair of the entire world!

Wow, really?

Yep.

Sweet! I just fought an ogre! I guess I’m going to go to the capital city now and throw down with the evil baron, then unite the ancient guardians of the freedom of the—

Hey!

What, old woman?

Do you know every last detail about my religious order?

No. Get lost.

But your effectiveness in the game will be diminished if you don’t listen to me babble and read my codex and rescue my cat and paint my toenails magenta, but, if you’re evil, you can paint them black.

See? This is what I have to deal with. This is what you have to deal with. This is what we have to deal with, fellow gamers!

It’s absurd, and it needs to stop.

I HEREBY PROPOSE

that stupid sidequests become DLC. That way, the dramatically masochistic suckers who find endless conversation trees with dead-end NPCs titillating may blah blah blah until they find contentment. And they can pay to indulge this inscrutable vice.

The rest of us?

We’ll pursue the actual dramatic elements that presumably are the primary draw of a game vaunting its story. That is, we’ll:

  • make significant moral decisions
  • take stances on principles
  • build relationships with other characters
  • break relationships with other characters
  • overcome personal issues
  • fail to overcome personal issues
  • experience interesting fictional permutations of actual personalities and customs
  • and engage in dramatically meaningful conflict, including the sort of conflict that involves broadswords and fireballs

And you know what? If we find the button mashing so compelling that we just can’t get enough, we might even buy the DLC and paint some old lady’s toenails.

Nov
24
Posted by Daniel at 12:35 am

This is going to be a quick post, but here it is:

Flee, my zombie game, works like a few of the other games I’m making. It runs on the same engine. Here’s that engine in brief. (I’m only talking about the conflict resolution engine at the moment.)

The Situation

We’ve got Cato, a human, and he’s going into this goblin’s cave to kill it for some grievance real or imagined. Perfect.

Let’s skip to the part where the pair is about to engage in mortal combat. And let’s say Cato’s player is playing it cool. He’s not making a move.

That’s where I, as the GM, the dude running the game, come in: I escalate.

GM (escalating): Okay, well, the goblin just starts truckin for you. He’s got his cleaver raised up over his head, both hands; he’s yellin and screaming goblin nonsense; there’s spit everywhere; and his footsteps sound like toad jelly. What do you do?

See, the implied thing there is that, if nothing is done, goblin will rain down the cleaver with unrighteous fury on top of our dear protagonistic head. So:

PLAYER (acting): I’m waiting with my shield up, and I’ve got my sword ready to do its business.

Ah, now, see? The player didn’t do anything that necessitated a response from me; he didn’t do anything that I have a say about. (He’s using this as an opportunity to do some secret things behind the scenes that we’re not going to get into now. It’s a bunch of resource-allocation to a move that he’s got planned. The move is in fiction, mind you; it’s conceptual. It’s not on a sheet anywhere.) So I’m going to escalate again and again, each time building tension, until he must react or until I can escalate no further without the thing that’s obviously going to happen happening.

GM: (escalation): So the goblin’s jumped up in the air, and he’s bringing the cleaver down on your head. What are you going to do?

PLAYER (acting): Cato’s got his shield angled up, right? So he’s deflecting the goblin’s cleaver; and, as soon as that happens, he’s thrusting his sword up into dude’s guts.

Now we do some behind-the-scenes consultation re: resource allocation.

GM: Alright; I’m good. Go ahead.

PLAYER: So I’m rolling 6d for the block and 2d for the attack.

GM: Yikes. I’ve got 3d on the attack and 2d to evade you. Let’s see what happens.

[DICE ROLLING + RESOURCE EXPENDITURE]

After we interpret the dice results (just one roll from each player), we see that the following happened:

  • Cato’s shield blocked the goblin’s cleaver,
  • but doing so shattered his brittle little shield.
  • Cato’s skewered the gob for sure, with a critical hit,
  • which in this case means the goblin’s dead,
  • and it falls right on top of Cato
  • and is stinky.

It’s actually a pretty complex system, but its complexity is layered and modular. You could play it with one die if you wanted and no reference sheets or play aids.

Anyway, the point of the preceding is to show what one little exchange of rolls can produce in the system. And I’ll note in closing that the system didn’t necessitate those results concretely. They instead determined that certain categories of things would occur, assigning mechanical weight to some of them, and then these logical/conceptual categories were specified or manifested by the players in the moment.

So things could have turned out differently—differently in a way that you can recount as fiction, depending on who’s playing and what sort of mood they’re in.