Random Encounter Tables as Emergent Social Theory

I was watching a Youtube video about making random encounter tables by some virtual buddies of mine, and it struck me how similar a sandbox 'hexcrawl' campaign driven by such tables was the notion of theory that is often employed by quantitatively-oriented sociologists today. Just as proponents of sandbox-style games argue in favor allowing campaign themes to emerge from a combination of player agency, a GM's ability as an improviser, and the outcome of die-rolls on random tables, just so quantitative sociologists make the case that particular theories that explain social structure and social change "emerge" from the result of regressions and other statistical operations on data that accounts for a particular social process (e.g. rates of healthcare provision or female education in Third World countries). In this way, theories themselves become testable, rather than religious-like propositions that one must accept on faith. They also promote a much more pragmatic view of the world, make programs to promote social change much more supple and resonant with people's actual needs, and put a damper on excessive identification between theorists and their theories, because the theories are not products of a life's work, testaments of loyalty to an advisor or foundational figure, but are really just outgrowths of the data itself. Similarly, GMs who are inclined to just let the players do what they want argue that imposing no overarching theme, and just generating challenges randomly increases everyone's enjoyment of the game and prevents the gamemaster from becoming a little dictator who is always pushing players back onto the 'right path'.

This is the older distinction, but quantitative sociology,
especially of a left-globalist bent, bases itself on an
explicitly inductive, pragmatic philosophy

Older approaches to social theory were more resonant with setting-driven and plot-driven approaches to running RPGs. 'Theory', as a derivation from the Greek theoria - speculation, observation - was an almost religious act, a point that is driven home by its Latin equivalent contemplation  - literally, the marking out of a space to observe the outcome of an augury in a specially designated part of the temple. Thus, theory derived from a synthetic and prolonged process of observation and thought, as well as ethical and epistemological commitments, rather than emerging spontaneously from observed data. In gaming terms, a more contemplative approach to world design and the emplotment of campaign structure likely involves transposing life-long study of and interest in different game systems, as well as historical settings, mythologies, literary genres, book series, or even attempts to transpose a specific vision for a novel onto the canvas of the game world. This approach is sometimes criticized for being 'railroady' and solipsistic, because it involves a greater imposition of the GMs vision onto the players, who, according to currently popular outlooks, are supposed to be co-creators. Games are not meant to be novels or movie scripts, but a distinct medium.

Without denying that the above criticisms of contemplative approaches may be justified in particular cases, we cannot fail to note that popular settings continue to reproduce certain established tropes (high fantasy, apocalyptic sci fi, space opera, cyberpunk). Certain book or cinematic settings (Middle Earth, Star Wars, comic books) continue to serve as fodder for setting design, as do region-specific quasi-historical settings (loosely based on East Asia, the Middle East, and others). In other words, models based on contemplated worlds that are unique, internally coherent, and based on specific narratives maintain a hold on the gaming imagination. The importance of narrative also emerges in a lot of advice writing and videos about how to maintain dramatic tension, draw in player buy-in through interesting descriptions, which are novelistic techniques. A parallel phenomenon is the reaction to the quantification imperative in neighboring disciplines, like history, where in recent years a marked move back toward narratives (especially personal narratives) is evident.

One problematic aspect of the quantificationist approach to theory is the assumption of data neutrality. Let the data speak for itself, the motto proclaims, do not impose the researchers' biases over it. But data generation of course, is not neutral. It is produced by government agencies, the World Bank, NGOs, etc., with a clear agenda in mind - to produce absolutely objective facts, upon which an absolutely rational administration of the agency, the country, or the world, becomes possible. Subjecting the data to analytical and statistical techniques furthers this agenda. It makes regional specificities appear irrational - since these appear as products of the data, they can be manipulated to reflect desired correlations in desired areas. Not to attempt to do so, or to argue that the distinctions have a right to exist would fly in the face of such technocratic rationality.

The purely sandbox approach to setting design and running can suffer from similar blind spots. We might think that allowing players (any players) to take more initiative, to bring all aspects of the rulebooks into play if players take an interest in them, and making settings more open to pastiche and collage (a pinch of Game of Thrones, a dram of clockpunk, a dash of Car Wars) -  et voila! Fun for the whole family! Perhaps such an approach works, but sometimes it doesn't, and becomes an proverbially awkwardly-patched pottery bowl. Worse, if a setting is not properly contemplated, and subjected to improvisation from every angle, it frequently becomes like any other setting - generic. The more generic, the more open to different kinds of interests - the better.

It is a pointless exercise to insist that one approach - the contemplative or the emergent, the quantitative or the qualitative - is a priori better than the other. People's choices behind theoretical commitments are aesthetic, ethical, and shaped by personal experience, and telling them that they "are doing it wrong" will not yield particularly useful results. It is not my purpose to preach in favor of one of these alternatives. In terms of gaming philosophy, I'm a convinced tricameralist - I believe that the ideal campaign is in approximately equal measures shaped by the GM, the players, and the dice. I believe that well-designed random tables help introduce an element of unpredictability into GM designs and danger into player plans. Breaking with narrative and dramatic structure can be refreshing because it creates living worlds. Our own sense of drama and narrative is now too shaped by Tarentino and the Coen Brothers (who were themselves in turn shaped by the experience of random encounters) for us to run games strictly in accordance with Aristotle's Poetics.

But if run the game by encounter tables and randomness we must, we should also explicitly incorporate contemplative models into their design. Staff hexcrawl tables with creatures from a particular mythology that are associated with certain terrains. Draw up a key underneath the table as to what the creatures indicated by the encounter want (if they are a prince's servitors, might they be looking to extort tolls? drinking companions? impress wandering adventurers into service?) Also, have a sense of how frequently caravans pass through the area, how far away the bandits' encampment might be, what the marauder might offer if put in a tight spot (e.g. his daughter's hand in marriage).

Rulebooks are already replete with random tables offering a choice of narrative structure. Is the setting awaiting the imminent return of an evil deity? Is magic becoming manifest in the world again after a prolonged absence? Is the Light of the Elves failing? Deciding what goes into such a table depends on the thoughts the GM is already kicking over inside her head regarding the type of setting or simulation into which the players will be placed. Such theory-informed tables illustrate how contemplative commitments can fruitfully interact with emergent design to create well thought-out, unique, and still open-ended and unpredictable settings.

Sample Wilderness Encounter Descriptions (taken from a table from my Lukomorye campaign):
These creatures all appear on a random encounter table I use. It is differentiated by terrain type, season, and time of day, but it is definitely informed by my own contemplations of what a Mythic Russia setting might be like:

Baba Yaga. An encounter with the Old Crone herself will always make an impression. She will never appear in the wilds by accident – she obviously intends for a meeting to take place – either to take a prisoner, to offer information, or to wreak a doom that she has determined. She may appear through a portal, flying out in her mortar and pestle, with a great deal of shaking and thundering. If she desires to be subtle, a party will simply see her hut in the woods, facing away from them (if they do not take the hint, Baba Yaga may appear out of the ground after they have turned away from the hut). If the party meets with a younger version, she may be in command of an army (if in mature form), or an elusive young maid, either leading them to the crone, or perhaps in the Hut, pretending to be a servant or prisoner. If for some reason Baba Yaga is on the warpath, her coming will be preceded by a great gathering of hags.

Bandits. Groups of bandits (2d6) may be coming to share a fire, or to take valuables, if encountered at night, and if they feel a party is weak enough. During the day, they are usually laying a trap, or committing highway robbery if encountered along a main thoroughfare. A bandit encampment is likely to be well watched at all times, and defended by snares and other traps. Depending on their mood and location, they will kill captives, sell them into slavery or for ransom, or blindfold people, strip them, and leave them somewhere in the woods.

Bogatyr. A questing knight on the steppe is not to be trifled with. They are pursuing an important quarry or prize, or, perhaps, just looking for someone to measure their strength against. It is possible that a bogatyr has seen a prophecy in which someone in the adventuring party figures as an important protagonist. Some bogatyrs also act as steppe bandits, and set up elaborate traps for the unwary in overgrown areas.

Firebird. The incredibly rare Firebird only appears at significant times, such as around the New Year, when it is reborn as a fledgling (or, when a fledgling hatches). It may also be attracted to a particular person, whose fate is to encounter one. Additionally, the Firebird may be fleeing its old master, and moving on to a new locale. Its appearance is highly notable, and is likely to blind whoever sees it if it is full-grown.

Giant. An encounter with giants is most likely going to entail large, hill-dwelling folk. They are usually hunters, and wish to be left alone. Infrequently, they are sent out into the world to search out people in human society. They may also be dealing with a problem that requires outside aid. Most rarely, a party will meet a truly colossal being, which likely just woke up, and is disoriented.

Hermit. Hermits are people or beings leading a solitary life in the wild. They may be religious ascetics, but also volkhvy, sorcerers or warlocks who hide in the woods. A few are hags who may have been there for generations. While they may be encountered in the act of collecting food or herbs, they probably live nearby, typically, they live in small huts or lean-tos that protect them from intruders. They also have signaling systems (involving spells, or other denizens of the wild) to alert them to the presence of strangers. A few have a taste for human flesh. [If encountered on the steppe, they may be flying, or kempirs]. [In the Tundra or Steppe, the encounter may be with an itinerant shaman].

Koshchei. Koshchei usually appears suddenly, and approaches a party very quickly, on a flying mount, or simply flying under his own power. His appearance is accompanied by peals of thunder and lightning, darkness, wind, and other dramatic effects. Sometimes, he appears at the head of a war party or a horde. The party has angered him, he has an interest in someone in it (probably as a captive), or he is after an object or information in the party’s possession. According to his code, he may not kill people he has encountered for the first time, but he is sure to put them on notice.

Peasants. Depending on the time of day, year, or day of the week, an enounter with peasants will be with peasants en route to/from the fields (or fishing), going to Church, moving from one landlord to another (typically after harvest time). They may also be people driven from their village by invaders, hunger, fire, or disease. Unless they have reason to be hostile, they will either be looking for handouts, looking to sell or trade wares, or perhaps interested in hearing news of the outside world. They may also possess pertinent information about the surrounding countryside.

Serpent. Low-level serpent encounters may be with snake swarms (that have some firebreathing ability), or with a passing letun, who may pass over the party as a fiery object, and then returns in a human guise because he or she has taken a liking to a party member. An encounter with a true serpent will either take place in the vicinity of a lair, or with a serpent flying far overhead. In the former case, the area will be subject to blight – little or no vegetation, a burnt forest, destroyed villages, no animal life, etc. A party that has noted these signs will likely encounter the serpent in one of its human forms before it reaches the lair. In the latter case, the serpent's passage is certainly going to be a major event in the locale or beyond. It may be on route to collect tribute from a village or town, or to burn it. All subsequently encountered people will be affected by its passage, and trying to save themselves, or to divine the meaning of the serpent's appearance. True serpects will have three, seven, nine, or twelve heads.

Servitors. Under this rubric, Yam messengers, bounty hunters looking for outlaws, or pressgangs may be included. Messengers are on a delivery, and are likely looking for travelers to just get out of their way (unless they are being pursued, in trouble, lost, etc.). Bounty hunters are also on about their business, but may be ornery and/or looking for money. Pressgangs are generally looking for easy prey (but may have bad judgment).

Skinshifter. Typically, they will be encountered in animal form, though this is less likely for those types that get this ability at higher levels (in which case, hybrid form is more likely). Bears are probably protecting a nearby hut or apiary. Cats are curious Travelers, and are either trying to steal something, learn information, or have taken a liking to a party member. Falcons are probably Travelers or Servitors on a quest, and will either be riding a party down, or surveying them from above, trying to figure out if they are enemies. Foxes are also Travelers, and are either trying to steal something to eat or to work a larger con. They are most likely to be encountered in human form. Frogs will be at home, and, in hybrid or animal form, will be curious, and trying to enage a party in a long conversation. Hares will be running by, pursued by a more dangerous creature, and/or looking for aid. Roosters will be on a mission, and either looking for allies, or a contest of strength and daring. They may be pursued by Foxes (or bandits). Ravens may be outside their hilltop fortress, or spellcasters near their forest retreat. They may have a prophetic message to deliver from a VIP. Wolves will generally be aggressive, and are likely to attack in animal form (which gives normal wolves a bad name). They may also be sorcerers or warlocks, eager to change a party into wolves. Skinshifters may be in the company of others of their type, or normal animals of their type. [In the Tundra, encounter is probably with a Bear (or, somewhat less likely, Fox, Wolf, or Hare)].