Giving up the Reins

 Well, the Traveller campaign has continued on with a player taking over as GM and my taking a seat on the player's side of the screen, running an NPC the party had met before. It's working all right overall as I had not read much ahead in the campaign materials, so I don't have spoilers.

The difficulty is in my letting go of "running" the game I'm in. I'm usually the GM and --for good or ill-- I have a particular style. The new GM's style is not radically different, but it's his own as well. I fear I sometimes may chime in with comments on rules or mechanics when I should just be quiet and play. 

On the other hand, one of the reasons I normally GM and not play in our little group is that a couple of the players can, well, be a lot. One is very competitive and dominates a lot of the conversation, making it hard to be heard sometimes without just constantly interrupting. The other favors "storytelling" over rules and die rolls, so he's happier when we don't bother looking up a rule and either A) handwaving the whole thing or B) just letting the GM make an ad hoc ruling and move on. I have no beef with either style, but when I run, I usually only handwave or wing it when the actual rule doesn't exist or is not easily found. 

Both of these players push back when I cite rules, but as GM, I have more of say in how we proceed than as a player. The friction between our styles is more annoying when I am just a player at the table with them. I know that sounds a little petty, but when most sessions consist of getting fellow players talking over and interrupting you when you're trying to describe your character's actions or grumbling when you point out a relevant mechanic in the book, the fun level drops.

I know this is more in my headspace than in their actions, but it's just something that I'll need to process. Otherwise it may be time for a break. Game group dynamics are always interesting to navigate. What's strange is that it can actually vary from one campaign to the next. A group of people can play together just fine for one game system, then be utterly derailed when playing another. I'm not sure what the alchemy is there, but it seems a real thing. 

In Defense of Flavor Text

Flavor text, or boxed text, is a staple of classic adventure modules. The bit of copy set aside to read to the players. The part they can know, minus things like where the secret door is or the solution to the riddle carved on the wall.

In recent years, many (certainly not all) writers and reviewers of OSR-style products have voiced criticisms of boxed text. They find it distracting and disruptive to setting the pace of a game, even to the point of being jarring. The text can make also assumptions; such as the characters taking certain actions or that events having occurred in a certain sequence. 

These are valid complaints. While the GM can certainly amend text on the fly to reflect the current status of his individual game, part of the point to a published product like a module is to do some of that lifting for him.

When I have written flavor text for adventures, I have learned (imperfectly) to only present what can be immediately perceived upon entering a room or area, regardless of what may have happened before (within reason) and leaving further revelations to be determined by the players’ choices. Not all published products follow this model, so I can understand some people’s frustration. But before we throw the text out with the bathwater, allow me to offer my take on the value of flavor text in general.

As stated previously, boxed text takes some of the work off the GM’s hands. It gives him something to tell the players about their surroundings in an easily presented format. Granted, some boxed text can go on for far too long. A few sentences should be enough. Alternately, you can have a short initial description that breaks and allows for player agency. Then, if the players “trigger” the next part, there can be a followup box of relevant text. 

Of course, the flavor in flavor text is often the mood-setting, or atmospheric, descriptions to help people feel more immersed in the game. While this is a laudable goal, I often feel it is over-emphasized in boxed text. I mean, that clever imagery about the moon through the dead tree branches is cool and all, but not if I have to listen to a minute and a half of it before the GM tells me there’s a werewolf under the tree.

Another reason for prepared text is to help the players. Not just in setting the mood or presenting their initial impressions of their surroundings, but in filling in what I call the “perception gap.”

There is an old-school GM-ing conceit of “The player never expressly said they checked X, so they don’t know Y.” While this is fair as far as it goes toward allowing for player agency and their characters to stand or fall by their choices, there is a range between what one overtly sees or hears, and what one might realistically perceive if one were actually there. This is the perception gap.

Articles and books about adventure design often address this with advice like using all five senses when giving descriptions, not just sight or sound: What do they smell? Is it cold or hot? Dry or humid? and so forth. The idea is it helps the players visualize and become immersed more in the game. This is good advice, but has two potential pitfalls.

First, this can be a lot more work for the GM. Hence the previous point about using a published module. If an author has already incorporated some of these descriptors into the text, then the GM doesn’t have to. I am a proponent of not overusing this technique, though. Every room shouldn’t have a laundry list of sensory stimuli. Use the technique sparingly, and usually only when it will have an impact. Which brings me to my second point regarding the perception gap.

Providing more detail to players via prepared text not only for atmosphere, but to provide hints relevant to gameplay. A rotten smell might indicate zombies in the cellar, or a drafty room might hint at a secret passage. These are things that a person would probably notice just by being in a place, but may or may not consciously register. Some may be less obvious than others, but still definitely perceptible. Unless you want to train your players to repeatedly stop you and ask for input for each sense, scattering some of these details in subdued ways gives players a chance to follow up on these cues without necessarily smacking them over the head with them. The tricky part is to make such cues normal enough in one’s “GM patter” that metagaming players don’t pounce on every adjective, but distinct enough that they were given a fair shot before saving throws are called for. This sort of lexical balancing act can be tricky, which is all the more reason to use text that was prepared ahead of time either by the GM or by a published module’s author. 

As with any aspect of game design, boxed flavor text can be done well or poorly or anywhere in between. When it’s done well, I feel it can be a real asset to the players’ experience, both for setting the mood and filling the perception gap. 

Stories vs Adventures

I ride the subway to and from work every day. Since I don't tend to obsess over my iPhone's screen and I don't like carrying "extra encumbrance" e.g. books, this leaves my mind some time to roam freely. Of course gaming is a common subject.

I was pondering different GM tactics the other day. More specifically how to incorporate certain classic plot devices into an adventure to add tension to a situation. The problem, it seemed, was that too often springing a "gotcha" on the party seemed like taking away player agency.

Here's a super-simplistic example:

GM: "Your torch sputters out."

Player: "I light another."

GM: "You don't have any more."

Player: "What? Yes I do! I have three more on my character sheet!"

GM: "You lost them jumping across that chasm. They fell out of your pack."

Player: "You didn't tell us that! I would have noticed!"

GM: "Well, you didn't and now it's dark. You hear slithering."

See what I mean? Kind of a screw job. The specifics can vary widely, but the general idea is that -in a piece of fiction- you see a character not lock a door or accidentally drop their phone or forget their ammo bag and it leads to extra tension or humor in the story. The tricky part about a PC leaving their lifesaver behind is that for it to work best the player can't be aware of it until after the fact, which means they can't "make a save vs oops!" Which brings us back to lack of agency. PCs are not characters in the GM's story, they are avatars of proactive agents: the players. The GM has no story, he is presenting the party with a situation, from which they create the story.

 A while back I wrote about the use of random encounters in "classic" style gaming, arguing that it's an important cost-benefit agent in a resource management focused game like BX. I would argue they serve another purpose: a way to represent a certain amount of the unplanned into the adventure. It's not a perfect parallel, but it seems a good way to make the PCs deal with something they couldn't have anticipated.

These aren't really new ideas, but it was another example of finding interesting depths between the lines of a "Basic" game.

The Nick of Time

Something that came up in a conversation about a mini-module I wrote got me thinking. The issue was related to encounter randomization and pacing. It's all well and good to say "The monster lives in the cave, which is located at the 'X' on the map." If the PCs never go to X, they don't fight the monster. Simple. But if they miss all the interesting spots, the night's session can get a bit dull.

In cases of a limited layout (i.e. a dungeon) the odds of not finding anything of interest in any room is slight; even if it's not combat (maybe there is a puzzle or trap to deal with). In wilderness or town adventures, the odds of PCs wandering into Dullsville get higher.

I have a solution I like to use: I just move the set pieces around on the fly. Go west instead of east, then I just move the haunted farmhouse (or whatever) into their path. In fact, for my own games, I've actually stopped placing things on the overland maps until after the encounter happens.

This can be seen more than one way, of course. On the one hand, it allows a level of player agency where you let them decide how to proceed ("We cross the river" vs "We stay away from the water"). Players like to feel like their choices matter. Otherwise why even ask them? On the other hand, if the trap or the monster is going to end up in their path anyway, what's the point?

My answer is that the set piece(s) aren't the only thing that the PCs might encounter. Also, once a feature like a town or dungeon or temple, etc. is encountered, then it is  fixed on the map. I'm not going to move it about in their way– geographically or narratively. Unless the nature of the encounter is mobile (caravan or some such).

It's the same with time.  If the players have no knowledge of a timetable to work with, then they will arrive when it is dramatically appropriate. On the other hand, if they are given a deadline to work with ("The scrolls say the hellgate opens at sunset!") and they choose to wait or are delayed, then so be it.

All this flies in the face of sandbox lovers but I have to admit, over the years I've played too many pure sandboxes that fell flat when it came to pacing and excitement to worry too much about it.

Fire it up!

Tonight is "Session 0" of the new campaign. We'll spend the beginning making characters and setting up things like PC goals and PC bonds. I have some basic adventure material scribbled out as well. Here's hoping things go well.

It's equal parts exciting and dreadful to start a new campaign as a GM. The potential is tantalizing but the possibility of things fizzling (or a crash & burn) is ever present. Nothing for it but to try, though! Let's roll some dice!

Changing Gears

The DCC game sort of fizzled, which is too bad because there are many things I like about the system. Spotty attendance coupled with my less than expert grasp of the new rule set were the main culprits.

Lately we've been playing Lady Blackbird. It's a story-based game a friend is running (I'm a shapeshifting goblin). It's a neat change of pace, but I think we are nearing the wind-down point with the system. This naturally turns my thoughts to what I might to run if I take a seat in the GM's chair again.

So –big surprise– I'm thinking about BX/LL. More specifically, I'm thinking about a "name level" campaign, where the PCs start at or near the 9th level range, where all the "endgame" stuff starts to happen.

This is a realm of the game that I rarely get to play with, mostly because I've always pushed for the extended campaign where PCs earn those levels all the way from 1st. Sadly, nowadays that's a level of time commitment that most players (and GMs) our age simply find difficult to manage.

One of the reasons I like the idea of the long slog up the XP ladder (besides being a grumpy SOB of a GM) is the way that all those sessions create a bond between the PC and the larger campaign world. It's hardly a new idea, I know, but it's still true. One of the appeals of higher level play is the idea that the PCs become movers and shakers in the greater world, not just better orc-killers.

To balance these challenges, I may try borrowing from more story-based games and have the players devise "hooks" for their character that are already in play, instead of developing in-game. Again, not a new concept.

The next issue I need to address, for my own preference, is that of higher power PCs. I loves me some low level grinds. I know, I know, evil GM and all that; but the tighter resources present their own challenges in the game. Over the years, I've been guilty of letting lower level/power campaigns make my job easier because the PCs simply couldn't muster the magic or puissance to face harder challenges easily. Nothing's worse than a carefully crafted encounter or puzzle being sidestepped by an unanticipated spell or item in the party's arsenal.

I'm trying to push outside my comfort zone a little by giving the players higher level options and resources. In return, I want them to see beyond the crawl and use those resources on a larger scale. At the same time, I think I may introduce a few house-ruled bits of DCC-inspired weirdness to keep things like spells and magic items from being too easy to depend upon. [evil laugh] But that's a different post.

Closing In

I don't normally post about my campaign here. I usually just update the logs over at Obsidian Portal, but I realized that with Session #29 coming up tonight, we are closing in on the end of Night's Dark Terror. For those of you not familiar with B10, it's practically a campaign in itself. The story takes the characters all over most of eastern Karameikos. It's been a ton of fun, and I'm really pleased that we've managed to keep going through the whole thing. (knocks wood)

I will confess a certain level of GM fatigue, since I've been running this almost non-stop (with a few fun breaks) for the better part of a year, and trying to stick to a particular published module can be constraining at times. Perhaps when this is over someone else will run for a little bit. On the one hand that can be a relief, but on the other it's hard to step out from behind the screen and avoid backseat GM-ing. I can only say that if I end up playing instead of running, I will do my best to clam up.