Fallout art

When I first started this series (two posts constitutes a series, yes?) I mentioned how I hoped that Derek’s D&D campaign would provide material and inspiration for blog entries.

Here we are one month later and he still hasn’t run a single session. I think he hates me. That, and the rather copious amount of affectionate texts I found on his phone sent to a “Windy Dave” leave me with a vague sense of suspicion and jealousy. Who is this shady character? Has he found another group to roll with? Am I just part of the party that he keeps around out of tradition or obligation while satisfying his dungeon mastering with some other young, more robust and exciting group of individuals?

Or is he just the unending well of disappointment and shattered dreams? More investigation is required.

However, my sister has decided to stop hating me and informed me that she finally read some of my posts. Of particular interest was the first Rollplaying wherein I made some arguments about absolute rollplaying and the conflicts between two opposing ideologies at the game table. Or something. Sometimes even I get confused about what I write and seek solace in luminous distraction.

The Artist’s Studio by Horace Vernet (1820)

At any rate, the reason I began this discussion on the role vs roll dynamic in tabletop RPGs because of a few humorous observations I made when witnessing my sister tackle her first session. They were the same observations I made when I got the pleasure of witnessing Felicia with hers and other new players to the genre. I won’t draw much conclusion from the fact that they have been almost universally women since I don’t believe there’s any correlation between that fact and their behaviour beyond the brief moment I had to make an incredibly sexist remark.

But I didn’t and I wished to point that out. See Kait, see how I grow! I restrained myself!

Ahem.

The thing I find most fascinating with new players is the actions they take. I touched upon it briefly in my own concerns about player and character knowledge and how there’s often a conflict between the two. Whereas a veteran will sometimes know when they possess a deficiency themselves or possibly even when they hold more knowledge than their persona. In the first scenario, the player can ask the DM who can either provide that information or roll it off. In the latter, the unscrupulous player will refrain from acting on that information unless it assists with progressing the session the he may find some clever way to work around his character’s lack of insight in order to bring this information forward. Both results aren’t the most elegant but they provide a smooth enough response that keeps the play going.

Soldier Labourer by Horace Vernet (1820)

The new player, conversely, does not understand this dynamic. They are the most apt to fall into the erroneous belief that their knowledge is their persona’s and vice versa. When confronting a new challenge, they will often express exasperation or bewilderment even if it were common occurence for their persona. They are the most likely to fall for common traps or pitfalls or to follow the most predictable and straightforward path. This really isn’t surprising. As mentioned, the dynamic between roll and role is a complicated one especially at the tabletop. First and foremost these players are approaching a game and they react accordingly. If there is an obstacle in the way, they will often try to fight it. If there is a path to walk, they will follow it. Partly, this reaction could be fueled by the popularity and ubiquitousness of computer games. Being the most popular form of entertainment currently, it is quite likely that new players are familiar with their design. And many computer games pull inspiration from old table top mechanics and design. However, computers are programmed for a limited number of variables and responses. Their design typically follows a “go here and do what I tell you” route that is narrow in scope because of the complexity required for programming. This  repetitiveness will instill in a player an automatic response that could be drawn upon in this new situation.

Much like classical conditioning, the player learns that when a quest giver says “go here and do this” the only way to progress is to follow. However, as I’ve said, the power of the tabletop game comes from the flexibility and unlimited possibilities provided by a combination of one’s imagination and the reactivity of the dungeon master. With a game, your only real choice in the situation is either to agree with the quest giver or to turn away from the quest altogether. Rare is it that you could solve the situation through clever means – be it robbing the quest giver, tricking them into a more favourable position, turning them in to the authorities or seeking assistance from their rivals. The list can go on and on.

Furthermore, when sitting down a new player to explain a new game what is it that is almost universally taught? The rules, of course. The player is given the character creation tools and walked through the often bewildering stats, perks, feats, skills, numbers and rules required to create their persona. Sure, there might be a few brief minutes to discuss the finer aspects of their personality but without fail the lion’s share of time is spent understanding the mechanics of the system. This reinforces the “gamey” aspect of the tabletop. I think this is the biggest problem that new players face. They get so consumed by this “system” and all the rules that govern it that they lose sight of what they’re playing. When asked what they want to do, without fail their first response is “I don’t know.” I don’t think this represents a lack of imagination or willingness from the player. I think this just represents his uncertainty of the rules. Most certainly she knows what she wants to do but she doesn’t know how to go about doing it. Does she need to roll? How does he communicate his distrust? Is it possible for her to even attack a basilisk?

The burden of knowledge I mentioned in my previous post is brought to a crippling extreme with the beginning player. They may not understand the finer points between a glaive and a halberd. They might not understand that a chimera can breath fire but a cockatrice can induce petrification. Between the world and the system they can’t separate mechanic knowledge from world knowledge and they’re just left in a confounding miasma unsure of how to extract themselves.

Angel of Death by Horace Vernet (1851)

To bring back the personal touch, I had my history in free-form roleplaying. Understanding the vast possibilities afforded to me in this shared game world wasn’t an issue. My background provided an avenue to come to grips with the “system” for interacting with an imagine world – mainly that there isn’t any. You are allowed to do what you wish to do – within reason. You are sharing a space with others and working together in your play even if in the world you’re on opposing sides. It is much like children playing house. It is the pure, distilled world of fantasy and imagination with just enough structure to prevent chaos from bringing the whole structure down. I was brought into D&D with half the “system” explained and arguably it was the hardest part. Anyone can learn mechanics. Knowing the bonuses a 17 strength provide in an open doors check is rote memorization that can be solved by timely referencing. But it is the strength of one’s creative faculties that provide that greatest advantages in the game and are the hardest to learn.

It comes as no surprise to me that those that often take rather quickly to D&D are those that come from an acting background. For how similar of a system is there than the one on the stage? You must work with a team in order to bring to life a production of various characters and events that, more often than not, carry their own motivations and goals. You must separate your own knowledge from your persona’s, abandoning the realization that you are just a person standing on a poorly lit and decorate stage in order to embrace the ideas and emotions of someone miles and years apart from you. You have to work with your director to understand the world your persona lives in to bring to life their thoughts and reactions to the events unfolding before them.

The stats, skills, powers and what not are just the operational rules that keep the production running. They’re knowing how to “cheat out” and what profile to maintain when delivering lines. They’re the knowledge of muting your motions and behaviour when occupying the background or learning to enunciate and project when delivering a monologue even if it is in supposed silence.

But I think anyone can be enticed into playing tabletop games. They are, after all, the natural flights of fantasy we have whenever engaging in a work of fiction. They’re the amusing “What if” thoughts that float through our head as we work through a favourite novel. They’re the imaginings that give rise to untold fan fictions spread across the Internet. Everyone likes to imagine themselves as the hero in their favourite story. And role-playing games are just the vessel that lets us explore that fantasy.

Once again, I get busy and my co-contributors demonstrate that I am the glue that holds this place together. Actually, that’s not accurate. I’m more the glue that keeps the wheels turning… except glue would have the opposite effect.

Let’s just say I’m the one that posts the most when he’s suppose to.

So yesterday was Thursday and meant to be our second day of Derek’s Ikan Light campaign. I was counting on these D&D sessions to give me plenty of material and ideas for blog posts. That was until Felicia got sick and the game was cancelled. Now, apparently, Derek is spending most of his day trying to extract his stomach out his mouth and my dreams of actually playing D&D have been only so much smoke and mirrors.

Well, God damn it all, I’ll write about it anyway!

In my brief experience with the genre, I’ve found that there are generally two types of players that join into tabletop RPGs. They go by many names but I’m going to affectionately term them roleplayers and rollplayers. I, myself, am the former. I got into RPGs way back in the day through play by post message boards and mIRC chat channels. These were free-form roleplaying communities where rules were light and the focus was more on a bunch of people interacting in a shared world. I have fond memories of this wild frontier. There was a game I played that was essentially Robin Hood. I say essentially because while the thread creator had the full intentions of making it about the classic woodland bandit, a bunch of us ended up taking the game wholly in another direction. Typically with free-form roleplaying, most groups or topics start as a sort of collaborative fanfiction. Generally, someone will begin with a call for fellows to join them in a popular world and the familiar characters will be doled out like a sloppy meal at a food kitchen to the first unwashed miscreants to get their hands on their childhood favourites.

Double Portrait of a Brother and Sister by Cornelius Ketel (1548-1616)

Even at a young age, while I enjoyed the practice of joining these self-indulgent fantasies, I had a penchant for creating my own characters even if the world was not my own. Presumably, having this in a developed world created the necessary “accepted rules” which each of us as creators would play by but that is neither here nor there. The point is that when I joined the Robin Hood thread, I chose not only to ignore joining Robin’s merry band of nitwits but threw my lot in with the Sheriff of Nottingham. Of course, it didn’t feel right playing the  eponymous character (especially since the Robin player had already written him in a few of his posts) so I started to develop the deputy. Because every good sheriff needs a deputy. Only, I was all too prepared to have mine play the role of the villain.

My first post was a despicable introduction of abuse of power and megalomania. He terrorized Maid Marian, extorted peasants, berated and whipped subordinates and smeared the good name of the sheriff at every possible turn. The introduction of this character had a rather unexpected effect on the game. Suddenly, the focus was immediately redirected from the sheriff and King John to trying to deal with this abhorrent individual. The characters and events began to drift away from the classic tale and many of us began to fight out this grand struggle between minor and imagined characters that was far more compelling and gripping than the one between Robin and the sheriff. This struggle was made all the more difficult and gripping beneath the one universal rule of free-form roleplaying – you may never write a fellow player’s character’s actions or do irrevocable harm or damage to them without their permission. I couldn’t, say, just march a contingent of soldiers into Robin’s lair and murder him in cold blood. Likewise, none of his band were capable of just hunting my deputy down and slitting his throat alone and unloved by his fellows.

Portrait of Ferdinand Alvarez de Toledo by Willem Key (1515-1568)

Instead, the battleground played out between NPCs. I arrested and imprisoned loved ones and those closest to my enemies. They worked vigilantly to discredit my name with the sheriff and king as well as prepare the peasants to resist me whenever I showed up. I don’t remember how it ended but I think part of my final downfall came when a new player arrived to take the role of Maid Marian.

What’s important about this rambling tale, however, is that all of this was possible with only the barest of rules. Since every member of the group was focused on “playing their role” the entire crux of the game revolved around the interplay between player actions, decisions and goals. Nothing was scripted and there was no rewards for us other than developing a damn good yarn between all our meddling hands.

I’ve always approached RPGs with this sort of attitude. I spend a lot of time developing my character, understanding the world and imagining the desires and goals of the person I play. I don’t really care for the mechanical creation of a character. Stating, powers and abilities represent a tangled mess that interferes with the creation process. Instead of just creating a “despicable deputy” I’m forced to consider what skills he has four more ranks in than not, how many “agility points” he has for blocking damage, whether he has enough strength to lift his longsword or not and on and on it goes. And while these limitations can offer additional fleshing that you wouldn’t consider otherwise, more often than not it is almost entirely devoted to elements that don’t form a character but a mechanical automaton.

Which brings me to the rollplayer. My friend Jeremy is one of those other, alien players. They are most excited delving into the systems of the game, learning the intricacies of the combat and skill checks. They derive more pleasure from creating extensive leveling plans, stating out all the perks, feats, proficiencies, powers, spells, abilities and other goodies that they anticipate receiving. Their character isn’t the vengeful victim of the crimes committed by a rampaging deputy in his unswerving hunt for outlaws in the forest. Instead, they are playing the 4/5/1/3/6 Rogue/Shadow Dancer/Shapeshifter/Divine Matriarch/Gooblygook. They create killing machines meant to defeat whatever challenges will be thrown at them, delighting in the combination of powers delved from the obscurest supplement or magazine that can destroy even the god statelines themselves!

Soldiers of Fortune by Francisco Fernandi (1679-1740)

And don’t get me wrong, there isn’t any right or wrong way to play these games. They’re obviously designed for both styles. There are reams of comprehensive rules for managing combat and challenges between individuals. Whereas a duel between people from the Robin Hood adventure would essentially be a few days of colourful riposting and parrying, the conclusion of the combat will inevitably be a draw or well established before the two participants strike the first blow. The classic dungeon delve would fall completely apart in a free-form framework. And those challenges are the ones that rollplayers delight in the most.
Whereas, I am quite happy playing an entire session without throwing a single die. Obviously, not everyone is the same and it’s probably more accurate to say players fall on the spectrum of roll-role playing. And it is the duty of the DM to figure out the perfect balance for the players that she is running for. Sometimes, group dynamics make the games really difficult to balance if you have a collection of extremes. I’ll never truly enjoy combat in tabletop games. Likewise, some players will never enjoy social intrigue and politics. But if you can get a group together that share the same interests and have a DM that likes running and developing adventures in that style… well, then you will have a damn good evening that leaves your players eagerly anticipating each session and writing long, rambling complaints whenever they get canceled.