There has been a small — very small, but still noticeable — spike in sales for Blade & Crown and the Bandit Map lately. I don’t think it’s been entirely thanks to Brian I., either. 🙂 I’m not entirely sure what to attribute it to, but to all who’ve bought either the game or the adventure, thanks!
In May, I got to go to WisCon again. (Recovering took a while, thus not getting around to posting last month.) There was a lot of great gaming programming, including some very fun and mind-expanding conversations. One thing that kept coming up, though: A whole lot of people invest way too much energy and money into trying to fix D&D.
D&D is a very particular game, with very particular assumptions. It works great for a certain slice of play styles, I think. But I get the impression that a lot of people are constantly having to fight the system to get it to work for the play styles they want — play styles that lie nowhere within D&D’s fortes. Can you use D&D to run a system-light, non-violent game that isn’t focused on acquiring things and defeating objectively evil baddies and progressively getting better at fighting bigger, eviler baddies? Yep, for sure! I am firmly of the belief that you can run any game with any system. But that doesn’t mean that it will be easy to do so. You can use D&D for a system-light, non-violent, etc. game, but doing so is like using a sledgehammer to drive a staple. It’s entirely possible to find a way — but why bother, when there are these things called ‘staplers’ out there? And why (to further extend the metaphor) keep spending money to accessorize your sledgehammer for the job?
The main reason, of course, is that a lot of people have never had experience with anything but D&D. But even that isn’t a satisfying answer. The amount of effort a lot of people invest in carefully hand-crafting their sledgehammers into devices capable of driving staples, when they could spend that same amount of energy — or considerably less — finding and learning to use a stapler… it continues to amaze me.
A lot of people also just play D&D because of that closely-related reason, critical mass. Everyone plays D&D because everyone plays D&D. (This way lies a metaphor about social networks, and how D&D is basically the Facebook of RPGs. But enough with hackneyed metaphors.) And there isn’t really a good argument against that, other than “But you could be having so much more fun if you just played a game designed to do what you want to do!”
I found it both fascinating and frustrating that this issue came up so many times at WisCon. One panel I went to, and at least one I couldn’t go to, directly addressed this issue. But all the panels I saw still seemed to come to the default assumption at the end that, yeah, everyone is just going to play D&D anyway. Like I said, fascinating and frustrating.
Imagine that someone wrote a travel guide to the US with the power to shape reality. Whatever the authors write is the way reality is, forever and ever. Imagine that that travel guide was only 50 pages long. The authors try to keep it close to our reality, but still, some corners get filed off. What would the US as created by this travel guide look like?
- Democrats would always be more liberal than Republicans. There would be no such thing as a pro-choice Baptist or a pro-gun liberal.
- No little town would ever have a museum, major company headquarters, or ethnic diversity. Every major city would, by definition, have a major university, an Army base and a huge public park.
- There would be precisely one crime network in every town.
- There would be no women firefighters or male ballet dancers. Many other forms of diversity would also not exist.
- Every location in the US would have a single name, and everyone would agree how to pronounce it. No locations would have nicknames. Everyone speaking English would easily understand everyone else speaking English. The entire country would use the same names for “submarine sandwiches”, “casseroles”, and “fizzy drinks”.
- Every town would have rigidly-defined rich areas and poor areas.
- Earthquakes would only happen in California, tornadoes would only happen in Kansas, and it would never be unseasonably warm in Minnesota.
Doesn’t make much sense, right? But — and my metaphor is probably pretty obvious by now — that’s how a lot of game worlds are written and executed. Everything about a place can be reduced to permanent, objective, undisputed, simple facts.
It’s definitely good to have a broad understanding of what places are like. It’s good to lay out general details and then stick to them; this builds consistency. It would be amazingly frustrating to not know from day to day which street you live on, or what number to dial in an emergency, or which direction the Sun would come up from.
But at the same time, it’s good to break from the norm in big or small ways. Have a tiny town be home to the best architect in the kingdom (and come up with a good backstory for why she chose to live there); give a place alternate names, and figure out why it has them; discover that for some reason, a big group of an unexpected minority lives in an unexpected place.
Not only is this fun, it’s a necessity for realism. One of my constant truisms is, “The hallmark of reality is that it is complex”. Pretty much everything in the real world has a fractal level of detail; if something is simple, even on close inspection, that’s a good sign that it doesn’t exist in the real world. Little unexpected details are one of the best ways to show that something is real. (This always reminds me of the ‘commode story’ from the movie Reservoir Dogs — warning: very NSFW!).
To achieve a fractal level of detail, there needs to be a broadly predictable pattern, while still having small details that are surprising and interesting. If you’re the worldbuilder, or the GM, how do you generate small contradictions?
A major way is to get player suggestions. Playing something like Microscope or The Quiet Year always generates a ton of interestingly unexpected details. This is because the worldbuilding is shared out, and because different people are pulling those expectations in different directions. This can also work in a much more traditional game: Ask the players what makes this little village exceptional, or ask one player to come up with a reason why this NPC is unusual for a blacksmith.
Random rolling can work, but this can make it very tempting to do nothing but random rolling. (Drop tables and wandering monster charts are but two examples of this kind of thing.) This quickly tilts the balance from “interestingly unexpected” to “a complete mess that makes players have no idea what’s happening”. So I tend to be pretty cautious about approaching it that way.
My main way: just think of what would exist by the rules, and tweak one element a little. Find a third way.
I’ve also embraced slight mistakes made in play. There’s one town in Calteir that’s named Chaegrae. However, one time when I was telling some players about it, I misremembered and called it “Chaebrae”. This became a little bit of a running joke, but also a bit of linguistic variety: the town had, at some point along the line, acquired another common pronunciation. Canonically, Chaegrae is now frequently called “Chaebrae” by Westerners, due to an ancient misunderstanding. A nice way to harness a poor memory for purposes of worldbuilding!
There’s a whole class of ‘expectations’ that deserve to be contradicted constantly, of course. This is ‘expectations’ that fall fully into the realm of stereotype. Games where the only women are sexy minxes or sexless nuns; settings where non-white ethnicities are turned into orcs or goblins; societies in which trans people simply don’t exist. These are the kind of assumptions that some hail as ‘realistic’, even though the assumptions behind them and worlds they produce are anything but realistic. And of course, not only do these assumptions produce unrealistic worlds, they produce worlds that are pretty awful, too. So there are some ‘expectations’ in worldbuilding that deserve to be contradicted every chance you get.
Why does Traveller’s Imperium have a Scout Service?
This is a question that has bothered me for a long time. The Imperium, in its most common iteration, is more than a thousand years old. There isn’t a star system that hasn’t been visited dozens of times. Yet for some reason, the Imperium has a major government agency dedicated to exploring and figuring out what’s out there. When, logically, they should know everything that’s out there already. Long since.
Over the course of centuries, things will change, of course. Planets will get hit by comets; stars will go nova; planetary nebulae will grow and distort; etc. But realistically, the amount of change that will occur doesn’t require anything like a huge, sector-spanning government agency with probably thousands of starships and tens of thousands of workers. Think about how much exploration and discovery we’ve done while almost entirely bound to the Earth over the past century: We’ve mapped a large fraction of the stars in our galaxy, we’ve discovered thousands of exo-planets, we’ve imaged a black hole in a galaxy half a hundred million lightyears away! And much of that in just the past few decades. How much more could we discover if we had centuries at this level of technology? Today, our best radio telescopes are limited to about 13,000km in maximum baseline. Imagine if that was several orders of magnitude better! It’s hard to believe that the Imperium doesn’t already know everything there is to know, at least in terms of what a Scout Service would be tasked with.
Assuming that humanity continues on into the future (and that’s a big assumption), there will always be a need for updates about things that change more on human timescales: politics, economics, culture, natural disasters, etc. But that’s not the job for a Scout Service — that’s a job for journalists, and researchers.
Of course, the real answer to the question of why the Imperium has a Scout Service is: Because it’s cool. And because the Imperium isn’t meant to be realistic; it’s meant to be a fun mish-mash of tropes, allowing PCs to ride sandworms while wielding lightsabers and flying starships. But I tend to prefer more ‘realistic’ games, ones that require as little suspension of disbelief as possible. And while Traveller’s default assumptions aren’t diamond-hard, they also aren’t science fantasy, either. There’s a lot of lip-service paid to self-consistency and a modicum of realism. So I still have a hard time with a setting that’s more than a thousand years old, has FTL and antigravity, and still hasn’t finished a decent stellar mapping program.
Which leads me to another of GDW’s exploration-style campaigns: Bayern. This is a nifty adventure module for the 2300AD (or Traveller 2300, whichever) game. Bayern is about a multi-year voyage to the Pleiades. The Pleiades are a totally real celestial object (and very nice to look at — check them out in binoculars sometime, if you haven’t already), and a very interesting goal for a stellar exploration mission. There are still some odd tensions, such as: Why would the ship ever go explore anything at all other than the Pleiades, if that is their ultimate goal (and they have a very strong reason to want to get to the Pleiades as soon as humanly possible — no spoilers)? Side-quests don’t make a lot of sense when you’ve got a really good reason to finish the main quest right away. Also, there are some odd design choices, such as having a press corps onboard the ship who are motivated to investigate everything but have basically no sway in doing so.
Journalist: “Captain, you’ve decided to take the ship on a multi-light-year detour, even though the mission clearly states we need to get to the Pleiades with no further delay. What do you have to say?”
Captain: “I say that the next journalist who asks me a question gets thrown out the airlock.”
Journalist: “In other news today, there are cherry tomatoes in the mess hall again…”
But the overall mission is a very compelling one. A very tempting one, really. If I were to run a prepackaged adventure or campaign as written, Bayern is very close to the top of the list.
What does Bayern have that the Scout Service doesn’t? Primarily, it has a sense of exploring places that are truly new. In the 2300AD setting, humanity has ‘only’ explored out to about 50 light-years from Earth. The mission to the Pleiades is a real stretch, many times further away than any person has ever gone. The Imperial Scout Service, by contrast, is ‘exploring’ places that have been visited a gazillion times already for centuries. It’s unlikely that the Bayern is going to find any planets, much less any star systems, that they don’t already know all the basic parameters of; but there will definitely be new situations, never before encountered by any human.
“Before we left Earth orbit, we already knew this gas giant would be orbiting at 0.3 AU from the primary and that it was rich in carbon; but we couldn’t have realized until we got here that the carbon was in the form of a ring of naturally-occurring carbon monofilaments, just above the cloud-tops…”
That’s what makes the Bayern’s exploring so much more appealing to me than the Scout Service’s: There’s a sense of newness. Of actually seeing things no one has ever seen before.
That’s a big part of RPG gaming for a lot of us, I think. Being able to explore things that no person has ever seen before is really evocative and fun. It can even work if it’s just exploring something that no one has seen in centuries (but for me, if the Scout Service is ‘exploring’ systems that must’ve been visited in the last decade or two at the outset, that still doesn’t work).
This gets at one of the biggest advantages in running fantasy games. A huge difference between fantasy and SF is that SF tends toward an information-dense environment. Or perhaps I should say, an answer-rich environment. How does this plant fit into the ecosystem? What’s in that cave? How long has this structure been sitting here, and who made it? In fantasy, finding each answer is an adventure in itself, or maybe outright impossible. In SF, technology makes finding the answers much, much easier. Clearly, there are still mysteries, and especially important answers are usually that much more difficult to achieve. But still, considerably easier than in fantasy. Obviously, no hard and fast distinction between fantasy and SF is ever going to be very accurate, but one of the biggest tendencies is this: SF tends to make finding the answers a lot easier, and then deals with what the answers mean; while fantasy thrives on the mystery. (And horror, going even further along this continuum, tends to say “trust me, you don’t even want to know the answers.”)
Also, in fantasy, information tends to propagate much more slowly. “What’s life generally like on that other continent?” is the question of a lifetime in most fantasy worlds, but if you’ve got access to modern technology or better, it’s answered with a quick internet search.
So fantasy games make it much, much easier to feel like the PCs are the first ones to experience something. In an SF game, you have to work pretty hard for there to be real mystery. Add a sector full of ion storms, so no one’s ever been able to return from it; throttle the FTL, so that humanity is restricted to a small sphere within the larger setting; say that humanity is just getting back to FTL, after a long period of technological collapse (or put your setting at the beginning of the FTL age); focus on a colony ship with decaying infrastructure and limited ways of learning about the outside world — there are lots of ways to add that bit of exploring mystery to an FTL setting. But it still takes work. I think that’s one of the main reasons why fantasy tends to be more popular in gaming than SF: fantasy makes it easier to create mystery.
It’s also important to think about the motivation for exploring in the first place — the desire to be the First or the Only to find/see/do/experience something — and how that can lead in a lot of bad directions, including colonialism, imperialism, and erasing the existence of people who were already there. But that’s a slightly different issue, and maybe one for a later post.
The GM and players agree on a setting and general scenario.
Think of a character. Write down three things your character is good at, and one thing your character is really good at. Write each in the form of “[Really good/good at] [gerund verb] [object] with/without [indirect object]”, such as “Good at performing songs with my flute”, or “Really good at crafting magic without a spell-book”.
Each player gets 8 tokens. The GM also gets 8 tokens.
The GM sets challenges by spending 1 to 4 tokens per challenge. Higher numbers of tokens should be increasingly rare and dramatic.
Spend the same number of tokens for your character to succeed at the challenge. If you are good at the challenge, spend 1 fewer tokens. If you are really good at it, spend 2 fewer tokens. Minimum is zero tokens spent. When the characters succeed at a challenge, regardless of how many characters, the GM adds 1 token to the GM pool.
You can choose not to succeed; if you would normally be good at the challenge, add 1 token to you pool, and if you’d be really good at it, add 2 tokens to your pool.
Diversity of representation is quite important, if we’re going to have a better world. But diversity of creators is just as important, perhaps even more. Corporations are figuring out how to get the “diversity” label slapped on without actually changing underlying structures. If you’re celebrating diversity in gaming by continuing to give money to already-successful publishers, and to people who are male, cis, hetero, white, etc., you may be doing it wrong.
Would you be interested in a new edition of Blade & Crown?
It’s now been out for more than six years. It’s had some small degree of success. I always wonder, though: would a new edition help it get more notice?
If I published a new edition, it would be mostly about getting some good art. It would definitely need to involve paying some artists what their work is worth.
There isn’t much I’d change about it mechanically. There has been a little errata over the years, but not enough to really require a new edition. I’ve messed around with alternate rules for healing a bit, and I’ve had some ideas for a simplified damage system, that might save on the cascades. (That would need to be an alternate rule rather than the main system.) But that’s about it; there hasn’t been much that I’d consider ‘official’ changes to the rules over the years.
So, if there was a new version, it would mechanically be pretty much the same thing as the old system. Probably just prettier. Would you buy such a thing? Do you think it’s a good idea?
A lot of my gaming these days is long-distance. Many of us are in vastly different time-zones. Trying to make things work in person would be basically impossible. As a result, we’ve come to rely a lot on videochat systems.
At one time, it seemed that the standard for online pen-and-paper face-to-face RPG gaming was Skype + MapTool. By the time I started to get into videochat-moderated play, though, Skype wasn’t great. Connection quality was, and is, frequently very juddery; and what used to be a pretty user-friendly application has become increasingly about a shiny interface atop a money-grubbing, hard-sell social network. I’m very much not impressed with Skype these days.
For a good few years now, the main videochat system I’ve used is Google Hangouts. The bandwidth is far better than Skype is these days. Hangouts works directly in a browser, not requiring a separate app like Skype does. Hangouts also offers the ability to save call URLs, so everyone can come back to the same chat location later on.
Hangouts is not perfect, though. My standard joke is that every session, we need to assign a number to each player, and then roll a D6; that # is the player who has connection problems that day. Juddery sound, difficulties getting video working, or whatever else. Also, like most free Google products that were once useful, Hangouts will probably one day get consigned to the Google Graveyard.
My main concern about Hangouts is much like my concerns about many Google products: It’s really easy to use, free of charge, feature-rich, and all about giving Google access to our private information. Gaming isn’t necessarily stuff that needs to stay super-private — heck, a lot of us play in FLGSs, which are quite thoroughly public. But I’m still not a fan of giving Google any more of my information than they already have.
So for a while, I’ve been on the lookout for a videochat system that allows for private conversations. My first big hope was Signal, which is end-to-end encrypted, gets lots of praise from security experts, etc. However, Signal has other problems; most importantly, it still doesn’t do videochat from the desktop. It’s primarily an instant messaging/SMS replacement, at least on the desktop. That is apparently a feature they’re working on.
There are a bunch of other videochat systems out there, including ones designed specifically for online RPG play, such as Roll20. It has a lot of kind of amazing features, including an interactive map system, character sheets, dice rollers, and more. However, the overall feel is pretty D&D-esque. I could probably adapt it to Blade & Crown, but it looks like it would take a lot of work. Not ruling it out, but I think it’s a bit too fiddly for now.
One I’ve experimented with recently was Jitsi. There are actually a bunch of different Jitsi projects, including a server you can install, and more things that I kind of don’t understand. The main thing I’m interested in, though, is Jitsi Meet, which is pretty much a direct replacement for Google Hangouts: A web interface to create and conduct videochats. Not only is it much more private than Hangouts, it has some really kind of nifty features: You can set all the chat windows up in a tiled mode, to see everyone at once (instead of just whoever talked most recently); there’s a “raise hand” feature to allow people to signal that they’re trying to get a word in edgewise, or that there’s a question from the audience (which I could see being really, really useful if you were holding a panel discussion via Jitsi); and the audio and video quality has so far been significantly better than Hangouts (though I suppose this may go down once more people start using it). It doesn’t have a built-in map, or dice rollers, or initiative trackers, but there’s an ability to do screensharing, which allows showing maps and what-not, and that’s most of what I usually need, really.
No videochat program is perfect, but for now, I find Jitsi very promising. It’s certainly a good replacement for Hangouts.
And mostly, of course, it’s just very neat to be able to game with folks who are far away — often, not even in the same country.
City Pages, the main Twin Cities weekly alternative paper, has published a pretty important article about harassment that’s gone on at the Source. As unfortunately all too common in these kinds of situations, it’s meant massive disruption for the person who has to call out the problems, but very little disruption for the people causing the problems. I’ve previously praised the Source pretty highly. I think I probably have to rescind that, until there’s evidence that they’ve thoroughly turned things around there.
It’s also worth noting that City Pages doesn’t have a great record here themselves; they tend to report on fandom as if Convergence was the only con in the Twin Cities, and they tend to focus shallowly on the “sex and drinking, whoo!” aspect of Convergence at that. Maybe this article is evidence that City Pages’ reporting on fandom has turned around. Let’s hope.
I was barely on G+ to start with, but like a lot of folks, I’m leaving it. Will be trying to stick with networks that don’t center rich/white/hetero/cis men quite so much.
For more thoughtful, longform stuff, I’ll continue to post here (probably with about the same low frequency).
For faster, shorter stuff, I’m on Mastodon at