Realized Wordpress is more updated and fancier.
Am easily swayed by pretty colors.
Here's the new blog, migrating posts cuz I really don't have that many.
https://musketandmagic.wordpress.com/
Sunday, March 20, 2016
Day Six, And the Role of Realism!
Shame upon me, I'm late!
In spending an evening listening to remixes of the glorious compositions of the underestimated Ennio Morricone, I entirely forgot to put up a post last night. Which, really, isn't that big a deal.
But principles matter.
And that's why I adhere to realism in my roleplay.
No, not for its own sake, to accurately model fencing manuals of the late fifteenth century and paint a stark lithograph of a fight in armored harness. At the end of the day, it's still a game, not training for a post-apocalyptic scenario in which your local SCA group must band together to defend the town against mutants and zombified football hooligans.
Realism is not there to punish players and limit what they can do, but enhance their abilities. Not to give them more raw power nor take it away, but to increase the depth, breadth, and meaning of their action.
As a basic example of combat, take how D&D handles a Fighter. In most scenarios, he is incentivized to simply smack a fool with his sharp metal stick until he dies, or else take hits like a sand-filled punching bag until the wizard can steal the glory. Furthermore, all weapons are considered equal, and all training is considered equal. A fighter is a fighter, whether or not he has an sword or a stick-- with damage die so small for either, he may as well go with the stick, with which he can entertain dogs without causing them gastrointestinal discomfort.
But watch a few videos on the infamous YouTube on the subject of half-swording or armored fighting, and you'll find that the art of hand-to-hand combat was much more than trading hits. Footwork, wrestling maneuvers, leverage, parry-counter-feint and counter-parry, full on tackles and leg sweeps--- a fountain of detail which a storyteller can use to narrate a truly spectacular duel.
If a fight is really meaningful (and every fight should be, for a roleplaying game, as opposed to an adolescent aggression dissipator), then your actions in it should be equally meaningful.
Realism enhances a game, insofar as it causes players to think about how their character maneuvers in the world. A setting which has a comprehensive and competent police arm might encourage players to behave more civilly-- or else be all the more craftier about their ill deeds, changing casual burglary into grand heists. If going for a traditionally medieval setting, why not add in the full feudal and noble system? An asymmetrical society of haves and have-nots doesn't limit characters, but adds a new dimension to their choices: an armored fighter becomes a knight, a real somebody who must balance his valor in battle with grace in peace; a cocky rogue gains real foes in the landed rich from whom she takes her living.
Be careful that realism does not overtake storytelling. More important than any set of mechanics you can provide is the story that you tell, and the friends partaking in it. Think not of your feats and skill points, but of this very nearly real, living, breathing, human (maybe?) being that is your character.
In spending an evening listening to remixes of the glorious compositions of the underestimated Ennio Morricone, I entirely forgot to put up a post last night. Which, really, isn't that big a deal.
But principles matter.
And that's why I adhere to realism in my roleplay.
No, not for its own sake, to accurately model fencing manuals of the late fifteenth century and paint a stark lithograph of a fight in armored harness. At the end of the day, it's still a game, not training for a post-apocalyptic scenario in which your local SCA group must band together to defend the town against mutants and zombified football hooligans.
Realism is not there to punish players and limit what they can do, but enhance their abilities. Not to give them more raw power nor take it away, but to increase the depth, breadth, and meaning of their action.
As a basic example of combat, take how D&D handles a Fighter. In most scenarios, he is incentivized to simply smack a fool with his sharp metal stick until he dies, or else take hits like a sand-filled punching bag until the wizard can steal the glory. Furthermore, all weapons are considered equal, and all training is considered equal. A fighter is a fighter, whether or not he has an sword or a stick-- with damage die so small for either, he may as well go with the stick, with which he can entertain dogs without causing them gastrointestinal discomfort.
But watch a few videos on the infamous YouTube on the subject of half-swording or armored fighting, and you'll find that the art of hand-to-hand combat was much more than trading hits. Footwork, wrestling maneuvers, leverage, parry-counter-feint and counter-parry, full on tackles and leg sweeps--- a fountain of detail which a storyteller can use to narrate a truly spectacular duel.
If a fight is really meaningful (and every fight should be, for a roleplaying game, as opposed to an adolescent aggression dissipator), then your actions in it should be equally meaningful.
Realism enhances a game, insofar as it causes players to think about how their character maneuvers in the world. A setting which has a comprehensive and competent police arm might encourage players to behave more civilly-- or else be all the more craftier about their ill deeds, changing casual burglary into grand heists. If going for a traditionally medieval setting, why not add in the full feudal and noble system? An asymmetrical society of haves and have-nots doesn't limit characters, but adds a new dimension to their choices: an armored fighter becomes a knight, a real somebody who must balance his valor in battle with grace in peace; a cocky rogue gains real foes in the landed rich from whom she takes her living.
Be careful that realism does not overtake storytelling. More important than any set of mechanics you can provide is the story that you tell, and the friends partaking in it. Think not of your feats and skill points, but of this very nearly real, living, breathing, human (maybe?) being that is your character.
Thursday, March 17, 2016
Storytelling for Roleplay (Part I of Who Knows?)
Okay, first real post.
Now that we've made an acquaintance of each other (if we haven't PM me for an intimate, sensual, and mentally disturbed personalized Acquaintance-Maker 9000), here goes:
The Case Against Heroes: Storytelling in Roleplay and Writing
Heroes just aren't that fun to GM for.
This is not a belittlement of players, nor of the heroic narrative. It's a commentary on what makes a truly fascinating hero, as far as writers, dungeon masters, and role-players are concerned, condensed into three neat points, and probably leaving out a lot of other details (I need more than one post, alright?)
In a good campaign, regardless of what plot the DM may have laid out, it is ultimately the players' characters who tell the story. At least, I assume that's what a good campaign is because my players are still with me, and I've come to accept that whatever story I write down is not the one that will be told.
With that said, the player characters do not necessarily tell a good story. The DM may not have a better one either. In fact, separate, without communication, it is virtually impossible to create a quality story. It might create some occasional eye-roll worthy moments or the odd burst of laughter as a random passerby is mugged for his kidneys, but characters disjointed from setting can't tell a story that can touch (a subject for another blogpost in itself.)
When it comes time for a new setting and to ask my players to roll up new characters, I've noticed they tend towards the epic scale of character origins. The example I'll use here is with a Pathfinder campaign I homebrewed in a vaguely Asian setting called Saichu, a low fantasy feudal JapanChina with some Scottish elves and giant lizard men (called Syntar in setting) tacked on for flavor. I began preparations for it about a month in advance, my players having the same time to stew on their characters.
What we got was a former bodyguard to the empress of the Syntar turned bounty hunter, a possessed sorceress whose father was a retinue man of the shogun, an initiate demon-hunting monk of a long forgotten order dedicated to fighting the god of chaos (and talkative crows), a crackshot yakuza assassin cancer patient (an example of everything that can go wrong with dice-rolled stats), and a drunken samurai with serious daddy / brother / mommy / relative issues.
Though taken as a sum this should have been an amazing combination, it quickly became a train wreck of a campaign. Players tried to murder each other on at least three occasions, someone tried to debate trickle-down economics with a samurai lord, and the Syntar kept kicking people through doors. Not only was the balance of combat destroyed, but the story itself failed to progress meaningfully, in large part because the characters were already too developed. Not by levels or power, but by their stories. With so many vastly different objectives and no particular reason to work together nor common background, the group lost cohesion, and stumbled sluggishly from one DM-suggested objective to another.
This mess was in large part my fault. Because I had failed to effectively communicate the idea of 'progressing' characters to my players and had failed to coordinate their character creation, the campaign limped on for six sessions before they caused an apocalyptic flood while attending a communist musical.
Was it a boring campaign? No, not by any stretch. That result depends on what you, whether player or DM, want out of a campaign. If you're just here for a bloody good time, then there is no reason not to indulge in ridiculously overblown characters and frequent overreaction; i.e., trolling.
But if you are intending to tell a serious story in which your characters undergo meaningful change, and exit the plot with some profound internal insight, then the characters must also fit the setting.
At any rate, this is a complex topic, best discussed in multiple parts, and preferably without Charles Barkley yelling at me from the next room over.
Now that we've made an acquaintance of each other (if we haven't PM me for an intimate, sensual, and mentally disturbed personalized Acquaintance-Maker 9000), here goes:
The Case Against Heroes: Storytelling in Roleplay and Writing
Heroes just aren't that fun to GM for.
This is not a belittlement of players, nor of the heroic narrative. It's a commentary on what makes a truly fascinating hero, as far as writers, dungeon masters, and role-players are concerned, condensed into three neat points, and probably leaving out a lot of other details (I need more than one post, alright?)
In a good campaign, regardless of what plot the DM may have laid out, it is ultimately the players' characters who tell the story. At least, I assume that's what a good campaign is because my players are still with me, and I've come to accept that whatever story I write down is not the one that will be told.
With that said, the player characters do not necessarily tell a good story. The DM may not have a better one either. In fact, separate, without communication, it is virtually impossible to create a quality story. It might create some occasional eye-roll worthy moments or the odd burst of laughter as a random passerby is mugged for his kidneys, but characters disjointed from setting can't tell a story that can touch (a subject for another blogpost in itself.)
When it comes time for a new setting and to ask my players to roll up new characters, I've noticed they tend towards the epic scale of character origins. The example I'll use here is with a Pathfinder campaign I homebrewed in a vaguely Asian setting called Saichu, a low fantasy feudal JapanChina with some Scottish elves and giant lizard men (called Syntar in setting) tacked on for flavor. I began preparations for it about a month in advance, my players having the same time to stew on their characters.
What we got was a former bodyguard to the empress of the Syntar turned bounty hunter, a possessed sorceress whose father was a retinue man of the shogun, an initiate demon-hunting monk of a long forgotten order dedicated to fighting the god of chaos (and talkative crows), a crackshot yakuza assassin cancer patient (an example of everything that can go wrong with dice-rolled stats), and a drunken samurai with serious daddy / brother / mommy / relative issues.
Though taken as a sum this should have been an amazing combination, it quickly became a train wreck of a campaign. Players tried to murder each other on at least three occasions, someone tried to debate trickle-down economics with a samurai lord, and the Syntar kept kicking people through doors. Not only was the balance of combat destroyed, but the story itself failed to progress meaningfully, in large part because the characters were already too developed. Not by levels or power, but by their stories. With so many vastly different objectives and no particular reason to work together nor common background, the group lost cohesion, and stumbled sluggishly from one DM-suggested objective to another.
This mess was in large part my fault. Because I had failed to effectively communicate the idea of 'progressing' characters to my players and had failed to coordinate their character creation, the campaign limped on for six sessions before they caused an apocalyptic flood while attending a communist musical.
Was it a boring campaign? No, not by any stretch. That result depends on what you, whether player or DM, want out of a campaign. If you're just here for a bloody good time, then there is no reason not to indulge in ridiculously overblown characters and frequent overreaction; i.e., trolling.
But if you are intending to tell a serious story in which your characters undergo meaningful change, and exit the plot with some profound internal insight, then the characters must also fit the setting.
At any rate, this is a complex topic, best discussed in multiple parts, and preferably without Charles Barkley yelling at me from the next room over.
Musket & Magic - Day 1
First post.
Oh dear.
Well, I've gotten tired of writing for myself and a small cadre of friends, so now I'm going to do the same, but online, and probably still very much alone.
Nonetheless, it's good exercise (like digging trenches in the French countryside), and builds character (like digging trenches under fire), a winning combination for a prematurely budded writer.
Until I sort out a number of things, this blog may well be a mishmash of varying subjects, hopefully updated on the regular. Whether discussing new ways of screwing with your players in Dungeons and Dragons, philosophizing on writing, or putting in (hopefully) funny shorts, I'd be happy to entertain, with fiction or history or self-deprecating humor.
Or not, I'm very bad at parties.
P.S.
But I am good at impersonating mercilessly incompetent feudal overlords.
Oh dear.
Well, I've gotten tired of writing for myself and a small cadre of friends, so now I'm going to do the same, but online, and probably still very much alone.
Nonetheless, it's good exercise (like digging trenches in the French countryside), and builds character (like digging trenches under fire), a winning combination for a prematurely budded writer.
Until I sort out a number of things, this blog may well be a mishmash of varying subjects, hopefully updated on the regular. Whether discussing new ways of screwing with your players in Dungeons and Dragons, philosophizing on writing, or putting in (hopefully) funny shorts, I'd be happy to entertain, with fiction or history or self-deprecating humor.
Or not, I'm very bad at parties.
P.S.
But I am good at impersonating mercilessly incompetent feudal overlords.
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