Mr. Topp and the Big Bad Blog

Yes, I am on vacation. But don’t let that stop you from finding out about the newest roleplaying blog on my reading list: Playing D&D With Porn Stars.

It’s a normal enough roleplaying blog, to be honest — the writer just happens to play with strippers and/or porn stars. I happen to play with history geeks. We seem to often encounter similar issues, which may or may not be disturbing. The blog includes both brilliant roleplaying ideas and (naturally) random porn stars dropping in to play. I will note that while my group comes up with all sorts of awesome, porn stars don’t tend to drop in. Yet.

The links, of course, are not entirely safe for work. Porn, and all. You understand.

(via Bastard)

roleplaying dungeons and dragons, Other Blogs, porn, porn stars

In one of my previous games, I allowed the PCs to start at different levels based upon the amount of plot hook that they allowed me to give at the beginning of the game. They could choose no plot hook, a small plot hook (a mentor, family, et cetera), or a large plot hook (a large organization). The idea was that the small hooks would be emotional hooks; large hooks would be enforceable by the organization to which the character owed a debt.

The plan worked, for the most part. Most of the PCs chose the small hook. A couple chose no hook. One chose the large hook.

Eventually, the organization that was owed a debt by the large hook character called it in. You owe us, they said. We need you to do this.

The player balked. There were consequences.

As a GM, I doubt I will ever use that system again. The player received some serious advantages due to taking on that debt at the start of the game; I could not make the consequences insignificant as a result. Nor could I simply take away those levels in the context of the game. Wait. I could have. I would go back and change it all if I had it to do again — I hate thinking of these things a decade later.

In any case, the consequences that were settled on at the time disrupted the game in a way that I did not like. Consequences and debts are a dangerous thing if not planned in. Yet, I am a fan of them — a game without consequences is boring. While I have enjoyed playing in games where everything always works out, and the PCs can do no wrong, they are not nearly as much fun as the games where things don’t always go according to plan, and mistakes can be costly.

Every character has a background: The Wizard learned their spells somewhere. The Cleric owes his powers to a deity. The Warlord presumably has trained in a military program somewhere. They all “owe” somebody something, though that somebody might be dead, or not care — after all, is your high school shop teacher going to come and collect on the debt you owe them for your awesome jigsaw skills?

There is one class in 4E D&D which has a real debt built in, however: The Warlock. Warlocks owe their powers to a pact; some sort of agreement that they made with a supernatural agreement. When I look at the Warlock, I wonder: Who is the agreement with, and what is it for?

Most importantly, I think that this is something that should be considered when making the character, and something that should be used by the GM. What happens when the demon comes knocking?

I’ve been giving you power for years, says the Demon. Now pay up.

Does the Warlock say no? Lose their powers? I think not … though have a plan, in case they do.

The pact is central to the Warlock as a concept. Don’t wave your hand at the nature of the pact and ignore it. Bring it front and central at some point.

Consequences be damned.

roleplaying debts, demons, dungeons and dragons, GMing, pacts, plot hooks, warlocks

Some time ago, I read an interesting article on Gnome Stew titled Batting .300.

The article itself is basically an observation: In baseball, most batters are unsuccessful — getting three hits in ten at-bats is considered to be good. Similarly, in roleplaying games, the majority of campaigns seem not to end; instead they just stop.

There is a difference, however. In baseball, the players do everything they can to get a fourth hit out of ten — they take drugs, study video, practice every day. They strive to be the first player in decades to get four out of ten. Roleplayers tend not to take a look at their practices in an attempt to improve their success rate.

Here at the Big Bad Blog, we intend to look at causes for failure — based largely on personal experience — and think of how to correct them.

Our first target is what we choose to call Tolkien Syndrome.

What is Tolkien Syndrome?

J.R.R. Tolkien wrote a book called The Hobbit. It was a story about a Hobbit who went on a big adventure with some Dwarves and a Wizard. He went There and Back Again. The story was mostly about the There part. Getting There and dealing with a Dragon.

Later, J.R.R. Tolkien wrote another book, called Lord of the Rings. This was an epic story. Again, a Hobbit went There and Back Again. But this time the fate of the world hung in the balance.

Tolkien syndrome is when, in the planning stages, you plan to run The Hobbit, but, when the game happens, you try to make it into The Lord of the Rings. The first adventure happens, and you then string it along into something larger.

What’s wrong with Tolkien Syndrome?

The problem with this approach is that there is seldom a plan. Tolkien published The Hobbit in the 1930s, and The Lord of the Rings in the 1950s. That left more than a decade for working out a plan.

While we would not suggest that you spend a decade to plan your epic campaign, it does put things in perspective — you cannot just make the magic ring from the first adventure very important and send your heroes back out the door without a plan for how it will work, and how the players might resolve their new ring problem. In particular, the epic plot needs to be more meticulously laid out than the get-the-treasure-from-the-dragon plot.

In the working world, we would call this “scope creep”. What we are doing seems good, so why not add a bit more?

Handling Tolkien Syndrome

There are several strategies that can be employed against Tolkien Syndrome.

Do not give into it. When your adventure ends, call it quits. This does not mean that the group of players must disband — it might just be time for a new game. It is never a bad thing to go out on a high note.

Take a break. The first adventure was awesome, and you want more — the same players, the same characters, the same world. This does not mean that you need to give more right away. Do not be afraid to say: “I didn’t plan for any more of this game — I’m going to need some time to come up with the next chapter.”

Recognize it. Those who have seen scope creep in the working world know that it can often be a subtle thing. Look for signs that you are just trying to fill out the campaign without any purpose behind them. If you see them, put the game back on course — there is no shame in bringing the game to a conclusion.

Alternative Endings

One of the keys we are espousing here is that in order to have a game that ends well, a GM must an end in mind — although how you reach that end can be up in the air. Of course, not all campaigns will have a clear Lord of the Rings type ending in mind — your style of gaming might feature a series of Hobbit-like endings instead.

In these situations, consider taking a look around when approaching each Hobbit ending. Is the game still as fun as it used to be? Is it still worthwhile? Where is the next ending? Remember that each of your small endings can be made into the grand finale — Harry Potter could have ended with any one of the books actually marking Voldemort’s final defeat.

So much of fantasy literature is based on Lord of the Rings. Fantasy bookshelves are filled with trilogies, five book sets, and The Wheel of Time — it seems like all our source material is in series format.

Be brave, and break away from the mould. Your campaign does not have to be a series or a trilogy. It can be a stand-alone novel.

Or even a short story, if you allow it to be.

roleplaying GMing, lord of the rings, scope, the hobbit, Tolkien

In 2004, Wisconsin prisons banned the playing of D&D. Earlier this week, an appeals court upheld the decision, and I have spent several days mulling this over in my head.

The rationale used for banning the game is that it forms a gang-like structure. It creates a close-knit group of players with a clear-cut person in charge (the DM), and that the violent fantasy basis of the game could lead to a divorce between fantasy and reality with violent repercussions.

Usually, I would simply scoff at this, but the ruling states that punishment is a fundamental aspect of imprisonment, and prisons may choose to punish inmates by preventing them from participating in some of their favorite recreations. No arguments here. I would not expect to be able to engage in all the recreation I currently enjoy were I in prison. Skiing, for example, would quite clearly be out.

But what of their actual arguments? Again, worrying about gang-forming and violent behaviour seems ridiculous when formed outside of prison, but inside prison could be a different manner. These are, presumably, people who have already been convicted of such behaviour and incarcerated for it.

However, the Wisconsin government has admitted that there appears to be no link between roleplaying games and increased violence or gang activity in prison — that being “divorced from reality” is not particularly induced by roleplaying games. People in such a state should be in a mental institution, not a regular prison. There are many books that could also encourage such escapism, but books are not banned — unless they contain rules for a roleplaying game. Or a shiv.

Still, that does not mean that roleplaying ought to be allowed — prison is a place for punishment, after all. However, here at the Big Bad Blog we do not understand how taking away a creative non-violent outlet from prisoners is productive to their rehabilitation; a prisoner writing a 96-page manuscript for a D&D game scenario that he hopes to run for other prisoners is doing something positive, non-violent, and for other people.

In other words, if the world inside a prison turns out not to be so entirely crazy that a D&D group turns into a gang, running a roleplaying game for other prisoners would seem to be the sort of behaviour that prisons should be encouraging, not prohibiting. These inmates will, after all, be freed eventually.

Of course, with the manner in which Wisconsin has phrased their roleplaying ban — it is not simply a ban on any sort of collective make-believe — diceless systems like Amber which depend on few stats could still be used. Inmates simply need to keep track of everything in their heads and talk.

Wisconsin prisons — and the court — seem to be missing that, at its core, roleplaying is simply pretending to be somebody else in a collective, storytelling, environment. Dice, papers, 96-page-plans, rulebooks and character sheets are just tools that make it easier. Two like-minded people free to converse can roleplay, anytime, anywhere.

Hence their ban — that inmates are not allowed to engage in or possess written material that details rules, codes, dogma of games/activities such as ‘Dungeons and Dragons’ because it promotes fantasy role playing, competitive hostility, violence, addictive escape behaviors, and possible gambling — is pointless. The activity is still permitted, so long as they do not have a rulebook for it.

Seems odd, does it not? A prison will allow prisoners to play, so long as they do not play by the rules …

The final verdict? Legal, but dumb.

Sources
BoingBoing
Inside Bay Area
New York Daily News
The Volokh Conspiracy

Photograph: Roleplaying Pro

observations and opinions, roleplaying D&D, dungeons and dragons, inmates, law, prisoners, prisons, punishment, rehabilitation, roleplaying, wisconsin