Mr. Topp and the Big Bad Blog

A few weeks ago, I read a Gnome Stew article in which player character death was called a “hot button issue”. It puts the argument out there that PCs should not die in game — in books and movies, we often know that the protagonist will be successful in the end, after all, so there is no reason for a protagonist to die in your game.

Secondly, it argues that character death is akin to punishment for the player, as it pulls them out of the game.

Around the same time, I read an article at D&D With Porn Stars which — in its coda — looked at character death and character creation through the lens of how the game is approached.

These two articles mixed and merged in my head, and are now forcing themselves back up onto the pages of the Big Bad Blog.

What is death in roleplaying?

In a roleplaying game, death is not the same as it is in real life. Depending on the game you play, it does not even necessarily mean that the character is gone — it could simply be like a hockey penalty. But if death is not death, what is it?

Again, this depends on the death in question. Some deaths might be sacrifice, suicide (at least in the kamikaze sense), or storytelling. But most deaths will be consequence.

What Gnome Stew misses is that in many — dare I say most? — roleplaying games, death merely represents defeat. In games like Dungeons & Dragons, it’s not even permanent. It needs to be kept in mind that death is not the only — and often, is not even the best — consequence for failure.

Game style and death

The D&D With Porn Stars article makes clear that playing styles can strongly influence the impact of death on the players, and the way death is used.

Hack and Slash games must have death as a consequence. If you are playing kill the monster and take the treasure, the monster gets a chance to kill you. That’s just how it goes. As a GM, fudging die rolls takes the fun out of the game — which is essentially a small scale tactical battle game with odd weaponry. When the point of the game is to win the fights, the players need to actually win the fights.

Winning cannot occur if there is no opportunity for loss.

Character-driven games are often better when a consequence other than death is chosen.

If you play a roleplaying game which is about building a character, understanding the character and playing that character’s role to a T … well, this is where death becomes as much penalty as consequence — not only do you say to the character “this is the consequence of your actions”, you also force the player to go back to square one and start over.

This is not necessarily cool, or warranted.

In these situations, there is often a better consequence to throw at the players, as they are emotionally invested in the well-being of their characters.

World-driven games ought to have death as part of the landscape. If you are playing in a sandbox game in which the players (through their characters) explore the world you have built, with strange peoples and places, danger hidden around every corner, et cetera … death should be part of the landscape. Such a world ought to be littered with the bones of old heroes — and your players should be in constant danger of being such heroes.

Storytelling games should also feel free to use death — though it does not seem as necessary as it does in the Hack and Slash and Wolrd-driven games.

I was amused by the Gnome Stew article — it mentioned that there was never any doubt that Frodo would live (in Lord of the Rings) or Luke Skywalker (in Star Wars). But, of course, the entire company does not survive the whole distance in Lord of the Rings — Boromir dies, much as Thorin does in The Hobbit. And Obi Wan dies in Star Wars, as do some lovable Ewoks. Most stories involve death and loss at some point — if the story calls for (or looks like it will be improved by) PC death, then PC death should be possible. Perhaps even desirable.

Other types of consequence

As a GM, it is always important to remember that consequence comes in different forms. In the epic Dungeons and Dragons game I ran during University there were two large consequence scenes which went beautifully.

The first was a death scene — an injured party member went wandering around town alone, although the Big Bad was certainly in the area. A battle ensued and the character died. The interesting part is that it was not the player who played the character who was most distraught, but one of the other players whose character had lost a travelling companion. It is not necessarily the player who loses the character who “experiences” the greatest consequences.

The second was a session in which the PCs were trying to drive an enemy army from a city that they had captured. While the players were “successful”, their tactics were not — the city burned, and many NPCs died. At the time, I thought this consequence — the tactics and approach seemed a little laissez-faire to me, with the foregone “we’re PCs, so it’ll work” attitude — was a light slap on the wrist, as it did not impact the PC’s directly. However, it stuck rather heavily with one of the players.

The lesson here is that the negative consequences do not have to fall directly on the player’s character for the consequence to strike home. Nor does that consequence need necessarily to be death. In fact, with more experienced players, a more complex and indirect consequence can be better — waiting around for a Raise Dead spell can be a bit ho-hum.

Take the kid’s gloves off

Gnome Stew puts forth the argument that because character death is a penalty that can emotionally impact players, it is not fun and should not be part of your game.

This ignores what people actually enjoy. Sad movies, scary movies, games in which there are winners and losers, games in which there are penalties (hockey, for example), and driving too fast are just a few of these.

Penalties are okay if they are built in to the game. Any time a player has their character do something risky, they should be doing so with the understanding that it might remove their character from the game if it does not go well. That’s what the game is — PC’s, in almost every game I have ever played, are huge risk-takers. Nothing wagered, nothing won.

And players who are emotionally invested enjoy the games because of the emotional investment. Character death — their own, another player’s, or even an important NPC’s — can actually play as a trigger for exactly what they are trying to get out of the game.

Arguments which state that consequences should be avoided in roleplaying games, particularly when they claim that this is for the player’s own good, miss out on a great deal of the fun in roleplaying — it arbitrarily decides that great moments (and set-ups for great moments) in roleplaying games are de facto not fun.

Here at the Big Bad Blog we disagree. Consequences are a necessity if a game is to be fun. Otherwise you might as well just sit there with a bored expression rolling dice until all the bad guys are gone.

(From/By Raccoon Nook)

It is speculated that DNA might be held together by quantum entanglements. Which would mean that life is a quantum effect. Which, realistically, means nothing to us at the Big Bad Blog, but will probably send some philosophers scrambling.

Fort Hood has a street named Tank Destroyer Boulevard. I have never had a desire to live in Fort Hood, but if I did, I know now where I would want to live.

(Looking at You, by Russ Freeman. And isn’t that the most awesome bathroom?)

It gets a little strange sometimes, living in the future.

My news — that is to say real news, about the world I actually live in, the news that comes by word-of-mouth, concerning people and places I care about, rather than political arguments in countries where I have never lived — my news comes most often from social networking these days. Friends say things online, for most usually on Twitter or Facebook.

In the past, this information would have travelled verbally, for the most part — face-to-face, or by telephone. “Have you heard?”, a friend would say. Perhaps they would write a letter.

Today, that news travels by Twitter, at what sometimes seems like light speed. An engagement, illness or death would once have been published in a newspaper, allowing time for the news to spread in a more organic fashion. Social networking has flipped the new spreading on its head, outpacing the more personal word-of-mouth.

I learned yesterday that a friend from high school, Mark Purvis, died on December 28th. I learned this through Facebook — the first time a non-celebrity death had come to my attention through social media, rather than old-fashioned word of mouth.

It’s strange, on many levels. The means by which the news comes to me just adds to the strangeness of the whole thing. But it’s also strange to imagine somebody like Mark to be lifeless — a person who was as full of life as one could possibly be. As I understand is often the case these days, Mark’s Facebook page has become a memorial, with people sharing thoughts and memories there.

I’m not good at sharing my thoughts at times like these — which might seem strange, given that I am publishing them here, right now. I focus them inwards, or focus my attention away from the emotions involved, towards esoteric, intellectual questions which are raised by the situation at hand, and most often tangential to it. It does not seem right to but them into Mark’s space, on his Facebook wall. I do not imagine that they would give comfort there.

The tangential question resonating in my mind at present: Is this strangeness of delivery a good thing? Or a bad thing?

As a society — perhaps as a species — we often resist change. We are tempted to label things that are unfamiliar or different as being “bad”. In this situation, it is quite tempting to do so — it feels strange to receive such an emotionally heavy message in this fashion, and the message itself induces a strong negative reaction. It is only natural to associate the emotion with the medium. To shoot the messenger.

But the medium allows an immediate and widespread delivery of the message, perhaps reducing the amount of awkwardness and unpleasantness associated with the spread of bad news.

The sender of the message does not need to repeat it until they are numb. They do not have to try to hold themselves together. They do not have to deal — directly — with hordes of people they barely know (if they know them at all) offering their condolences. They can skim over these.

Perhaps this is bad — perhaps this is part of coping with loss. Perhaps it is good. Perhaps it offers increased privacy, space and time for reflection.

Or perhaps virtual condolences can be dwelled in for a longer period of time than can verbal ones. Perhaps that is good. Or perhaps that encourages dwelling beyond what is healthy.

As somebody who received the message, I wonder how I would react right now if I had to speak to somebody who had remained close with Mark since school, or to a member of his family. Certainly, it removes a social awkwardness from my end, of not knowing what to say. I believe that the sadness I feel remains the same, either way, and cannot imagine that my condolences would be of much impact.

Finally, how much of the strangeness of a delivery via Facebook is due to the simple fact that somebody I know has died at such a young age? Much, I think.

Rest in peace, Mark. I wish I had known you better.

There are some places in the world where it is actually illegal to die. No word on what the punishment for illegal dying might be.

(by Chris Peterson, editor of Glacier Park Magazine)

Santa, it is rumoured, checks if children are naughty or nice before giving them a gift. In the United States, the Salvation Army has a different take on this — they check to see if a child is a citizen of the United States before giving a gift. Non-citizens are, I suppose, naughty by nature.

I live in London, and love it. But I also love photography and the two often do not mix. For instance, official photographers for TV shows who have obtained prior permission to shoot pictures and are taking photos of cars (as opposed to anything that could possibly be sensitive information) get hassled by the London police so much that they simply prefer to have their shoots elsewhere. Such things should be unbelievable — unfortunately, they are true.

Errata: In yesterday’s morning coffee, we reported that Microsoft had upgraded their blue screen of death to a black screen of death. The source of this information has since recanted, and it now appears that your black screen of death is caused by malware, which is presumably not supplied by Microsoft. We apologize for spreading this malicious rumour and beg your forgiveness.