Mr. Topp and the Big Bad Blog

Have you built a time machine?

Have you been sitting putting off using it, for fear of the grandfather paradox?

Fear no more! Grandfather paradox-free time travel is now available!

(Math from Tenso Graphics.)

There are plenty of people in the world who cannot read Chinese (or Japanese). Yet a significant portion of these people insist on getting tattooed with Chinese (or Japanese) characters. Here are their stories.

London is amazingly unfriendly to the disabled. It has many old buildings which are (unsurprisingly) inaccessible. Most of the tube stations require that patrons traverse stairs, nevermind the conundrum of minding the gap while in a wheelchair. Apparently the brains behind the 2012 Olympics are extending this inaccessibility to the internet, as well.

Evading .300 refers to an article in Gnome Stew called Batting .300. Here at the Big Bad Blog, we try to identify why some games fail, and develop strategies that allow games to prosper rather than striking out.

What is The Big Scene?

The Big Scene refers to a game which is based upon a single idea in the GM’s head — it might be the introduction to the game, the climactic finale, or a showdown halfway through.

Wherever it might fit in the overall picture, the GM gets excited about the scene and starts a game in order to realize it.

What’s wrong with The Big Scene?

The danger with the Big Scene is that, as a human being, the GM is going to pour a lot of time into the parts of the game that interest them most. In other words, a disproportionate amount of effort goes into producing the Big Scene, while other parts of the game — encounters, NPC development, and so on — get considerably less attention.

There are three types of Big Scene:

The Climax: The GM imagines how the game will end, and throws together a game to achieve that. This is the type of Big Scene most likely to be successful, as the GM has strong motivation to bring players to the Big Scene. The large danger here is that the PC’s might feel that they are being railroaded, not enjoy the game, and bring the whole thing off the rails before the Big Scene arrives. The longer the needed set-up for the scene is, the more difficulty there will be in reaching it.

The Beginning: Here, the GM imagines the opening scene (or scenes) of a game, and launches into it. Good improvisers can sometimes tease a successful game out of these, but those who depend on meticulous planning will find themselves in trouble. There are two dangers here:
First, if it truly is a great opening scene, player expectations are set high, but there is nothing else in the works to match the opening scene — it’s all downhill.
Second is the danger of starting too soon. With the opening session planned out, the GM is often tempted to start the game without a plan for the overall campaign. Games without plans are simply less likely to be successful.

Somewhere in the middle: The worst-case scenario is when the scene that excites the GM and gets the campaign moving is one that occurs neither at the beginning or the end. Here, you encounter all the problems above — the need for a (possibly railroading) buildup to the scene, and then the letdown afterwards.

Handling the Big Scene

Despite the pitfalls that have been mentioned, having a fantastic idea for the beginning, middle or end of a campaign is clearly a nice problem to have. Handling the Big Scene is about moving your headspace from the scene to the bigger picture before inviting a group of people armed with dice into your home.

Knowing, as they say, is half the battle.

That said, if you are really stuck on a scene, the Big Bad Blog would suggest that you keep it short. Short games reach their climaxes quickly, have the end scenes on the tail of the start scenes, and so on.

Short games are not strikeouts, and not every game will be a home run. If you cannot find a larger campaign to surround your Big Scene, just play the fun bit that you’ve come up with and get out.

Back in June, I wrote about something I called the Crossroads Session. The idea is that there are some sessions which can define an entire campaign — the players choose a side or a direction, and that decision reverberates through the rest of the game.

That session went well, and a couple weeks ago there was a culmination point. The quest the players had chosen themselves was near completion, and … they chose not to complete it.

This is what is beautiful about real roleplaying games, rather than computer games that claim to be “roleplaying” games. The players will surprise the GM. If this were a computer game, there would be nowhere to go — the next step would be to complete the quest. There would be no rethinking of what side the PCs are fighting for, and wondering if the quest were a mistake.

It is also the horror of the roleplaying game. I was ready for almost anything but the players choosing not to complete their quest. I know how every major NPC would react to the quest’s completions, and the ramifications it would have throughout the game. What will happen without that? I am still working it out.

As a GM, I pride myself on allowing my players the freedom to shape the story, the world and the game that they are playing. Sometimes that bites you — I had a huge amount planned for the completion of the quest, and nothing for the alternative.

This should serve as a reminder: When there is a quite obvious alternative path, put some thought into what should happen if the players’ choose it. If you do not, they will.

They did it to me. The next session should be fun.

Photo courtesy of Paraflyer