Spes Magna Games

Giant Boy and I are heading up to the Dallas/Fort Worth area near the end of July for Texicon 2012. I’m running Metro Gnomes, a post-apocalyptic survival horror adventure using Dyson Logos’s inspired Geodesic Gnomes RPG.

When planning a 4-hour convention event, one of my big concerns is fully using that 4-hour block of time. Most people attending a convention have shelled out money, and part of what they’ve paid for is being entertained by me, each other, and the game for 4 hours. Also, I love experimenting with new ideas at conventions. I get plenty of Pathfinder with my regular gaming group. Conventions are a great place to try new things.

So, I’m trying two new things with Metro Gnomes. (New to me at least, that is.) First is the game itself. I’ve never played Geodesic Gnomes. I’ve never run a game of it for anyone. Tackling a new system, even one as rules light as Geodesic Gnomes, presents the sort of challenge that lets me make use of my teacher skills. I’m not only having to learn new material; I’m having to do so while preparing to present that material to others. Creating the pre-generated characters, player hand-outs, et cetera, is almost like working on a lesson plan.

Who says teachers get the summer off?

Also, I want to use a circular narrative structure for Metro Gnomes. Check out the diagram to the right. A prologue, four acts, and an epilogue comprise the adventure. The players will be able to play through all four acts in whatever order they want within the 4-hour event. My major design goal for Metro Gnomes is that it be pretty much the exact opposite of the typical, linear adventure.

In that sort of adventure, Metro Gnomes would flow from prologue to acts one through four (in that order) and end with the epilogue. With a circular plot structure, Metro Gnomes starts with the prologue and ends with the epilogue, but the order in which each act occurs is entirely up to the players.

The challenge with the circular structure is to ensure not only that the players have freedom of movement within the plot, but also that they players understand their choices. The pre-gen PCs, the prologue, and each of the four acts must all contain carrots and sticks to motivate the players to move from act to act.

I’ve still got a bit of work to do on Metro Gnomes, but I think I’ve got a solid handle on the basic structure. I can hardly wait to see the end result!

Tags: adventure design, Convention Gaming, game play, Texicon 2012

(From Game Geek 15, which is free this issue.)

Way back in Game Geek 4, I mused about my experiences at OwlCon XXIX with my son Giant Boy. It was his first gaming convention, and it gave me an opportunity to look at the experience with fresh eyes. My Game Geek 4 musings focused mostly on this advice for players: Be on time, use prep time wisely, don’t hog the ball or be a wallflower, and roleplay before you roll dice.

This time I want to focus more on the other side of the GM screen. Giant Boy and I arrived about an hour before our first event was due to start. This gave us plenty of time to get our registration packets, don our spiffy OwlCon XXX shirts, hang official badges around our necks, and engage in some people watching.

Our first event was “Scooby Scooby Doo, What ARE You???” run in one of the latest iterations of Chaosium’s Call of Cthulhu. I got to play Fred. Giant Boy was six of the Harlem Globetrotters, including Curly, Sweet Clyde, and Bubblegum Tate (those last two being ‘ported in from Futurama). The other three Globetrotters were unnamed, which struck more as lazy than funny. Four other players filled the roles of Daphne, Velma, Scoob, and Shaggy; the latter two were played with impressive vocal imitations by their players. The final player did a great job as Sheriff Don Knotts. The event started more or less on time at 3:00 p.m. Although it was generally enjoyable, two convention GM no-nos reared their ugly heads.

Start on Time; Finish on Time

If an event is schedule to start at 3:00 p.m., then the GM needs to start at 3:00 p.m. If an event is scheduled for four hours, it needs to run for at least very close to four hours. The people sitting at the table almost all paid to be there, and if a GM short changes paying convention-goers on their time, that’s a lot like stealing.

“Scooby Scooby Doo, What ARE You???” started on time, but it finished nearly 90 minutes early. There we were, all having a reasonably good time roleplaying our respective cartoon characters. Five of the six Globetrotters had been mind-controlled by fungi from Yuggoth. We had rescued Snidley Moneybags from bloodthirsty cultists on an alien planet. We had finally cornered the spawn of Shub-Niggurath. More or less without warning, the event ended. Daphne unmasked the spawn, revealing first Old Man Winters and then Nyarlathotep.

It wasn’t even 6:00 p.m. Giant Boy and I had been cheated out of more than an hour of gaming fun. I cannot help but think that the Keeper could’ve kept the game going for its full time had he managed to follow this next bit of advice.

Prepare and Playtest

Our Keeper’s prep for “Scooby Scooby Doo, What ARE You???” was noticeably lacking. The character sheets had incomplete information (such as missing stats) and appeared hastily scrawled, but perhaps that was just bad penmanship.

The entire Call of Cthulhu mystery was minimally outlined in the same hasty scrawl on a single page of notebook paper. Torn scraps of paper marked several places in the rulebook, which was frequently referred to without giving the sense that the Keeper knew what he was looking for. It was obvious the Keeper was making up a lot of it as he went along, and the ingenuity of his improv skills was quickly exhausted. Several incidents turned into hard core railroads where we players had minimal to no chance to influence events. More than once, the Keeper was just flat out dismissive and ignored or countermanded player intentions.

To provide one example, when a fungus from Yuggoth abducted some of the Globetrotters, the only dice rolled were Spot Hidden checks, as if it made any sense at all that a monster could enter a brightly lit room and snatch three six-foot-plus basketball players from under the noses of five other people without being extremely obvious. When Giant Boy had his remaining Globetrotters give chase, it quickly became apparent that no action could possibly affect any sort of rescue.

All of these — the way too early ending, the incomplete character sheets, the overuse of GM fiat, the insufficient notes for the adventure and relevant rules — indicate a lack of preparation on the Keeper’s part.

Since Giant Boy and I now had about two hours before our next event started, we settled into comfy chairs, ate dinner, and engaged in more people watching. While doing this, I noticed what might have been another convention GM no-no.

Keep Your Players in the Game

During “Scooby Scooby Doo, What ARE You???” I once got up to get a couple of drinks for Giant Boy and me. On the way to the cafe, I passed by a table full of people playing Pathfinder. One of the players was a tall, dark-haired fellow with a poor attempt at a goatee. When our event ended way too early, Giant Boy and I settled into our comfy chairs and ate and watched people.

One person I watched was Poor Goatee Fellow. He packed up his stuff, shouldered his backpack, and left the Pathfinder game table, not to return even though that particular event was still going strong. This made me wonder: Why had Poor Goatee Fellow left the game? Perhaps he just got bored. Perhaps he had to leave the convention. Or, perhaps, his character was killed during gameplay and with nothing left to do he had left the table about an hour before his game actually ended.

Since I didn’t see Poor Goatee Fellow rush out of the convention, it doesn’t seem likely some emergency had called him away from the table. Other folks at the table looked like they were having fun. So, via process of elimination in my limited options scenario, Poor Goatee Fellow’s character had died during gameplay. Thus, with no way left to participate, he abandoned the table. If this is so, all I can say is, “Bad GM!”

As already pointed out, most people pay to game at a convention. My payment creates certain reasonable expectations, such as the expectation that I get to play the entire round for which I’ve registered. If a player’s character dies with more than just a few minutes left to play, a good GM will have a back-up plan. A good GM gives that player another character, let’s the player help run the monsters during fights, et cetera. What a good GM doesn’t do is say, “Sorry about that. Better luck next time.”

Once Giant Boy and I finished dinner and people watching, we strolled over to our second convention game: “Crisis of Infinite Batmen” using Green Ronin’s DC Adventures. This event started on time. It ended on time. Everyone got to participate for the entire period. The GM was obviously prepared, understood the genre, and gave us players opportunities to shine. I was Dick Grayson acting as Batman. Giant Boy was Batman Beyond. Other players were Kal-El Batman, Wolverine Batman, Batwoman, and Cyber Batman. Owlman had absorbed Bite-Mite’s cosmic powers in an attempt to rid the multiverse of all the Bruce Waynes. We had to stop him during a climatic battle in Arkham Asylum verus oodles of Jokers (including Lego Joker!).

“Crisis of Infinite Batmen” was a well-run event with only one identifiable flaw:

Don’t Over-Explain

The GM often broke the suspension of disbelief by explaining the game mechanics and inspiration behind his various villains. While I understand that he was justifiably proud of way-cool villains such as King Solomon Grundy and the Twenty-Eyed Man, the metagame explanations about the villains’ capabilities weren’t always tied to things our various Batmen would’ve known. As a result, the GM robbed us of some of the surprise and mystery.

This is a minor complaint with “Crisis of Infinite Batmen” since the overall quality of the game made up for the mild let downs. I’ve certainly seen GMs (including myself) do much worse.

The rest of OwlCon XXX the next day went swimmingly. Giant Boy and I played one last event, namely Eric Seagren’s top-notch “Scavenger Hunt of Dooooom!” wherein my son was the jedi Obi-Gyn and I was the Hulk, a half-ogre/half-clay golem. Other players included the likes of the Amazing Driderman, Snake Plissken, and Holy Cow. We romped through an Outer Planes city looking for pun-related items in order to win fame and fortune. Out of the several groups that had played this event during the convention, we placed second.

Throughout the event, it was obvious the GM was well-prepared and had playtested the adventure. The players were kept involved, and, best of all, the GM didn’t go out of his way to over-explain what was going on. Seagren respected our skills and smarts enough to let us figure out (or not) the various clues on our own.

Tags: Convention Gaming

An article I wrote for Game Geek 4:

I attended a couple of gaming conventions at the beginning of this year. Despite Houston, Texas, being a rather large city, we’re sort of a gaming convention desert. Driven by two motivations, I ventured out into this wasteland for the first time in years.

My son Christopher turned 13 at the end of December. For one of his birthday presents, he was officially made a Probationary Junior Man and invited to game as a member of Man Day Adventures, my twice-monthly gaming group. Christopher, a.k.a. Giant Boy (owing to his 75 inches of height), had participated here and there in a few one-shot games when not all Man Day Adventurers were available for our regular campaign.

His enthusiasm is refreshing, but it can be a bit overwhelming at times. A 200-pound 13-year-old inspires mild trepidation when he gets overstimulated and starts trying to do too much at once: talk, laugh, roll dice, figure out which curse words he can get away with, move miniatures (including those he shouldn’t move), et cetera. When ConJour 2010 and OwlCon 2010 rolled around, I decided that Christopher needed to go. I figured he’d have fun, it’d be a chance for us do some father-son bonding, and so forth.

My motives weren’t entirely focused on my son, however. I also needed to playtest some Spes Magna Games material, and the conventions seemed like a great place to experiment. So, I signed up to run events at both conventions.

ConJour turned out to be sort of a bust, but we did get some card game playing done. OwlCon proved more active in terms of gaming. Christopher and I played a Truth & Justice session together. I ran my event with him as one of the players. The next day’s schedule presented a challenge. I had my event to run, and Christopher couldn’t play in it again. So, while I ran my game, he set out on his own to play in a Draw! event. Before I placed by firstborn in the hands of total strangers in a different part of the convention from where I’d be, I sat Christopher down and went over some of the rules of the road for convention gaming.

Rule 1: Be On Time

If an event starts at 3:00 p.m., be there by 2:50 p.m. This applies whether you’re a player or the GM.

Players: Your GM is almost certainly an unpaid volunteer who’s taken time out of his or her busy life to provide some entertainment for tables of strangers in four-hour blocks. Be considerate. If you signed up for the event, get there on time.

GMs: Your players have almost certainly paid hard-earned money in addition to taking time out of their busy schedules to be entertained at table full of strangers in four-hour blocks. If you volunteered to run an event, be on-time and run the event. Barring illness or an emergency, it’s the least anyone could do. If for some reason, you can’t make your event, let the convention staff know as soon as you can. If the staff is on top of things, they might be able to make other arrangements.

For example, several years ago, I attended a convention at one of Houston’s airports. I got to meet Gary Gygax in the hotel bar. I had a hoot of a time playing an elven rogue in one event. The second part of the event, however, got cancelled. Fortunately, the GM let the convention staff know. This gave me time to volunteer to run the event and do a quick read through the adventure. Sure, I didn’t get to reprise my role as that elven rogue, but at least everyone still got to play.

Rule 2: Use Prep Time Wisely

One of the advantages of everyone being on-time is you get time to prep before the game officially starts. Most convention games provide characters, background handouts, et cetera. Use your time wisely and study these. If things don’t make sense, ask questions and accept the answers. During a convention event is not the time to get into a power struggle over rules interpretations. Highlight or underline important stats, abilities, and information. Look up details about class features, powers, spells, and feats before the game starts. Also, make notes. Write down a catch phrase or two. Preplan how your character is going to act if such-and-such happens.

For example, Christopher had never played Draw! or any other Wild West RPG before. He also lacks my breadth of experience with the works of John Wayne and Clint Eastwood. To help him get into character, I jotted down some Wild West-isms for him: vittles instead of food, varmints and critters to refer to animals, slapping leather instead of pulling a pistol. Simple things like “Let’s ride!” and “Smile when you say that!” can go a long way toward creating the right mood for the right sort of game.

The preceding paragraphs are aimed mainly at the players, but GMs aren’t exempt from prepping. If you’re GMing a convention event, you should show up ready to run. A four-hour event shouldn’t require more than 30 minutes of at-table prep time, and most of that should involve making sure your players are good to go.

Rule 3: Don’t Hog the Ball

You’re not the only person at the table. Roleplaying is a collaborative affair, and you don’t get to monopolize the action or the GM’s attention. This is great advice for a thirteen-year old lad who’s relatively new to RPGs. It’s also something that some older, more experienced gamers have yet to learn. Here’s where basic good manners come in handy. These are the sorts of things you find posted on classroom walls in elementary schools. Don’t interrupt. Wait your turn. Stay on task.

The great thing about these basic good manners rules is that they apply to everyone at the table, including the GM. Be proactive with them. Cue people when it’s their turn. If you’re not sure whose turn it is, defer to the other person. It’s like sitting at a four-way stop. Sure, you might have right-of-way, but if the other drivers are confused, the result could be a fender bender. The give-and-take of spotlight time during a game session works much the same way, but instead of bent fenders, you can end up with hurt feelings and ill will.

This one can be sort of tough for Christopher. He’s a talker, especially when he gets excited about what he’s doing. Those three short rules two paragraphs up did wonders for helping him succeed at the game table.

Rule 4: Don’t Be a Wallflower

You’re a person at the table. Roleplaying is a collaborative affair, and you don’t get to just sit there, doing and saying the bare minimum when your turn comes around. If you’re not sure what your character can do, ask. Prepare your turn by paying attention to the action, and then seize the day when you get the chance. The other players and the GM at your table should help you get into the game by being the opposite of a ball hog. When someone tosses you the opportunity to do something, do something. Often, anything is better than nothing at all.

This can also be tough for Christopher. His comfort level in social situations, especially around strangers, can run rather low. This is where using his time wisely came in handy. He got to familiarize himself with his characters, ask questions, and make notes. During the Truth & Justice game, I sat close by his elbow so that I could whisper advice or pass notes to him with ideas he could use or reject as he saw fit while roleplaying the Scarlet Spider.

Rule 5: Roleplay First; Roll Dice Second

“I hit AC 18 for 9 points of damage.”

Dull, huh? Where’s the roleplaying? Where’s the narration? Everyone at the gaming table needs to lift some of the event’s narrative weight. One of the best ways to do this is to describe what your character wants to do, toss in some in-character banter, and then roll the dice. Succeed or fail, you should then briefly react as appropriate.

“Grondo grips his greatsword tightly and whirls it in a deadly arc at the orc. ‘Die, pig-nosed scumdog!'” Dice clatter on the table. “I hit AC 18 for 9 points of damage.”

See the difference? It seems such a simple thing, but it can be difficult to do consistently unless you’ve already developed the habit. During the Truth & Justice game, I frequently reminded Christopher to picture what his character wanted to do and then describe that action to everyone at the table. If the GM had any questions or comments, he listened to them. Then, and only then, did he roll the dice and do the math. The result was a more enjoyable game session for everyone at the table

Christopher took these rules with him when he went to play Draw! without familiar adult supervision. The rules paid off. For a few hours my giant son got to be a bounty hunter on the trail of desperados, and he had fun doing it.

And, ultimately, that’s what gaming is all about: having fun with fellow gamers, whether they be family, friends, or strangers at a convention gaming table.

Tags: Convention Gaming, Game Geek