Spes Magna Games

I wrote this for Game Geek 7:

“‘If the player’s [sic] can’t do it, neither can I’ is sort of my rule (though obviously, there are exceptions).”

So wrote a poster in a recent thread in the Pathfinder Roleplaying Game forums. I’ve heard many DMs express this ideal, invariably advancing it as some sort of laudable concession to the spirit of fair play. On the surface, the sentiment does seem praiseworthy. Who could object to fairness, to a level playing field, to all the players (including the DM) using the same rules the same way?

Well, I could, because RPGs aren’t the kind of games that expect DMs and players to be equal to each other. Permit me to explain.

Some Rules Aren’t Rules

Right off, let’s note that the “if the players can’t do it, neither can the DM” (ITPCDINCTDM, for short) rule isn’t really a rule. Note the ubiquitous qualifier that, of course, there are exceptions to the rule. Who gets to decide what the exceptions are? The DM. A rule that the DM can choose to enforce, expand, contract, or ignore whenever an exception rears its head isn’t really a rule.

Perhaps a metaphor will help. Imagine a prison with one cell, one inmate, and one guard who has the key to the cell’s door. Now imagine that the inmate and guard are the same person. Not much of a prison, huh? That’s what the ITPCDINCTDM rule is like.

What’s more, I’ve yet to actually see the ITPCDINCTDM rule in any RPG’s rules. Admittedly, I’ve not read every single RPG out there. (Who has?) Still, I’ve been around RPGs since about 1978, and I’ve at least dabbled in dozens of systems. So, sure, ITPCDINCTDM could actually be a rule in some game somewhere. If so, I’d be willing to bet that an official rules expression of ITPCDINCTDM would end up just being an example of the one-man prison metaphor.

Why Have the ITPCDINCTDM Rule?

As mentioned above, a sense of fairness is the motive. Everyone uses the same rules the same way (except, of course, for all of those DM-defined exceptions, not to mention explicit cases in the rules where the rules aren’t same for players and DMs). Unfortunately, ITPCDINCTDM misjudges the nature of RPGs. Consequently, what rises from a noble intention ends up being little more than a nice sentiment. The underlying arbitrariness of ITPCDINCTDM undermines the fairness the rule supposedly serves.

Why Not Have the ITPCDINCTDM Rule?

Aside from ITPCDINCTDM not really being a rule, it’s a rule that misjudges the nature of RPGs. All players using the exact same rules is a key feature of competitive games. Consider a game of Risk. Every player uses the same rules without exceptions because the game is competitive. There’s going to be one winner, and everyone else loses. If one player decides to use different rules from everyone else, then that player is cheating. The same applies to checkers, football, and five card stud.

RPGs are not competitive games. There isn’t a winner or a loser. Rather, RPGs are cooperative. Every player (including the DM) cooperates to create an entertaining story. The rules assist the storytelling, to be sure, but that’s only because there needs to be some mechanism to determine resource management and the success or failure of story elements.

The rules provide a structure for the players’ characters to ensure that they all use the same resource management and success/failure mechanisms. This structure sets the characters’ abilities in relative balance one with the other. The DM sets up situations to challenge how well the players manage their resources and exploit their characters’ strengths in order to tilt the success/failure mechanisms in their favor. Consequently, the challenges set up by the DM need to work within the parameters of the game’s system or else meaningful collaboration can’t happen. But this collaboration does not mean the DM is limited to the structure meant to balance the characters with each other.

How About a Specific Example?

A frequent complaint about d20 System games is that it is very difficult to create a single enemy capable of providing a challenge to an adventuring group. In order to keep the fighter-types from hitting too much, the BBEG’s armor class needs to be jacked up to the point no one can hit him. To keep the magic-types from taking out the BBEG with a single spell means jacking up his saving throws so much that many spells end up being ineffective. The BBEG creation process ends up looking more like an intricate system of checks and balances requiring endless scouring through a pile of books looking for the just the right ITPCDINCTDM combination of stats, feats, and equipment.

To fix the horror of BBEG creation, I glommed a section of Bad Axe Games‘s excellent Trailblazer and tinkered it a bit. What I came up with are these special rules for solo monsters:

* Do not adjust the solo’s CR.
* Multiply its hit points by the number of PCs it is facing to create “chunks” of hit points (e.g. four PCs, 4 x hit points in four chunks).
* If a PC drops, scratch off an entire chunk of hit points unless doing so will render the solo unconscious or dead.
* Start the creature with 2 Action Dice per PC it is facing. (My Action Dice rules are similar to those in d20 Modern.)
* Add the Extra Action extraordinary ability to the solo’s stat block. (See below.)

Extra Action (Ex) Once per round at initiative count minus 10, the solo gets a single extra standard action. If the adjustment reduces the initiative court for the extra action to zero or less, the solo forfeits its extra action that round. For example, if the solo’s initiative roll totals 15 it gets to act normally at 15 and then gets an extra standard action at 5.

I’ve shared these rules several times in Internet forums. Every single time I’ve done so, at least one person devoted to ITPCDINCTDM shows up to accuse me of not playing the game correctly. “Those rules aren’t fair! Everyone has to use the same rules!” the detractors exclaim.

Bollocks!

RPGs aren’t set up to be fair, meaning set up to require ITPCDINCTDM. They’re set up to help people kill time creating entertaining stories in a collaborative manner. The RPG is not a competition in which the DM pits his library of splatbooks and optimization talents against the players’ splatbook-optimized characters. Consequently, everyone does not have to use the same rules if doing so deforms the collaborative nature of the game into a DM versus player arms race.

If you’ve stayed with me this far, let me offer some closing advice to DMs.

Take a look at the games you’ve been running. Is the way you’re running the game encouraging collaboration between you and your players? If not, why not? Is ITPCDINCTDM or something like it lurking in your game’s subtext? If so, think seriously about rooting out those anti-collaborative elements and replacing them with other elements. You’ll end up with a better game, and you’re players may actually thank you for it.

Tags: Game Geek

Another column I wrote, this time for Game Geek 6:

All sorts of horrible monsters stalk the average fantasy world. Against many of these creatures, the common people have little defense. (Heck, even a irritable cat poses threat to most commoners’ lives and limbs.) How do the common folk manage to stay alive when a single mob of shadows could lay waste to the average hamlet?

Adventurers are a big help. It seems like any time a supernatural problem arises in a community, some adventuring party comes along to smite evil and take its stuff. This makes for some great plot hooks and leads into some memorable adventures, but it doesn’t really satisfy on the macro level. Adventurers aren’t supposed to be a dime a dozen. They can’t be everywhere all the time.

What to do?

Well, I could just continue to ignore the issue. After all, it’s hardly a game-breaker. RPGs have worked fine for decades without placing much emphasis on the problems of lowly commoners. The game isn’t about them. The adventurers occupy the spotlight, and rightfully so. Still, for my current Pathfinder campaign, I want to add an extra layer of verisimilitude (which is not be confused with realism). A campaign world is verisimilitudinous (yes, that’s a real word) to the extent that it encourages and assists the willing suspension of disbelief.

Thus, I sat down and answered this question: What common means of defense against supernatural monsters exist? Here’s what I came up with.

Fire

Watch just about any horror movie. Someone’s probably going to set some thing on fire in order to destroy it. Fire has a long history of use as a purifier. In the game, fire gets deployed a lot, especially against regenerating monsters and when taking out groups of foes conveniently clustered together in fireball formation. Other monsters, such as mummies, have well-known vulnerabilities to fire.

Some creatures have a lesser vulnerability to fire. Against fire-based attacks, these monsters suffer +1 point of damage per damage die. Fire-users need to take care, however. Not all lesser vulnerabilities to fire apply to mundane fire. In these cases, only magical fire causes extra damage.

Holy Symbols

What could be more iconic than the stalwart monster hunter holding a vampire at bay with a boldly presented crucifix? The game system puts this iconic image into play in a cleric’s ability to channel energy to thwart the undead. That’s all fine and dandy for clerics and other characters with the necessary class feature, but what about Farmer Brown?

Anyone can present a holy symbol associated with their faith in an attempt to hold supernatural evil at bay. Doing so is a standard action that does not provoke attacks of opportunity targeted against vulnerable creatures within a 30-foot spread who have both line of sight to the presenter and the holy symbol.

The presenter makes a Will save which is opposed by the Will saves of the affectable creatures. If an affectable creature’s Will save is less than the presenter’s Will save, then the affectable creature is dazed for 1 round. If the presenter scores a natural 20 on his Will save, all affectable creatures within range are dazed for 1 round regardless of their respective Will saves. The presenter can attempt to hold supernatural evil at bay repeatedly.

One cannot attempt this mundane use of a holy symbol while using the channel energy class feature.

Iron

Just about the only creatures in the game vulnerable to iron are the fey, and even then it only serves to get past damage reduction and is limited to the rather expensive cold iron type of iron. Again, this doesn’t seem of much use to Farmer Brown. He’s not likely to do well in a fight to begin with, and cold iron is out of his price range.

Let’s broaden our scope a bit. As any fan of Supernatural knows, iron also works quite well against incorporeal undead. Since I just adore Supernatural (as do my players), I can’t think of a single good reason not to incorporate this television element into my current campaign.

Normal iron’s properties affect the fey and the incorporeal undead differently:

Normal iron and fey: Normal iron doesn’t bypass DR, but it does harm fey creatures. A normal iron weapon enjoys a +1 bonus to damage rolls against fey. An iron implement (such as a horseshoe) that is held against a fey’s skin for one full round burns the fey creature for 1d6 points of damage.

Normal iron and incorporeal undead: Normal iron weapons (including improvised weapons) cannot inflict damage on an incorporeal undead, but they can disrupt its form. Striking an incorporeal undead with an iron weapon forces the monster to make a DC 15 Will save. If it fails, the incorporeal undead is disrupted.

While disrupted, the incorporeal undead can only take a single move action each round. It becomes invisible and cannot be harmed by weapons of any type. Magic and channeling energy can still harm a disrupted incorporeal undead. Each round at the beginning of its turn, a disrupted incorporeal undead gets to make a DC 15 Will save as a free action. If it succeeds, it is no longer disrupted and may act normally. A disrupted incorporeal undead gets a +1 bonus on this Will save for each round that it has been disrupted.

Running Water

Some supernatural creatures cannot cross running water. They can’t even use bridges or fly over running water. This is one more reason why most communities are built near rivers or streams.

When confronted with running water, a supernatural creature with this vulnerability can attempt a DC 15 Will save. Success allows it to cross the running water, but the creature is treated as if staggered during the crossing. Failure means the monster simply cannot cross under its own power. It could, however, have a minion or vehicle carry it, but during the crossing the creature is treated as helpless. The monster is only ever allowed one saving throw to cross any particular body of running water.

Salt

Salt purifies and preserves. In some places during certain times in human history, salt has literally been worth its weight in gold. Without salt, food spoils more quickly and sickness and death await. Against certain supernatural creatures, salt has two uses. First, it can form an effective barrier. Salt can also cause damage.

Salt barrier: As a move action that provokes attacks of opportunity, a line of salt can be poured across a single side of a 5-foot square. Creatures susceptible to salt cannot move across this line using any innate means. This includes all modes of movement as well as spell-like and supernatural abilities. The salt line does not prevent the creature from attacking across the line, however, so salt users had best move back to avoid reach.

Also, while the creature cannot directly affect the line of salt, it can use a variety of means to break the line’s integrity. A gust of wind can blow the salt away. A bucket of water can wash it away. Thus, in many instances, a salt barrier provides only temporary security.

Contact with salt: Salt susceptible monsters who are exposed to salt’s touch for one full round suffer 1d6 points of damage from the contact.

Silver

Silver sits in pretty much the same boat as iron. It’s useful to bypass damage reduction, and that’s about it.

Creatures without DR #/silver that are vulnerable to silver suffer +1 points of damage from silver weapons (including improvised weapons like a silver candlestick holder). A silver item (such as a silver piece) that is held against a vulnerable creature’s skin for one full round burns the creature for 1d6 points of damage.

Sunlight/Sunrise

The sun’s light chases away the darkness and the creatures who live in it. It is the most common defense against supernatural evil, even if one must survive for several hours before it can be put into play. In many folk tales and fantasy stories, all sorts of creatures can’t stand the light of day.

Several creatures already have sunlight vulnerability or light weakness. These game effects are well-defined. In my current campaign, I will expand the number of creatures with these traits. Also, there are some monsters for whom the touch of sunlight is quite deadly.

Petrified by Sunlight: A creature with this weakness that is touched by sunlight must make a DC 15 Fortitude save or be turned to stone (as flesh to stone). Of course, keeping the trolls talking all night can be a bit tricky.

Thresholds

Before inviting that handsome stranger into the house, make sure he’s not a vampire. Everyone know that once a vampire’s been invited, he has carte blanche to just show up whenever he wants. If anything is worse than an uninvited guest, it’s a guest that feeds on his host’s life energy.

Creatures with threshold weakness cannot enter a building unless invited. It doesn’t matter who invites the creature, nor is it relevant that the invitation is gained via deceit or magic. Of course, this weakness doesn’t prevent the creature from setting the building on fire or sending in its mob of brain-eating zombies.

Monsters suspectible to iron, salt, silver, and holy symbols can also be kept from entering a building if the appropriate item is affixed or poured near the various entrances. Hanging an iron horseshoe over the front door doesn’t just bring good luck. It also helps keep malicious fey out of the living room. One needs to take care that all potential entrances are so warded. The horseshoe over the front door won’t stop a bogie from entering through a window.

Putting all this into play

Since these are the commoner’s methods of defense against the supernatural, it stands to reason that the various methods are well-known. For my current campaign, I need to decide ahead of time which creatures possess which vulnerabilities. Then, I need to let my players know this information before it becomes relevant.

Let’s say our next game session involves the PCs heading to a logging camp that’s been having trouble with members of the Unseelie Court. The PCs know before they leave town that they will be facing evil fey. In general, fey have problems even with normal iron. The PCs are advised to stock up on iron weapons and to bring along a sack of iron nails to affix near building entrances.

Let’s further imagine that one of the Unseelie sighted in the area is a redcap bogie. In my campaign, redcap bogies are so wicked that they can be held at bay by a boldly presented holy symbol. This vital bit of information should almost certainly be shared with the players.

Once these customized bits of campaign fluff and crunch have been put into play, they need to be documented for consistency’s sake. That way, the next time the PCs encounter a redcap bogie, I’ll remember that, yes, the devout fighter can whip out a holy symbol and have a chance to daze the monster before it can gut the party’s wizard.

Tags: Game Geek

One of my current projects is Scyld Heim, a campaign book that hopes to emulate a pseudo Viking/Dark Ages setting. In such a setting, a character’s ancestry is an important part of who he is and what he can accomplish. To reflect this importance of a character’s ancestry, I’m working on rules for lineage. The following is an excerpt of the current draft of these rules.

New Ability Score: Lineage

Lineage represents the heroic accomplishments of a player character’s ancestors. These deeds reverberate across time, affecting a character’s fortune. Of course, this assumes the character has a positive Lineage modifier. Characters with a +0 Lineage modifier have no significant ancestral achievements, while characters with a negative Lineage modifier labor under the burden of a blighted family tree.

Effects of Positive Lineage

Lineage potentially affects a single attack roll, combat maneuver check, saving throw, skill check, or ability check. Before making any of the aforementioned rolls, a player may decide to add his Lineage modifier to the d20 roll.

Each time a player decides to add his Lineage modifier to a die roll, his character’s Lineage modifier temporarily reduces by one point (minimum +0).

Effects of Negative Lineage

A character with a negative Lineage modifier is affected differently. Before an attack roll, combat maneuver check, saving throw, skill check, or ability check, the DM may decide to apply a character’s negative Lineage modifier to that single d20 roll.

Each time the DM applies a character’s negative Lineage modifier to a die roll, that character’s Lineage modifier temporarily increases by one point (maximum +0).

Recovering Lineage Modifier

A character’s Lineage modifier resets to its original value after a 10-Minute Rest Period, but only for the cost of one honor point. Otherwise, a character’s Lineage modifier resets once per day.

From Game Geek 5 by yours truly:

Nerdrage for sandbox campaigns seems to be at an all-time high. Pop around the Internet for a bit, and you’ll find blogs, forum threads, and products singing sandbox praises and offering advice ranging from sage to silly. I’m a pretty level-headed gamer, and even I’ve gone a bit ga-ga over this “new” trend in RPGing.

Of course, sandbox games aren’t a new thing. The revered Keep on the Borderlands from way back in 1979 was rather sandboxy. As is often the case, everything old becomes new again. In part, I think the resurgence of the sandbox owes at least a little to the dominance of adventure path style campaigns, where the heroes embark on some epic 20-level quest with a more-than-less linear plot structure. I’ve played my share of adventure paths, and they can be great fun.

But they often seem to lack a certain flexibility. The path might not be quite so rigid as A before B before C, but few of them permit the players to scramble up the alphabet in whatever order to their hearts’ content. What’s more, after a while, the path to adventure can turn into something more like a rut to the next sub-MacGuffin needed to reach the Ultimate Prize.

The Old School Revival (OSR) may also have something to do with the sandbox’s new popularity. I’ve not done anything approaching a scientific study, but I get the impression that the OSR has reached a fevered pitch in response to 4E’s presumptive hegemony over fantasy RPGs. Rather than new and shiny, many gamers voice a preference for old and shiny combined with fond memories of the supposed lack of railroad plot-tracks in modules from 20-30 years ago.

By positioning the sandbox against adventure paths, the sandbox’s advocates often emphasize the lack of linear plot, player freedom to set and achieve goals, and the more realism inherent in a world that doesn’t scale up in level with the PCs. Of course, this is a simplification, and adventure pathers can be quick to point out defects, such as that sandbox campaigns suffer from directionlessness leading to boredom by placing too much emphasis on player-directed action.

As is most often the case, the truth lies between the two extremes on the via media. Let’s put aside the pros and cons of sandboxing, and instead look at a concrete example of how to set up a beginning campaign using real-world history as a starting point.

Real-world history offers certain advantages. First, it establishes a geography and overarching timeline for things that happen regardless of PC actions. Second, the people within the historical narrative are a rich resource for NPCs, power groups, and adversaries. Finally, the historical event gives the players something they can sink their teeth into. The event presents familiar terrain for the imagination to get lost in.

Thus, we reach our first step: picking a historical incident to form our starting point. Fortunately, I’ve got an example ready to use. Click over to this blog post and read about how La Salle became one of the most famous Europeans murdered in the New World by other Europeans. I’ll wait for you to get back.

Hello again! Let’s break La Salle’s story down into something usable for a sandbox campaign by pulling out the elements we’ll need for our players and their PCs. La Salle’s departure from Europe in July 1684 looks like a good starting point.

Geography

La Salle’s voyage hit three points worth noting: the starting port-of-call, Petit Goave in Haiti, and Matagorda Bay in Texas. Any suitable fantasy port city serves for the starting point. This is where the PCs enter the story. Plot hooks lure them aboard one of La Salle’s ships. Google is your friend for the other two locations. Maps of Haiti and the Matagorda Bay area are easy to find. Select a couple that fit your needs, save them as graphics files, and do a little editing. For simple changes, no special programs or skills are needed. MS Paint and/or IrfanView work just fine.

Once you’ve got your maps, place specific encounter areas, sites of interest, and so forth. Don’t go overboard on the details (unless that’s your thing). All you really need at first is an overview and enough options to get your players to pick up the adventure ball and start running with it.

Even though it’s technically not geography, don’t forget to get your hands on some deckplans for ships. If you’ve got the gumption, draw them out on posterboard and cut them out to create ready-to-use floorplans for shipboard action.

Allies & Enemies

After reading the essay, I identified a few key figures to use as NPCs. Obviously, we need La Salle. The voyages needs a chaplain, so why not recruit La Salle’s brother Jean? Crevel de Moranget, La Salle’s hot-headed nephew, rounds out our list of allies.

The voyage starts with Etienne Liotot, ship’s surgeon, and the Duhaut brothers already present. These three need not begin the campaign as bad guys. They turn against La Salle after several weeks of enduring La Salle’s incompetence. More risible fellows include the pirate Hiems and the other rabble taken aboard in Petit Goave. Generic bad guys include hostile Karankawas and Spanish pirates. Generic good guys? The various crew members and travelers aboard the ships.

Avoid making good-guy NPCs more competent than the PCs, especially in La Salle’s case. NPC classes are most suitable for nearly all of them. Keep in mind that one need not pile on the levels to make an NPC capable in his job. In the fantasy d20 System, a 5th-level expert is likely near the top of his field.

Hazards

La Salle’s voyage to the New World suffered several setbacks. Here’s the short list: damage to a ship requiring repairs before sailing could continue, gales and other bad weather, disease, pirates, deserters, lack of food and clean water, and hostile natives.

Each of these can be summarized in a paragraph or two, perhaps printed on handy index cards or some other organizational tool. Toss in a few “random” encounters, and you end up with several events to liven up the trip. Take care to customize these to highlight the PCs’ competencies, foibles, and interests. After all, the story is about them, not La Salle and the other NPCs.

For example, just because Spanish pirates captured the real Saint-Francois doesn’t mean your campaign must follow suit. If the PCs manage to defeat the pirates, so much the better.

Meta-Events

Toss in two or three events that happen no matter what. For example, if you want the campaign to include getting shipwrecked, then ships have got to wreck. The PCs aren’t omni-competent. When the time is right, declare that bad weather has run a ship aground.

Remember that throughout you’re not prepping plots. You’re setting up situations into which the PCs can interject themselves in order to shape the course of events. How do the PCs react to La Salle’s incompetence? Do they take over the expedition, offer their services as advisors, or just ignore things and hope it all works out? Do they take part in a murder plot against La Salle? When Hiems and his disreputable cohorts come aboard in Petit Goave, what do the PCs do? When attacked by hostile natives, do the PCs wage war or act as diplomats? Et cetera, et cetera.

Dive into the sandbox with appropriate preparation, and the possibilities are nearly endless.

Tags: Game Geek, Sandbox Campaigns

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