The Black Campbell

One of the fun things when creating a character is holding a little something back from table for a bit. Especially if you’ve hinted at something, then with the cooperation of the GM, bring it into play as an element of a storyline. This works especially well in noir or espionage tales, but even in a Victorian setting (Victoriana, Space: 1889, etc…) your American of indeterminate but expansive means that is living London or on Mars, or what have you turns out to have made their fortune in a spectacular heist that they double crossed their compadres on — enter the aggrieved gunslinger, looking for payback.

In our Blade Runner campaign, the old man of the group — Jerzy Novak — has to hunt down a former cop that has been shielding replicants, and along the way “finds out” (allows himself to remember) that he is a Nexus 8. During the Blackout, he had been on route to the spaceport in a Spinner van when the EMP hits. The van crashes, and in the process smacks into a police car. He and a few that survive the crash. While the others flee, he checks on the dying cop and notes a strong resemblance between the two of them. In a panic, he swaps places with the cop — being Novak. With the chaos of the Blackout and records destroyed, he starts his new life first as a beat cop, then a member of Robbery-Homicide, before become a blade runner. He’s, so far, avoided suspicion, but a recent case has introduced him to one of the other survivors, the very attractive owner of a casino/brothel that might have ties to the underground.

In our Star Trek campaign, a constant sub-plot in the background has been the captain’s very slow career progression (until the war.) The first “season” saw her take command of Fearless, an aging Walker-class, from the famed Garth of Izar; but the brass won’t promote her to captain, despite similarly experienced people going through the ranks from attrition. She gets the center seat, but remains a commander for the first two seasons before the political clout of her ship’s doctor and operations officer (featured in Day 8) sees her start to gain more respect from Starfleet Command. The main antagonist to this seems to be Admiral Stenn — a Vulcan that is just being “Vulcan”. Hints of something else have surfaced from time to time, and finally one of the character’s investigation into the newly revealed Romulan connection to Vulcans led them to uncover the truth about Stenn…not that he is a Romulan, but worse, that his bigotry toward other, “lesser” races has led him to sexually harass and intimidate alien females (humans, especially). Their captain, as a cadet, had rebuffed the admiral and he had quietly been pulling strings to sideline her until Garth took her on as his tactical officer. Because of the Vulcan tendency to avoid uncomfortable data about themselves, Stenn was protected by some higher ups in the brass at her expense. His quick and quiet retirement and exile back to Vulcan wasn’t as satisfying an ending as they wished…but it did sort the situation. 

In the same campaign, the helmsman — built on the classic love ‘em and leave ‘em Kirk trope — managed to get himself addicted to, then married, an Orion woman working for Starfleet Intelligence. He’s been a bit more careful about his extracurricular activities, but his value Addicted to Love has frequently causes him heart-burn, including getting into an affair with his best friend’s sister. He’s hoping to navigate the complexities of the situation with a hopeful “what happens in space, stays in space” kind of attitude. That is coming to bite him on the ass, pretty soon.

Secrets don’t always have to move a storyline, and they don’t always have to lead to some grandiose betrayal. Sometimes, they can be as simple as finding our your friend had suffered abuse, and has been quietly living with it for over a decade.

Taking a break from the character and campaign-based commentary this month, let’s talk about something else. I started gaming with the early boxed set Dungeons & Dragons with the execrable dragon on a horde of gold artwork in what must have been 1979, based off of the lack of dice in the box. (It came with two cutout cardstock chits — hence the specific year.) So, doing the math, I’ve been gaming for 46-47 years! (F***, I’m getting old!)

I credit roleplaying games with a lot of the positives in my life. It taught me interpersonal skills when I desperately needed them. It taught me how to tell a story well — something used in several careers, not the least being a professor and historian. It taught me how to appreciate good storytelling, and how to build a character — something that was useful in government service. (Don’t ask.) But mostly, it brought a lot of good people into my life — including my wife.

It was a privilege to be able to play most of my life. To sit down with friends, have fun telling a story together on a regular basis. Like the religiously held-to poker night of the past, Nerd Night has rarely been preempted; it is a thing to be protected and cherished because it brings folks together and allows escape from the world in a way the movies and sports don’t. There are characters, storylines, group dynamics that are long gone, but still live in our memories.

Of those people — from my high school gaming friends, the Jims and Eric, whom I still miss decades later from time to time; to the two long-lived groups that have kept Thursday’s Nerd Night alive from the early 1990s to 2010, when people scattered and divorces happened; through the rapid changes of players to the most recent and stable iteration from 2016 to today, I’ve had the privilege of knowing and playing with some truly fine people — every race, men and women, gay and straight, what have you. (The 400 lb “ninja” was not one of them, but that’s a different story…) The current group are all professionals: historian, engineers (three!), an acupuncturist (and former fellow history grad student); but in the past there have been movie crew, writers and mathematicians, wannabe actors, scientists, military of every stripe, cops…and lovable losers. Most came and went in that two-four year window that most game groups that survive the first few months seem to exist for. To have had not one, but two, groups that hung together in some form for 10 and 18 years, respectively, is a near miracle — especially with having to move about for work.

When you consider that for a 100,000 years, most people were born, worked their asses off just to subsist, and died young, to be able to get through most than a half century with the luxury of play, to have the comfort of work that doesn’t kill you (although some of my careers that was a risk) and a place to meet up — that’s truly miraculous. i don’t think we realize how unbelievably lucky we all are to live at this time, and for me in the Western world, where sitting down for an evening a week (or more when I was younger) is something you can get away with. Hell, you can spend a 1930s fortune to go play games with strangers for a weekend at a convention!

It’s something I truly love sharing with people. Once my daughter was old enough to be interested, she would join us at the table and roll dice for me. She was the harbinger of doom; her ability to roll well for the bad guys led to many a near TPK. Eventually, I ran games for her Avatar, ‘30s pulp Broken Compass, most recently Dune. She now has an online Saturday game group playing Pathfinder — dad is no longer the cool GM, but the love of the game has been passed on. I miss being her GM.

I introduced students to RPGs at the high schools I taught at not just to have fun, but to help them deal with issues in their real life in a fantasy world where they could have agency. (Something one of my former group does as a counselor in Texas. He’s a truly fantastic guy that I miss.)

This hobby is a wonderful. Spread the wealth.

Mirriam-Wester Dictionary defines resolve /rĭ-zŏlv′/ in a multitude of ways — as an intransitive verb that means 1. to deal with successfully, 2. to reach a firm decision, 3. to declare or decide, 4. to reduce by analysis, separate into components (or in the past to melt), 5. to make progress from dissonance to consonance, or 6. to work out the resolution of something.

Often, people see this as “grit” or “determination”, but I’m going to go with a combo of all of these definitions. In this example, crew of USS Fearless has been trying to find the culprit in a series of attacks on Federation shipping that have been attributed to Starfleet vessels. Central to figuring out the mystery is a player character, Ooloofar (or “Olaf”) the former operations officer, now promoted executive officer. A long time staple of the ship’s crew and one of the first two Saurian officers in the fleet, he had come aboard a year or so before the Federation-Klingon War, and was under the mentorship of the former XO (killed in combat) and the current captain, Fiona Kerr (from RPGaDay, Day 1). 

Having managed to identify warp signatures and the voice of the ship’s captain from some of the aggrieved vessels, Fearless is able to finally locate their prey — a Starfleet surplus ship that had been lost in the war and is being used by the Orion Syndicate, and captained by a disgraced but talented Starfleet officer. During the ensuing fight between their Walker-class ship — an older and less powerful design, vs. the newer but somewhat cobbled together Constitution-class vessel, Ooloofar gets his first real taste of command. His skills and persistence have frequently helped with scientific or engineering challenges, and during other ship-to-ship battles he was often instrumental in keeping the vessel in the fight…now, as XO, he finds himself in the position of having to assist the captain in the tactical side of the fight. 

Their opponent is good, and Fearless is somewhat outmatched by her opposition. As the fight went on, Fearless takes a couple of heavy strikes and is running low on shields and has suffered several “breaches” — damage that lowers the effectiveness of the ship in combat under STA rules. They are in a hell of a place, and it looks like they might just lose. It is at this moment, his technical skills and intellect tell him to cut and run. In the middle of the fight, he advises Captain Kerr to disengage until they can conduct repairs, then try to reacquire the vessel.

All of this plays into Olaf’s value “Fearless is My Home” and his tendency to try and use engineering and science to fix problems. However, this runs afoul of Kerr’s “spite is a Powerful Motivator” and her “A Fair Fight is the Fight You Lose”. 

Instead of breaking and running, she tries a wildly risky gambit, feigning worse damage than they have to lure the Syndicate vessel in, then executing a tight pass with weapons fire targeting the engineering section. Kicking determination to the tactical officer, Kerr directed (allows the helmsman an immediate action with her adding a d20 on her Control+Command) to do a tight pass of the enemy vessel. The direct allowed her to combine her move with the helmsman, without having to pass to the enemy after her action. The helmsman rolled very well, creating the trait Fire en Passant which lowered the difficulty to hit for the tactical officer. Using her Decisive Leadership, they cut out the enemy and the tactical officer got to go immediately with no cost in momentum. Instead, Olaf’s player suggested a repeat of her move — directing the tactical officer which allowed under his Advisor trait, a free reroll. The captain’s determination spend allowed one die to be set to a double success, and with a success from Olaf, and a reroll that increased the total to 5 successes, they were able to immobilize the enemy ship and force their surrender.

After the fight was over and the adventure mostly resolved, Kerr and Olaf discussed the fight. His instinct to withdraw and repair was a good one, but Kerr assumed that with the upper hand, the Syndicate ship would have given chase and prevented them from escaping, lest their ruse — a Starfleet vessel rendering assistance or performing health & safety checks on merchant vessels — be exposed. His resolution of the situation might well have worked, and was certainly more in line with the more defensive position that Starfleet suggests, but Kerr’s spiteful aggression, borne out of a hardscrabble life and harsh war time experience led her to believe that to deal with the threat successfully, they needed to end it quickly and with “violence of action” — a swift and brutal attack.

During their conversation, she admitted his idea was a good one, and had she thought the Syndicate vessel would have fled after the engagement was over, she would have followed his advice. His instinct to save the ship, get help, limit the potential loss of life was perhaps even the right call; her instinct was to end the threat as decisively as possible, thus saving ship and preventing further los of life. She won — but that didn’t necessarily mean she was right.

In the Summa Theologiae, St. Thomas Aquinas defines mercy as one of the most important of virtues: “the compassion in our hearts for another person’s misery, a compassion which drives us to do what we can to help him.” For the less theologically inclined, the American Heritage Dictionary defines mercy /mûr′sē/ as a noun meaning: 1. Compassionate treatment, especially of those under one’s power; clemency. 2. A disposition to be kind and forgiving, “a heart full of mercy.” 3. Something for which to be thankful; a blessing. “It was a mercy that no one was hurt.”

It’s not a passive thing, mercy; it is the active attempt to render aid to a person in pain — physically, mentally, or spiritually.

So how can this play into character creation and play in a roleplaying game, especially in a game universe that is less than virtuous? One of the obvious choices in a fantasy game is to play the cleric. In many ways, Dungeons & Dragons and other fantasy environments treat the cleric as a magic-wielding medic, instead of what the name itself implies: a member of a religious order. Often, gods is fantasy games are an afterthought, a simple explanation for where a cleric’s powers come from. Even when gamemasters and players give lip service to the need to propitiate a god, or follow certain precepts of faith, it’s still more of a transactional nature: do this and your get to use your powers; don’t and you might not be able to cast that spell.

Partly, this is due to the nature of deities created for a game universe, or taken from religions — Greek, Norse, etc. — that have disappeared, and whose manners of worship have been lost or intentionally destroyed or subsumed into more successful belief systems. We know some of how you might sacrifice to Poseidon for a successful passage on the ocean; we know some of the practices of Celtic druids — but a lot of this is “recovered” knowledge, cobbled together from unreliable historical or prehistoric (prior to documentary sources) means.

When my most recent Nerd Night™ group came together, we started with a Dungeons & Dragons campaign that was tooled to appeal to the Late Antiquity interests of one of the players. Set at the end of the Roman Empire, the characters started off in Gaul. Monsters like goblins and other creatures of myth were around, rare, as was magic. One of the characters was a monk/cleric, and while he had the requisite D&D combat skills, the player leaned into the Christian elements of being a monk. (He had, in the past, been fairly religious.)

When facing “demons” — be they goblin raiders or a cambion (the offspring of human and demon), he might resort to violence, but as often, he would try to convince them of the error of their ways and try to redeem them. Instead of the combat monster he initially built, his character became the confidant, coach, and redeemer for several of the villains of the campaign. While it wasn’t always an option, the idea of not increasing suffering or evil through vengeance and violence came to define the character. Knowledge of post-Nicean Christianity made his portrayal of the character pop.

The most amusing moment in the campaign was the group’s encounter with a troll that had been terrorizing a village. The characters were losing the fight — badly. During the conflict, the monk noted that the troll was raving about having been stolen from by the villagers, and he was able with a few fortuitous rolls to get the troll to pause in his razing of the place, by agreeing that theft was wrong — sinful, in fact — and that God had rules for this. Having calmed the creature, the others were able to evacuate the survivors of the rampage while the monk preached to the troll. In the end, it meandered off into the hills to consider what he had been told.

In the follow-up campaign that focused on Arthurian Britain, the new characters encountered a town of people that were being ruled over by the deacon — the local priest. The town’s church was built next to the bridge spanning the river the town was alongside, and when they investigated, they encountered the same troll, almost a century later, preaching a highly simplified and somewhat warped version of Christianity to the townspeople. So, while their former nemesis had attempted to reform himself (and was certain of his godliness), he had simply transposed religion onto his nature. Instead of terrorizing people into paying coin for himself, the troll was browbeating the locals into tithing for God. This time, talking was not effective, and led to a beat-down the characters eventually won, restoring the townspeople’s freedom and livelihoods — and in classic Arthurian style, winning over evil through force of arms. (For a good example of this force of arms being noble and virtuous in the service of God, see Edmund Spencer’s The Fairie Queen.)

The wargaming origins of roleplaying games do tend to favor “action solutions” over “talking solutions”, but mercy turns up plenty in genres like noir — where the characters are often faced with the choice of moral decay or fighting against it. Often, this might take the form of two-fisted action, but in the end, saving the innocent over the corrupted is a main theme. Two-fisted diplomacy was a regular feature of Star Trek: how often did Kirk punch someone out, only to then convince their opponents to take the peaceful option? Over diplomacy over conflict would be highlighted in The Next Generation, and the notion of peaceful resolution of differences — of mercy in the modern sense — is baked into the reputation rules of the second edition of Star Trek Adventures, where violent conflict tends to act as a negative against the player character.

Merciful characters are often difficult to play in many RPGs where combat is highlighted over negotiation.

…or why do your characters matter?

The American Heritage Dictionary defines reach /rēch/ as an intransitive verb meaning 1. To stretch out or put forth (a body part); extend, “reached out an arm.” 2. To touch or grasp by stretching out or extending, “can’t reach the shelf.” 3. To arrive at; attain “reached their destination; reached a conclusion.”

This is a difficult one. I had thought about breaking with how characters can embody these terms and talk about the reach of games themselves, but that gave me the hook I needed for this piece. How much influence on the world do characters actually have? What is their reach? What is their impact? What should it be?

In many fantasy or science fiction stories, the hero(es) wind up having an outsize impact on the world. From pastoral hobbits drawn into possibly world-ending war, or Paul Atreides’ prescience, whose actions permanently change the path of history; to the legacy of James T. Kirk or actions of the Avatar in the series, whose exploits become unforgettable historical touchstones — larger than life characters reshape their worlds for a time, or permanently. Now compare that to that private detective who tried to stop the moral decay around him in that particular case that gets under his skin…but who might die unremarked, or whose efforts, ultimately, are forgotten because “Forget, Jake; it’s Chinatown…” — characters who win a small battle, but which is ultimately lost in the currents of time.

What should be the reach of the characters be? That depends on how epic you want your campaign to be, I suppose. For the epic fantasy world, the characters could rise to godlike levels — be the Alexander the Great of your world, whose influence continues for millennia. Or, it could be a simple pastoral adventurer who goes on little adventures to save his village or local area, becoming a local legend that maybe is a footnote in the history of your world.

This is exactly the question for my Legend in the Mist campaign that has just rolled out. Set in 800 AD Norway and later Britain, it follows a group of Vikings that get their start with a spectacularly lucky win over a troll, and who are now tasked by the local giantess (gygr in old Norse) to combat the sweep of the “interloping god” in Brtiain. They’re about a half century ahead of Harald Fairhair (the first-ish king of Norway) and many of the Scandinavians that will wind up ruling Ireland, and portions of England and Scotland. So…do they wind up footnotes in history? Do their conquests get things rolling for those who come after? Are they, perhaps, forgotten by better PR for Harald? Or do we have our own alternate history where the Harald Thorsson and Trogdor Trollmorder lead the Vikings to triumph over the Britons and Franks? When it’s your own world, it’s up to you and how epic you want your heroes to be.

In spy game or a noir detective game like Blacksad, the hero is often supposed to be unsung in their efforts. Even James Bond, “that British spy — from England” was only “[in]famous” to others in his world. John Wick brings down multiple dark overlords in the movie series, but outside of the (wildly extensive) world of assassins…was he known, at all? In fact, in the ‘80s James Bond: 007 RPG, fame was a negative that could work against you in the field. Part of being a secret agent is the “secret” part. For detectives outside of Hercule Poirot or Sherlock Holmes, you might be known in your industry or particular town but that was about it. You might have moments of fame, like that cop at the Nakatomi Tower, but people have a short memory.

The question of what reach characters should have becomes more tricky in licensed universes like Star Trek or Babylon 5, Lord of the Rings or Alien, for example. In these universes, certain things happen in an order. The hero characters do certain things that are important not just to the plot, but to world around them. For instance, in Lord of the Rings RPG, much of the action happens in the interstices of Tolkein’s history of Middle Earth. You could play a character in the events of The Hobbit or Lord of the Rings, but unless you are committed to an alternate universe, you will never save Minas Tirith, destroy the One Ring, etc… Playing Babylon 5 (either the Mongoose version or the odd Chameleon Eclectic version), the events of the show would most likely be playing out in the background. You could play in the corners — maybe fighting the clark regime and linking up with the main characters from the show, you could play a little know human colony fighting on the edges of the Shadow War; you could be a soldier in the actions of the show itself — but you aren’t going to end the war or create the Interstellar Alliance (again, if you aren’t just going for an alternate universe). 

But how far was Ripley’s reach in the Alien francise? She was the last survivor of a doomed ship that almost no one listened to. She saved a few people at LV-426, but if you keep in the universe, all that is summarily undone by Alien 3 and for the most part, she’s had minor influence outside the events of Alien: Resurrection. The world around trundles on. you might be another influential crew in Star Trek, but — again, unless you’re doing an alternate universe — they’ll always be overshadowed by Enterprise or Voyager. That could actually play into how the characters view their game — “Damn it! We saved a race from a computer that was keeping everyone young and healthy, but we got slagged by Starfleet for not providing support after we blew up their computer god.”

So, the notion of reach, or the scale of your game, is a good thing to keep in mind as you design a campaign, be it your own Dungeons & Dragons setting, or your next Ghost in the Shell game (now doing a Backerkit campaign — the system looks intriguing!)

“With great responsibility comes great amounts of complaining.” — Me

Today’s is an interesting prompt. The concept of a character having some kind of burden to carry is typical in most fiction, going waaaaay back. There are a couple of movies dealing with this concepts front and center in the theaters: Spider Man: Brand New Day and the Odyssey. In the first, there’s the weight of being separated from friends to protect them from the enemies that come with doing the superhero thing; the second is the weight of guilt from a decade of war, the burden of having incurred the wrath of the gods, and the burden of command — trying to get your men home. All good beats for drama and character development.

But even every day burdens can be a good foil to a character. What about the responsibilities of family weighed against those of your job? A good example of this is Jerzy Novak — a player character from our Blade Runner campaign. He’s been on the force since before the Blackout, and now 15 years in, he’s on the Rep-Detect Squad. He’s got a wife, a nurse at a city hospital; and a 10 year old son that they are trying to get into an exciting Off-World Development Corporation education program that all but assures a good job and a life Off World. Novak has to balance his work with the LAPD, where — when he’s not retiring “defect product”, he’s subbing in with the Robbery Homicide Division. There’s always a crime, there’s always a court date, there’s always lead or stakeout or or or…

His marriage has been rocky for a while and during play, Novak discovers his son might not be his (biologically) — he and his wife were having issues around that time. He accepts the child as his responsibility, anyway. He tries to rebuild the marriage with his wife, all while juggling a high profile case that has gotten steadily more dangerous. He’s got to miss meetings at work occasionally; he’s got to miss family time, occasionally. It’s not the mythic levels of burden we see in the two previous examples, but it’s the kind of burden that wears just as much, just quietly.

A burden could be a promise made — to a loved one, a dear friend, a patron. The last is a classic for a fantasy character: a king, a patron, a god demands a labor…the penalty for not following this could be the loss of reputation, banishment, imprisonment, the loss of your soul. A more pedestrian one could be breaking the promise to a friend or spouse, parent or child losing you that NPCs support — it’s not earth-shaking, but for those that have lost a loved one over a stupid argument or a series of failures to follow through, it can have a heavy effect on a person. It might not lead to a fight with a big bad; but it could lead to a great emotional through-line for the character.

Picking up a burden that isn’t really yours is a good character beat, as well. One of the best examples of this is Ripley’s taking on Newt in Aliens as a surrogate daughter (made better by a two minute cut scene dealing with Ripley discovering her daughter had recently died, while Ripley was undiscovered in cryo.) She doesn’t have to take on the girl, but she does — and that emotional connection changes her motivation from one pure survival to one of protector. Taking on that apprentice or other responsibility doesn’t just give the GM a pawn to be targeted, if can create the kind of tasks that can interfere with the main story line just in the day-to-day upkeep of that relationship.

Becoming a leader is another example. In Ted Lasso, Roy Kent — the aging football star, is a grouchy, prickly piece of work that wants nothing to do with sorting out his teammates and helping to build them up. Coach Lasso’s use of a Wrinkle in Time to nudge Kent into taking on the responsibilities of team captain lead to a hysterical scene where Kent is reading to his beloved niece and he gets to a passage something like “It has to be me…” Kent tosses down the book with a “faaaaaaaaaaaack” and storms off to set things right (in this case the bullying of the kitman by some of the players) — but not before stopping to his his niece good night and growl when she tells him he said a bad word. Moments like this can really make for a good night at the gaming table.

Being the mentor to another character can also make for good roleplaying. Two of the players’ characters in our Star Trek campaign were fresh out of the academy, and the older characters not only have the responsibility of training them to be the best they can be, but they are legally responsible for the well being. Starfleet is dangerous, and putting these newbies out there to learn their jobs with some level of safety, while letting them make the mistakes they need to learn from, made for an interesting interaction.

The notion of burden for a character is a central character building point — be it the need to avenge your fallen whatever, to follow orders and do your duty, to taking on responsibilities because your the only one that can do it. It doesn’t have to be heavy, but it will always help develop the characters.

Charm is the not-secret weapon of many a character, both hero and villain. The ability to manipulate a person is perhaps the most powerful weapon a person can have in their arsenal. So for this day’s prompt, I decided to roll with a character built as a red herring in an investigation in our Blade Runner campaign. Set in the year 2037, Wallace Corporation has just dropped the first of the Nexus 9s onto the streets of Los Angeles, and one of the characters is a newly minted N-9 that is working in forensics and gets assigned to aid the others in a murder investigation that takes them from the “feelie” studios of Hollywood, to Beverly Hills parties, to the “kipple” outside of town.

To really squick them out, I wanted to have a replicant that was not the average attractive doxie, but something the likes of Hollywood would want to buy: hence Arabella. A Nexus 9, she’s just been bought as a prop/companion/conversation piece for the famed actor Bradley Faire — a man renowned for his ability to pull emotion out of a scene, and for causing scandal off. At a party tracking down a lead, the characters encounter Arabella (N-9/AB6-3.12), a female replicant in the form of a young teenage girl with a gothy aesthetic and clothed in a fetishy-goth style. While this made her profoundly discomfiting, it was the very adult charm mixed with the image of youthful innocence that really got under two of the players’ skins. Where the plight of the replicants was still just part of the plot for them, this really drove home the awfulness of their situation. Even worse was realizing their fellow police officer was probably no older than she was, despite appearances to the contrary.

ARABELLA (N-9/AB6-3.12) while she was written up originally as a “doxie”, I converted her to “siren” under the Replicant Rebellion rules set that dropped this year. For the skills, assume level D (d6) if not listed.

STRENGTH: B (d10) Skills: Hand-to-Hand Combat C (d8); AGILITY: A (d12) Skills: Mobility A; INTELLIGENCE: C Skills all D; EMPATHY: A Skills: Manipulation: A

Health: 7, Resolve: 3

She wound up being somebody they wanted to protect…but she’s not a person; she’s product. During the session, a kill squad attacks the party, and Arabella is obviously terrified and once backed into a corner, murders the crap out of one of the hitmen about to kill one of the PCs in spectacular fashion. However, she is able to convince one of the characters to cover for her. Later, the player admitted he found the character a highly disturbing. Which was the goal.

BLADE RUNNER and related marks and logos is the property of ©2022 Alcon Entertainment, LLC. All rights reserved and no infringement is intended. The Mutant Year Zero game system and its variants are the property of Free League Publishing.

Day three on the matrix supposedly deals with “intellect” and the “birthday poem” of Fair of Face. The word: poise /poiz, pwäz/ defined as 1. A centimeter-gram-second unit of dynamic viscosity equal to one dyne-second per square centimeter; 2. Confident composure; self-possession “answered the reporters’ questions with poise.”; 3. Bearing of the body, especially when graceful “a ballerina’s poise.”

I don’t think we need to worry about the viscosity of a character… so composure (day 16) or self-possession (discipline, day 1); or physical grace. Let’s go with the latter.

On this one, I chose a character from an abortive campaign for Legend in the Mist that was to be set in Scotland during the time of the Viking invasions. That campaign has since been supplanted by a Viking campaign set in 800 AD, so this character might well turn up, but as a challenge for the players…who knows?

One of the nice things about the LitM system is the simplicity of character creation. Instead of stats, you have descriptors (or “tags”) that are part of four “themes”. These all contribute a +1 to a roll unless you “scratch” the tag for +3. (Once scratched, it cannot be used until recovered.) So here we have Aisling, one of the seelie — the “fair folk”. She is a creature of sublime beauty and grace who can manipulate people with illusion and charm, but is bored with such a long life, so she’s curious and reckless about her dealings with humans. She is also a target of the unseelie — the corrupted of her kind. The leaf in each theme card is an “origin” level theme, the crossed sword/arrow, “adventurer” level which would give a +3 to tags used vs. an origin-level character. So that would make this a fairly powerful character in the starting, rustic style of Legend in the Mist.

The original plan was for her to be a kind of mentor on the weird things in the world, but a novice to the violence and politics of the human world.

The American Heritage Dictionary defines stature /stăch′ər/ as noun meaning 1. The natural height of a human or animal in an upright position, 2. An achieved level; status, 3. The natural height of an animal body; — generally used of the human body.

So how might stature motivate, drive, or define a character? For this one I decided to use four characters from our Star Trek campaign to illustrate how stature might be used.

The first uses a character introduced in yesterday’s post, Commander Fiona Kerr. The character, physically, is about average height — in this case, the stature is her rank: a commander, and the commanding officer of the heroes’ vessel. By the nature of her office, she has a status that is higher than the others, and places this NPC in a superior role to the PCs. That was purposeful to use her as the “glue” for the PCs to get attached to the ship, setting, etc. but also to have an instrument to keep the players on track during an adventure. (Also, placing a character in a superior position socially or in authority is often a tricky thing until the players and the characters have established a rapport.) She is also the only character in this group that came from nothing: a family on the dole and generally living a small life. She is the one that got where she is through hard work and spite; but the others have a different story.

Kerr contrasts sharply with her best friend on the ship, Lieutenant Sheras Kor, M.D. Kor was a successful doctor who joined Starfleet for the Klingon War and was posted to the PC’s ship. He saved Kerr’s life; she’s done the same. An Andorian, he values family, rank, and honor highly. In his case, he is the son of a minor aristocrat (even though the titles are “ceremonial” is the running gag, the heads of the respected clans are still highly influential). One of Kor’s fathers (Andorians marry in fours…) is the Andorian ambassador to the Federation and a member of their equivalent of the Security Council. So, Kor is an “important person” beyond his commission in Starfleet, and his family connections often provided cover for the ship and crew when they were less than successful. In this, he is more influential, with more status and privilege, than his own commander. (He’s also tall…as is the player.)

Kor’s stature is — in some ways — matched by two other characters on the ship: Lieutenant Junior Grade Stephen Archer, their new helmsman and a relation to the first president of the Federation, and whose name and connections to other Archers in Starfleet mean that he has folks interested in his success. He doesn’t have the pull of the doctor, as a new officer, but his value “My Family IS Starfleet” means that he often takes actions that might not be advised because his family’s stature requires him to act in a certain way. (He’s also Scott Bakula tall — 6’4”.) There’s more expected from him on a social and institutional level than is probably fair. But it also sets his main goal — to be a better, more famous captain than any of his uncles or his father.

His roommate at the academy and best friend is the last of the four: Ensign Garav Idrani. A member of a famed military keth (clan), his entire parental structure is tied to the Andorian Imperial Guard (now just the Andorian Guard — ‘cause, you know, all those titles are ceremonial). Like Archer, there’s a lot expected of this guy. One — the player decided this was Dolph Lundgren in blueface; he’s massive (6’5”). As the security officer, his physical stature has come into play a couple of times in play, both in combat and social settings. Two — as the son of Guardsmen, there is an expectation of excellence and service that he simply can’t ignore; his social rank might not be the same as the doctor’s, but he is still Andorian gentry, if you will. Lastly, he is a world champion ushaan fighter, a celebrity; this means that when dealing with Andorians and certain sports fans, he has a status that is higher than any of the others just described. He has a reputation to maintain, and that is a main driver of the character.

Each of these characters winds up have their own advantages, drives, and limitations due to their status: the captain came from nothing and many in the admiralty view her as an interloper (though they’d never say it openly); her drive for a life of excellence means she treasures the rank, the recognition, and it motivates her to take risks that sometimes might be inadvisable. The doctor is a representative of his family in the organization, and as a possible inheritor to his father’s positions, he has limitations in what he can and can’t do — which complicated an almost romantic relationship with his captain. Archer wants to be THE Archer, and he’s got big shoes to fill, and he takes foolish chances that have gotten him into trouble periodically. Idrani, similarly has a lot to live up to, but has already started to cut a name for himself, so when he screwed up in play, it had real consequences for him with his family.

The default for a character motivated by discipline is usually a military or similarly employed person. Discipline is central to military training, but it need not be due to how most folks view this word. When you’re young, discipline is often extrinsic — there are rules, parents, teachers, coaches — and the most commonly associated thing with discipline is punishment. As an adult, discipline might still be extrinsic: I don’t want to go to jail. I don’t want to lose my job…but the most successful people tend to be ones where discipline comes from within. Discipline, the Swanson Pyramid of Greatness tells us jokingly is “The ability to do a boring thing over and over again” but it’s more than that.

Discipline is the ability to restrain your emotions. It is the ability to push yourself past your limits, fears, or to do that boring thing over and over again. Ask anyone who exercises regularly — it’s getting past that first (and most recent) “I don’t want to” to do what you have to. The lack of discipline is the main point of failure for most new college students. It’s the point of failure that causes corruption, and by extension the collapse of trust not just interpersonally, but at a societal level.

So, here’s two versions of a character driven by discipline. The first was crafted quickly in the excellent Outgunned!system by Two Little Mice. I based this on someone I know well — Robert Moray is an interrogator, former army, well educated, and worked as a contractor through the global war on terror. He sought out for his ability to create rapport above all else. He’s the guy you send to schmooze drug dealers and other criminals; or send in with a team to collect a high value target to interrogate. He’s not a brute, but can rise to the occasion. His main ability is his ability to be what he needs to be, to full invest in that persona, then use it to be who his target needs him to be. The downside to something like this is that deep down, the good person doing this job for “the greater good” has had to do awful things and his conscience attacks whenever he’s not in the thick of it. The scary thing is how easily it is for him to put that all away and be who he needs to be at that moment.

What is it that keeps the demons at bay? What is it that helps him keep his cool when he needs? What allows him to smile at a bad guy and treat him like his best friend when he wants to put a bullet in him? Discipline — the ability to control himself.

The second choice for this is a character that will probably pop up a couple of times this month. A major NPC, she was written up as a player character — a habit I have for central NPCs that will show up on a regular basis in a campaign, and will even likely be aiding the player’s characters. This one was originally crafted in the old Decipher Star Trek system, but is presented here in Modiphius’ Star Trek Adventures format at what would have been the start of the campaign.

Kerr’s driving force has always to be better than she is. A council housing kid, Fiona was driven to escape mediocrity. She wasn’t a great student, but an excellent athlete. She barely made it into the academy, rocked out of science but landed in security operations when her physicality and personal skills allowed her to graduate in the middle of her class. Despite excellent fitness reports while a security officer and later head of security on the starbase at Andoria, she was overlooked for promotions, due to the lack of prestige of assignment, but also the influence of an admiral and a former instructor with a grudge.

However, her tenacity and fearlessness during a crisis on the starbase brought her to the attention of Captain Garth of Izar, who snatched her up for his chief tactical officer and pushed through promotions to get her up to where she should have been. With the outbreak of the Federation-Klingon War, she was able to show what she could do with inspiring leadership, a good head for tactics, and an absolute refusal to surrender or show fear. At the Battle of Deneva Prime, she rescued her medical personnel and killed the commander of a Klingon force in hand-to-hand combat, and was gutted in the process. She barely survived, but is infertile and badly scarred in the abdomen. At the war’s end, she was Garth’s hand-picked successor, and while she was given the office of captain, she was denied the rank and remained a commander. (Her former instructor, again…)

Kerr is a fierce opponent and a loyal friend, she awards merit and scorns sloth. She has a vicious temper and sharp tongue, but she can be very diplomatic when it suits her. Or in Captain Garth’s words, “If her people or her personal reputation is on the line, Fi won’t stop and she won’t allow you to win out of sheer spite.”

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