Roleplaying Games


Reading a post from my Victoriana alum (and contributor over at Gnome Stew) Walt Ciechanowski on Facebook got me thinking about verisimilitude in modern games or writing today. Specifically, he was talking about Boost!, a citrus soda that is available only in a select area of southern New Jersey. I have a similar strange food from the Lehigh Valley in Pennsylvania, where I lived as a kid — Schaeffer’s Bologna, an “all-beef bologna, flavored only with salt and pepper”, an a touch of garlic has an edible skin and is great snack food.

For the longest time, you couldn’t get real New Mexican chile paste (red or green) or salsa outside of the state. The California stuff is too bland, Texas too sweet…during the ’90s, when I was away from Albuquerque, I would get cravings for NM-style chile and could only find something similar in Sierra Vista, Arizona when I was stations at Sierra Vista. It was also one of the first places I could find McEwan’s ales outside of Scotland — then it started popping up everywhere until Heineken bought the brewery and delisted it, leading to my singular desire to blow the Netherlands off the face of Europe.

So those of you reading, please chime in — what a particular, very popular but highly localized food or drink from your neighborhood or past. (Tell us what it is and where it’s limited to. Who knows, it might turn up in someone’s game!)

Tabletop gamers and LARPs have plenty of overlap in players, though I’ve found those who straddle the line prefer one type of gaming over the other. One of the elements of LARPing that rarely makes its way to the table is costuming. I’ve known player that have special dice for certain games, or some kind of fetish that gets them into character easier — one of our current players has dogtags from Quantum Mechanix for his Galactica pilot, (They’re lovely, by the way…) and a cowboy hat he wears for his Texan in the pulp campaign. Others have worn a Psi Corps badge in a Babylon 5 game, or brought Star Trek props to the table for a game. Hell, one of the players even dressed in BDSM gear for her character.

It’s fun. It helps the players fit in. But it can also make other players who haven’t quite made the leap from a social game of pretend at the table, to that more immersive style of play that LARPers and dress-up types bring with them. (Especially when you’ve got a girl wearing nothing-there leather bits…)

Personally, I could couldn’t care less. If the players are having fun, they can bring whatever prop or costume they want, so long as it’s not sharp or loaded, but it’s a good idea before people get too out there to make sure everyone’s comfortable with level of costuming being done.

Have your say.

We’ve had to sharply change gears on how we play the Battlestar Galactica campaign since the Fall of the Colonies. Up until the Cylon attack, it’s been mostly a Cold War spy/police procedural where one set of characters have been ferreting out the Cylon conspiracy, and another set have been dealing with the politics of the Colonies and how they are hampering the search. Now it’s a post-apocalyptic survival game.

First thing we’ve done is create groups of characters that have a certain sphere of influence. We can mix and match as works, but there are 1) political characters involved in the civilian fleet and the politics of running a small town on the run, 2) military to handle fighting Cylons and finding Earth, and 3) civilian characters whose fight crime, boredom, and dispair in the Fleet.

We’ve had two short episodes since the Fall. Our version of 33 only took about a day’s time, as the characters figured quickly that the Cylons were tracking the fleet and managed to locate the devices that were aiding the enemy. I had the white disk thingees we see in the miniseries (the one on the DRADIS console) play the role of trackers, tied into the DRADIS and navigation feeds, and powered by the ship’s power grid. Unplug them and they’re useless. There was an Olympic Carrier moment, but a shoot down is averted early on.

However, unlike the show, where the tiny government gets its act together fairly quickly, we’re addressing the chaos that 60,000+ people on about 92 ships (our Fleet is a bit bigger and has two battlestars and a few support ships surviving) that have had almost no time to mourn, come to grips with the enormity of what has just happened to them, and who are packed like sardines in some ships with terrible sanitary conditions, would face.

After the events of 33, the next adventure revolved around Vice President Jones — a player character — trying to get a decent census of the people in the fleet, and a sense of the conditions. Because the president and military are fixated on finding possible Cylon collaborators or agents in the fleet, they have stopped traffic between ships while the crews — tired, overworked, and grieving — try to figure out how many people they got and what their food/water/air situation is. There’s simply been no relief for people who are stunned by the Fall, and many can’t or won’t cope. When he arrives at the freighter Epheme, he finds the ship — which has pressurized container vessels packed with refugees — on the verge of mutiny. The people have been sealed inside the containers, because they have overloaded the ship’s water and waste systems. The ship has no water, and the sewage ship has yet to get to them. The place is an open sewer, and inside the containers, it’s worse. The characters have to avert a mutiny, convince the government to lift the no-fly order (and risk agents moving through the fleet), and then try to sort out how to move people.

The contrast between the lives of these people and the government types, sitting on Colonial One with only a small staff and press corps aboard, is marked, and made more obvious when the rump Quorum (only ten members chosen from the highest ranking officials from each Tribe they can find) votes to move from the small liner to Cloud 9 with its spacious staterooms, plentiful meeting spaces and convention halls, and amenities like dry cleaning service. Politicians, even in during the end of the world, still act like politicians.

It also gave us the chance to introduce a new PC, Quorum member from Aerilon who is a Cylon collaborator. His minder, a Cylon humanoid agent, got him from gang member and dock worker to community organizer, to politician in a few short years. He knows he was working for the enemy, but never expected them to actually attack. It should be an interesting tight-rope for the character to walk.

So what’s the point of all this? In your campaigns, it’s important to realize that — especially in fast moving, large events like battles, emergencies, etc. — the characters will never have full knowledge, or even accurate knowledge, of what’s going on around them. Think of the Boston Marathon bombings…even figuring out who the suspects were with mounds of photographic evidence took days, and over a week to start connecting them to those who aided them. In this game, after 3 days the Colonials still don’t have firm numbers on their survivors, don’t know how many lawyers to run courts, doctors to treat people, computer specialists, miners, and what have you they have in the fleet. To make these sorts of events real, you need to feed your players information. Then contradict it. Then do it again. Get them confused, worried, and make them act on imperfect knowledge. That’s how it really works, and when they screw up the consequences should lead to good drama and role play.

After our game group broke up late last year due to work schedules and folks moving away, we managed to pull together a bunch of new gamers and pressed on. Our Battlestar Galactica barely took a hit — a function of how complete a picture of where we were going for the “season” I had. I knew we were in the final stretch for the miniseries events, I knew I wanted a steadily quickening, higher stakes series of adventures where the characters were picking apart the Cylon conspiracy but would be too late to stop the war. Another campaign just stalled — the Liberty City Marvel Heroic game simply stopped, partly because one of the gamers that was the impetus behind playing it was no longer with us. But it was the Hollow Earth Expedition 1903s pulp game that surprised me. It had been one of the stronger games, with long arc stories that provided fast, fun, and…well, pulpy…game nights.

The new players and their characters were well thought out, and should have gelled, but for some reason it just wasn’t there. The characters didn’t fit together, the players weren’t feeling it, and the GM (me) was having trouble fitting the characters to a plot. The campaign was broke, and as a result has sat fallow for months, overshadowed by the BSG stuff. Sometimes, new blood breathes new life into the game, as with Galactica — it doesn’t need fixing, because the change just works — and sometimes you have to pop the hood. So, how do you fix a campaign?

First, talk it over. I’ve known HEX just wasn’t working, and it was only after the prospect of more new players I knew I had to make the decision on whether to scrap the campaign, tweak the characters, or play something else. After our play session on Tuesday, we took a half hour to chat on the situation (and another half hour with one of the long-time core players that’s survived the series of group collapses over the last three years.) Ask the players what they want to see, what they think is wrong, and how they think it can be fixed. I was surprised to find that one of the players agreed with me that his character — while an excellent character on his own — was a bit too over the top when paired with the others; the other found his character was a bit too subdued and realistic for the pulp setting.

That got me thinking to my own expectations as the GM. I’ve wanted to do a more over-the-top game, but my natural inclination as a historian makes me want to use my knowledge of the period to “make it cool” through use of the facts of the 1930s. Originally, the game dealt with Chinese cults, ancient warrior priests, mellified men that could heal injuries, sorcerers…but after China, was a much more realistic and subdued campaign chasing Illuminati treasures. No magic, no vast set pieces, but lots and lots of good action and cliffhangers. The attempt to weld the old characters to the new led to a kludged mess that even i was having trouble following, because I didn’t know, as GM, what I wanted to do. There was no stable core to the game.

Second, don’t be afraid to change the things not working. The HEW game was solid when it was over-the-top pulp. I had even tossed out the idea of resurrecting the Gorilla Ace! campaign, which was as comic book crazy as you could get. Another idea was to try something new — maybe a 1950s retro-future “space rangers” style game with an interplanetary setting for the Cold War. (This is a period that people seem to eschew for pulp or action games…at least, I rarely see it used.)

Third, collaborate: I asked the guys to drop me character ideas and three things they’d like to see for the various games I was proposing we play (including the pulp game) so that I could see what they wanted to play, and how they could be sewn together to make a cohesive group; and how I could use that group to create adventures around. Find the expectations for everyone — not just the GM, not just the players — and figure out how to bring them all together. Sometimes they’re too disparate to work and everyone either has to bend a bit, or you turn to something else, but usually, you can find some kind of common ground.

Once you’ve figured out the basic premise, pitch it to the group. Now let all the players (GM included) tweak it until everyone is happiest with it.  Then play.

Looks like either the money-grubbers at Disney pulled the license for the Marvel Heroic Roleplaying game from Margaret Weis Productions without warning, or MWP couldn’t make the reup on the license work out since they couldn’t move enough product (I’m guessing it was a combination — they couldn’t pay for a more expensive license and Disney just pulled the license, complete with a cease and desist for selling product they were authorized to sell, although now you have until April 30 to snag all the material at Drive Thru RPG.) MWP is trying to make amends by crediting pre-orders 150% the cost of the books they aren’t going to be getting; I think that’s a stand up move.

It’s a sad day as, while I’ve not been a fan of the Cortex Plus direction the company took, Marvel was a superb game the mechanics of which really captured the flavor of a comic like none of the other, in my opinion. On the up side, MWP has an upcoming Firefly RPG. Let’s hope they can keep the license.

Here’s an idea that I used for a one-shot recently. It is, essentially, the movie Deep Rising tweaked for the Firefly universe. (It’s what I call a terrible-but-fun movie; have a look.)

The players are one of two groups — either the ship crew of a smallish freighter like White Lightning from the supplement Six-Shooters & Spaceships, or a group of mercenaries that have been hired to rob then destroy a fancy new passenger liner. If they are the freighter crew, they don’t know the actual score — they’ve been hired on a “if the cash is there, we do not care” basis, simply running the gun bunnies to point X in the Black and back. The mercs know the full score but are leaving the transpo guys in the dark for OPSEC.

The crew is hired one of the border moons or planets — whatever is easiest for your campaign. For a one-shot, you could have the action start on Persephone with Badger fronting the deal, or on Beaumonde with Mingo and Fanty. They’ve got a hard run out to a location in space that is a bit off the shipping lanes, but still reasonable. If they snoop about the cargo, they’ll find the gear the mercs brought with them includes 4 200 lb. (d6W) anti-ship (spacecraft scale) missiles with a launcher rig that can be mag-locked to the hull. What do they need with artillery?

A few minutes out from being able to find the liner, they should encounter some kind of debris — a lifeboat or shuttle — that they’ll hit before they eventually find the liner. Or if they have the usual cheap boat with bad maintenance, just hit them with some kind of failure. For whatever reason, they need safe harbor on the liner and won’t be able to run for it right off.

For the liner,  you could use El Dorado from the core rules or the passenger liner from SS&S; the bigger, the better — adrift and apparently on emergency power. The mercenaries knew this would be the case — they have an inside man (the owner of the thing) aboard who sabotaged her. The plan was simple: the ship suffers a catastrophic failure and after the passengers are offloaded, the valuables are pilfered, the ship destroyed, and the massive insurance claim filed. (The ship is so expensive, they’re running at a loss, even with a full-manifest.)

When they go aboard, however, there’s no one to be found. There’s indications of a hell of a fight — blood, bullet holes, but no bodies. They have to hit the vault, the engineering section’s machine shop to get what they need to fix their ship. Split ’em up. Lose a few NPCs who can disappear with some blood-curdling scream on radio. Eventually, they’ll have to find the bodies of the crew and passengers (maybe some still alive to make it more terrible) in a hold. There’s also something else, something worse — REAVERS!

There should be a lot of them, and it should turn into a run & gun, cat & mouse game to get back to their ship and get the hell out of there. Once they are off the liner, they’ll have to run for it, because the reaver ship that dropped the boarding party is coming back.

Tweak as you need to make it work for your game — change the scale of the opposition or the liner to suit your purposes — but it should be a good horror/action adventure for you to run.

Stuffer Shack is doing their 2013 RPG Site of the Year contest and The Black Campbell is in the running. Voting for the site is on Wednesday, so  for all you folks that follow the blog and like the material, give us a vote! Tell your friends! Annoy their friends!

 

There are a few game systems that do a nice job of handling large scale battles, and the participation of characters in them, but not all RPGs — particularly those that focus more on character and story — deal with the different scales of a Star Wars or Battlestar Galactica-style capital ships, fighters, people running around shooting stuff all at the same time kind of action, especially when you have characters operating at all of these levels.

We’ll use the latest Battlestar Galactica session I ran last week as an example (with some augmentation here and there to illustrate some points…) We have finally reached the events of the miniseries in our campaign, and the characters have replaced those of the show for this iteration of the story (search this site for “after action report” and you should be able to find postings that will explain more on this.) Last night was the breakout from Ragnar Anchorage, which meant going toe-to-toe with the Cylons. As in the series, Galactica — this time with the aid of other surviving military units — have to scatter the Cylons and hold the line over the anchorage while the civilian vessels jump to safety. This means coordinated capital ship action (one of the PC, Commander Pindarus, running that), Viper on Raider action with PCs flying the vipers, and we would have had another character aiding in damage control in the fight, had they attended that evening.

Battles in BSG, Star Wars, and Star Trek often take hours, not minutes, or the seconds of personal combat in many games. To capture the difference in scales, I suggest that at the start of combat, the capital level stuff goes first — battlestar and basestar exchange their initial salvos, and any character involved in gunnery or command of the vessel, or electronic warfare gets to take their actions for the round. Next goes the fighter/vehicle-level action, then the personal-level stuff. Now to show longer time frames of battles for such a fight, I typically allow the personal and vehicle scale players to have another two or three rounds to show the speed with which their combat or actions take before returning to the capital-level attacks. (In the case of the damage control stuff, I would most likely call these extended tests and have them roll at the same time as the capital level actions.)

Here Galactica launched her fighters, set up her flak barrier with the point defense, but before she could start wailing on the nearest basestar, they were hit by a missile salvo from the same. (They lost initiative.) Galactica returned fire relatively ineffectually for the first round. Next, the CAG rolled for the fighter groups. Here I was assuming his pilot and initiative counted for the vipers vs. the Cylons. They won, he rolled brilliantly for the first round of engagement and they splash a bunch of toasters and only lose one guy. The other pilot character got to duke it out one on one with a raider — she’s a pilot, it’s her schtick — always let your players get a chance to strut their character’s stuff, if you can help it.  The viper squadrons rolled again, this time only a few toasters go down and no vipers. A third go-round for pilots and blasting Cylons.

Galactica got initiative on the next round and did well, pasting the basestar hard. However the viper squadronds do almost nothing and the Cylons damage 12 of the vipers in the round. They break through and start a run toward the EW raptors, to try and clear the jamming the Colonials are using to keep the missiles from damaging the battlestar and civilian ships. The next two rounds are viper squadrons and pilot characters dogfighting with raiders.

The next capital round, the Cylons are done playing. Galactica gets a radiological alarm and the Cylons fire a nuke. The EW raptors jam it and keep the ship safe. Finally the civilian ships are all out. The next two rounds are the pilots attempting their combat landings before the ship jumps to safety.

Now originally, I had planned for a Cylon agent to have been activated in Galactica during the breakout and there to have been a fight between a marine PC and the bad guy that would have been resolved like a normal fight at the same time as the viper combat — three rounds of action to every one for Galactica and other capital ships. It would have happened in the CIC and anything that distracted the command staff, or injured them, etc. would have had an effect on the way Galactica was fighting during her rounds.

You can experiment with the time between capital ship rounds, but I find three is enough to allow for fast paced action for the characters in teh thick of things, but not so long that the commander and/or other characters involved in shiphandling get bored.

Good drama, hence good gaming, relies on interpersonal conflict — the interplay between differing goals and ideals makes for a great session. Unfortunately, this can sometimes lead to player conflict when those at the gaming table lose sight of the difference between themselves and their role in the game. This happened when I was a young gamer; the characters in the game came to an impasse and as their argument superheated, it turned into anger at the other player. Once we realized what was happening, we were able to distance ourselves from the characters and sort the matter.

Other times, existing animosity spills into the game, with players acting to spite or antagonize the other. This can make for good gaming, but likely than not, it slams the breaks on the action and creates friction that can ruin a session or break the back of a gaming group. Sometimes, a player is angry or upset over something completely disconnected from play, but the game becomes a surrogate for taking out their aggression on the actual problem. We saw this with a player whose brother and sister-in-law were going through a divorce. He took the break-up hard and his characters suddenly took a disturbing misogynist turn, which brought them into conflict with other characters, and vicariously, female players in the group. The approach here was direct: she told him to knock it off.

So how do you fix interpersonal conflict between players? There are as many routes to conflict resolution as there are people, and every situation can require a different approach. Sometimes it’s as simple as calling their attention to the matter. If you are lucky, you have adults at the game table and you can reason with them. Pull them aside (I prefer one at a time) and have a quick chat. Ask them what’s up, that their actions are being disruptive or suggest that maybe the offending players get together and work out their issue (whatever it might be.) See if there’s something you can do to aid in resolving the matter while at the table (Don’t get in the middle of their issues — they won’t thank you for it and now you are part of the problem.) Sometimes, however, a strong “grow the fuck up!” works.

If other players are complaining about the situation (and they rarely do it while the offenders are present, I find), you could take a session to have everyone talk it out. (A bit soft and huggy-squeezy for me…) Sometimes it’s as simple as letting them know they’re being a jerk — the goof ol’ yellow card/red card can work here. You are already refereeing the game, it’s not much of a stretch to extend that role to the players, as well. They start being a dick, you give ’em a yellow card; they’re being truly offensive, red card and maybe some time away from the table to gather themselves together.

The most extreme cases require the same response, and it’s one that a lot of GMs are loathe to use because finding good gamers can be hard: kick them out of the group. Simply put, if you have people that spoil the fun for the rest, you’re better off excising the offenders. “But their characters is integral to the group/plot/whatever…” Not enough so to risk the whole group blowing apart. Turn their characters into NPCs, let them know they are welcome back when they can comport themselves like adults. (Which is ironic, when you consider you are pretending, like when you were a kid…)

Ultimately, dealing with people and conflict is a delicate art, and you will have to feel out the situation for yourself. Just know it’s okay to sometimes use the cudgel, rather than the carrot.

[This post was inspired by and is a response to a similar post on Runesligner’s blog, Casting ShadowsGo check it out. Scott]

This is one of those game session reviews that might help — as with the last part — to show how you can take an established universe, a licensed product like Battlestar Galactica  or Star Trek, and make it your own while retaining elements of the original material. Last week saw part two of our version of the miniseries. (Recap of the first part.) Many of the same elements as the show were there, but with the necessary differences to make the game setting our own:

The ship made it to Ragnar Anchorage, but before going in to dock, they made contact through a series of repeater buoys to the crew of the station. (There’s a lot of important materiel in the eye of a storm on a gas giant…they’re going to have a maintenance and control staff.) They have to convince the XO of the station that they have clearance and a need to take materiel from the station, but finally get permission to dock.

The new president, former interim defense minister (and Commander Pindarus’ father), pulls together the rump government he has — Education Minister Laura Roslin, a quorum member from Picon, a Peoples’ Assemblywoman, Aaron Doral — the Deputy Director for Public Education that was in charge of turning Galactica into a museum, and the Colonial Budget Officer chairman (a new PC named Malcolm Jones) together, along with Commander Pindarus to decide what they do next. They need intelligence, and as Roslin points out, there’s a lot of shipping caught in the crossfire that need led to safety. There was a long bit of haggling over what to do, with the commander, quorum member, and Doral favoring finding the remaining elements of the Fleet and conducting a counterassault. They’re on the ropes and they’ll never be stronger. Roslin and the assemblywoman favor running with the civilian ships. But if they can “save” even one Colony world, they are in a better position to rebuild than if they run and have to start from scratch; the commander points out that technology backslide would probably take them another 2000 years to get back to where they are now.

The president decides to send raptors and shuttles to find ships, but more to collect intelligence on the progress of the battle. (At this point, they think they’ve lost maybe 80% of the fleet, max. — so 24-25 ships left.) While all this is going on, they dock with Ragnar, and the XO goes in with PC, SGT Cadmus, and a bunch of work gangs to load up the ship on munitions, medical supplies, food, and anything else not nailed down. The XO of the station is a sickly man named COL Conoy. He’s dodgy and takes the XO off to do the paperwork for the supplies — there could be more units coming and he wants to know what they take so he can supply others — but it’s a ruse. The man tries to kill the XO, but is stopped by the sergeant. They injure him badly but don’t kill him. While the PC wanted to, the XO says to the effect, “how we treat our prisoners is a reflection on us…and they need intelligence.”

Conoy (a humanoid Cylon like his counterpart int he series) came aboard yesterday as a crew replacement. He was able to frag the CIC of the station with an anti-personnel mine and secure most of the crew in a section of the station and vent the air. We left that subplot for the night with the SAR crews re-pressurizing the section and hoping to find survivors.

Meanwhile, the battlestar Minerva jumps in over Ragnar. They find out the Cylons have lost about 50% of their assault force after the older ships got in the fight, and the newer ones that figure out the CNP was the culprit for their technical troubles restarted their computers and physically cut their networks. But they’re still outnumbered, and intelligence shows they have much fewer ships than they thought. Most of the unaccounted for vessels are part of the expeditionary forces — they could be anywhere. Minerva and her escort Cygnus are in bad shape; the Cylons keep finding them, and quickly — even when they jump. The crew realizes they are being tracked and suspect that the ships are tagged some way. They figure out the Cylons must be tapping either navigation or DRADIS and find a device on the bottom of the DRADIS console they thought was part of the museum network.

Realizing they are weaker than they thought, the idea of running is the stronger argument…but run where? Another thing they considered: there are almost certainly Cylon agents in the fleet, and seeing the condition of Conoy, the commander realizes if they can stay in the storm at Ragnar long enough, they’ll be able to suss out who the bad guys are. But how long do they have to wait? We left it there for the night.

So the basic narrative of the miniseries and the show is mostly intact: the Cylons have attacked, the apocalypse is upon the characters, and they have to decide if they stay and fight, or run for it. Not being constrained to a four hour miniseries, we were able to explore a few issues in more depth: the arguments over stay or go were much more heated and for a while there they were looking at some variant of “find a safe spot for the civilians, then go secure the space over Aerilon [the planet with the least damage] and hold the line.” The characters are more affected by their losses, with the pair of pilot PCs being nearly unable to function. The commander is angry and wants to hit the Cylons hard, but he’s being rational…they can only do so much. Their knowledge of the human Cylons and the effects of Ragnar have them using the setting in a manner that the characters in the show did not and could lead to a fleet that is less likely to have Cylons in their midst. This gives the characters hope that they might be able to ignore that element of the show.

More realistically, there are surviving military units in disarray, but still fighting. However, the fog of war is keeping the PCs from knowing the whole story, or they have to act on incomplete or faulty intelligence. They know how many ships they have, but not the number of survivors: it could be 20,000, it could be 60,000. Keeping the characters in the dark makes their jobs harder, but also amps up the central emotional queues of this particular setting: uncertainty, paranoia, and fear.

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