So, after an frightening anxiety attack over my kid having a pretty high fever that led to a near-total breakdown and completely inappropriate behavior from yours truly, I’ve decided to completely detoxify my life. Step 1 is the shut down or refocus of the other website I have away from politics and the awful stuff that’s coming our way. I’ll deal with it when it hits. Step 2 is to revitalize this blog. Hopefully, Step 3 will be something great, but right now it’s a big underpants gnome question mark.

Hilarity ensues…

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This past week, the players in my Battlestar Galactica campaign managed to gain some very important intelligence on their quest for Kobol and Earth, but more striking, they got just enough of a hint of the metaplot — that the Cycle of Time, which we’ve referred to time and again as “a story told over and over”, is leading them to re-enact the same basic themes that have befallen other civilizations — most notably the Lord of Kobol/Olympians, and their “parents”, the Titans. I introduced something called the “Aurelian Heresies” — an apocrypha of the Sacred Scrolls that supposedly long predates the Exodus from Kobol, and possibly Kobol itself. This was originally a bit of “fan service” to the players who had been in the last iteration of the BSG campaign, but over time, it has developed to be a central bit of background noise that now has become obviously important.

So why start a post on pacing with this anecdote? One of the hardest elements for a GM is pacing a campaign. Sometimes, you plan on a game running a few sessions and ending, only to have it run six years — like my Star Trek campaign from the early oughties. Other times, you have a plan for three or four “seasons” that will lead to some epic end. Any gamer who has played long enough knows how hard it is to achieve the endpoint of a game campaign. People move away and the game collapses; schedules change and the game collapses; something new and shiny is released and you dabble in it only to wind up playing that game for years, instead; or sometimes, you just don’t want the ride to end and you start throwing filler in to stave off the inevitable.

With the Battlestar Galactica game, the “season 1” pacing started slow — mostly character-driven episodes to realize the world and NPCs for the players, so that when the Cylon attacks occurred, they would feel the loss to some small effect as their character would. It was slow paced with lots of hints about the Cycle of Time and previous “Colonies” that had existed on the 12 Worlds long before the Exodus from Kobol should have happened. A few archeological digs in space found more evidence of similar human settlements long before there should have been any. Cylon infiltration was discovered. I had sold the game on the premise that they might even be able to stop the attacks and save the Colonies; I had no intention of honoring that. The total time was a bit over a year of game time with other games being played in a rotation.

“Season 2” was almost exclusively focused on hunting Cylon infiltrators and conspiracies in the Colonies. The episodes were no longer stand-alone or random, and the pace picked up considerably as they hunted the bad guys. Game time was only a few months, but it played over about six months. Toward the end, I made the decision to put the players’ charactes into some of the lead slots, instead of characters from the show. The Cylon attacks happen pretty much as they do onscreen in the Miniseries.

“Season 3” has been going about six months and is nearing the end. Total game time: two months. The players survive the attacks, fight Cylons, had a few “fleet episodes” to show the crime, bad conditions, and development of the political system. Then we started to find remains from the Kobol Exodus, evidence the Lord of Kobol and the humanoid Cylons share DNA and technology. The Blaze — a toss off line cut from the Kobol’s Last Gleaming episode became the main guide for the direction of the game: the Colonials fled the war between the Lords of Kobol and humans that followed this “god” in its shining diamond-like spacecraft. Then they found the directions to Kobol. Now they are on their way and through a few toss-off lines from an interrogation of Boomer, think the Blaze may have destroyed the Colonies to bring Man back to Kobol for one last chance at submission and redemption.

Now I find myself faced with the classic problem of a campaign sliding into the third act fast — do it string it out, as the show did,  and enjoy some gaming with these characters we love and a universe that is now very much our own? That was my immediate reaction. But sometimes, it’s better to throw it in fifth and punch it. Embrace the direction the game is going and the pacing.

One reason for this is the impending move of one of the players who has only been with us for a year or so, but has really livened up play. He’s been with us through the end of “season 2” and all of the “season 3” stuff playing one of the most important characters, our fighter pilot who is secretly an oracle. I want him to see the end of the game. So, it’s time to floor it.

I had an idea of what i wanted to do with Kobol this time around — in the first game, Kobol was “dead” as in the show, but there were things left from the Gods: Hephaestus’ Forge, the Tomb of Athena. This time, if the humanoid “Cylons” are some kind of apostate version of mankind that has been modified to work with the Colonial built centurions, it would suggest that Kobol is inhabited and at least mostly healthy. So what does that do for the characters trying to get to the Tomb of Athena? How do they pull it off?

One of the characters, the commander, talked about how, if the Blaze is waiting for them, perhaps they might be well served by at least hearing the god/thing/whatever out. This opened a new line of direction that I hadn’t anticipated. Essentially, there are now two main plot directions the game could take — they discover the path to Earth and lead the Cylons a merry chase; or they submit to the will of this “god” and head to Earth, perhaps as his emissaries.

That leaves me with two main lines and a few variations on a theme to be ready to work with, and ultimately, only four real “endgames” for Earth. This “season 4” will be at a faster pace and more tightly plotted than the others. I anticipate the campaign — the first and longest lasting of my “new life” that started in 2010, will come to an end in April.

I aim to make it shine.

The takeaway from the piece is this: for campaigns with an overarching plot — much like a movie or TV show — each of your Acts or Seasons should have it’s own unique flavor and pace, but always moving more swiftly toward the denouement of the season/act, and the overall course of the game. This allows the players to feel like they are making progress in their goals, and revealing any mysteries that might have been set in front of them. Because, in the end, people need a story to have an ending.

I’ve added a new “spacecraft construction” file that combines some of the rules from Serenity and Battlestar Galactica from which you could craft vessels for established properties like Star Trek or Babylon 5. It’s not set up for a GM or player to get into a lot of crunch — the fuel, cargo, and other aspects that were gone into in the Serenity RPG are stripped out and the weapons systems simplified to make converting other settings to Cortex easy. If you wanted to do a more Traveler-esque game, you might want to use these with the Serenity rules to give yourself a bit more realism.

If you’ve been hearing a ton of hype about this movie, believe it. The wife and I hit the theaters for some much needed relief from the almost three year old, and decided to see Her, the new science fiction drama from Spike Jonze (who won the Golden Globes for the screenplay.) Simply put, this is one of the best sci-fi movies (along with Gravity) since the Children of Men or the highly-underrated GATTACA. 

The movie works well because, as with the two above-mentioned movies, the science fiction is not over the top, as in Minority Report, for instance. It is the central conceit of the film, yet the sci-fi elements are subsumed in the story. There are not shiny or dirty over the top set pieces, as in Minority Report or Blade Runner — the Los Angeles of Her doesn’t look all that different from today, save for a few megastructures here and there. There are cars, and subways, and busses, and trains; no flying cars. The world looks like today, save for the fashions people are wearing and a few more advertisement displays. The technology is simply there and accepted, as nonchalant as a cell phone.

The story focuses on a melancholy writer who works for a company that creates handwritten letters for all occasions for their clients. Theodore Twombley is one of the better writers with a knack for empathizing with his subjects. He’s just come off of a breakup with his childhood friend and wife, Catherine, herself a writer and scientist who was much more successful than he. Lonely, confused, and without direction, Theodore just goes through the paces of his life.

Then he sees an add for the first “artificially intelligence operating system” for his computer. The OS, as they refer to it throughout the movie, quickly adapts itself to the users’ needs and personality. Theodore chosen a “female” OS, which names itself Samantha and quickly starts to help him straighten up his life. The two eventually fall in love. For all the comedic silliness this could have been played for (and there are a few agonizingly humorous “sex” scenes), Jonze takes the subject as seriously as he does the human relationships. And it works. The issues of being in love with something/someone without a body is a good analogy for the atomized society of social networks and texting on cell phones; or the distance inherent in the relationships people have through them.

The movie attacks these themes very subtly, mostly through visuals and casual conversation between characters. The various instances of the OS1 (including Samantha) grow and change at highly accelerated rates, there is a soft “singularity”, other other bigger ideas involving the nature of suprahuman intelligence, but these are incidental to the story of Theodore learning to love again and accept joy in his life.

Does it sound schmaltzy? Well, it would be, if it weren’t do deftly done. The screenplay is excellent, and the acting — even Joaquin Phoenix (of whom I’ve never been much of admirer) — is superb, low-key, and engaging.

Style: 5 out of 5 — it looks great, and though I found the soundtrack a bit jarring, it worked. Well written and acting. Substance: 5 out of 5 — there’s a lot packing into the movie that other film makers would have been more direct and extravagant with. Here, less is more.

On a scale of see it on Netflex, rent, matinee, or full price…full price.

Most players would probably agree that they want their characters to be hearty and hale — playing a weak or sick character is “no fun.” I would say that means they haven’t considered the role playing aspects that disease can bring to the table when a character has some kind of chronic injury or disease.

One of the player characters in a former Hollow Earth Expedition game had the flaw “dying” — in this case, he had emphysema from chain smoking (which he still was doing.) The character didn’t see much limit, mechanically, until he was pushing himself physically. For the most part, it entailed the player wheezing and coughing when playing the character — little touches that may the character realistic. But once in a foot chase, or a protracted fight, he was hampered in his dice pool from the disease. As a result, the character was the master of the knockout blow; if he couldn’t finish a fight in a few moves, he knew he would get put down. It required the player to think differently about what actions he could take in an action sequence, or if he should attempt to talk his way through encounters.

There’s a character mentioned in the piece on age from the other day that addresses the idea of chronic injury — a character that has back issues from skiing and car accidents, as well as a recent broken arm. His physical activity isn’t necessarily curtailed, save where the use of the arm or things like running are concerned. It’s mostly just roleplaying the fact he’s got a bad back.

Disease can be something as innocuous as allergies.  Most environmental allergies — hayfever and the like — are uncomfortable, can make the character tired and irritable (not to mention snuffling, sneezing, and blowing your nose have a tendency to give away your position at the most disadvantageous moments.) They can make for challenges that don’t have to be immediately life threatening, but can make for obstacles that need to be addressed in a different way. It’s hard to sneak up on someone when you’re in a coughing jag from your 3 pack a day habit, or you sneeze explosively in the middle of a car chase.

Chronic injuries could be something as small as arthritis — you are still functional, but maybe that heavy trigger pull on your revolver is problematic at the best of times — to missing limbs, which have an obvious limiting factor. But I’d point out there is a motorcycle racer in Australia missing his left leg and arm. It required modifying his bike, but he wins races. Similarly, this could lead a character in a game that might be considered “unplayable” to simply have to work around his issues.

One thing I’ve noted is that players tend to choose one of two age groups for their characters — they are either in the prime of their life, somewhere in the 20-something range, or they are very close to the age of the player themselves. For some types of campaign, the late teens/early 20s coming of age story is appropriate; a lot of fantasy campaigns, this is a good starting point for a first level character. For modern games, late 20s is usually the default starting age — this is about the period where a character would have finished college or whatever prior experience would give them the in two the spy/cop/mercenary world.

But some of the best characters I’ve seen in our games over the year were when folks broke the mould and played something different. One was an aging college professor/archeologist that was absent minded to the point of forgetting major details the players needed, the other was a 12 year old Chinese street urchin. Both characters required the players to think about what their player could do, how they would think, and what their limitations were…and for good characterization, it’s the weaknesses that make them interesting.

Most recently, we have a character who isn’t old — mid-40s — but who has had a few fairly traumatic accidents: a ski accident in his background that left the character with a chronic injury that hampered him in physical efforts. During the course of play, he’s been in a car accident that broke his arm (leaving him unable to fight or function for three months of game time), and who nearly had his neck broken in a fight. He’s a mess, and while he’s still young enough to be spry, the aches and pains are starting to catch up with him. Recently, the player started to reference his crappy reading eyesight, requiring him to use reading glasses. His vanity keeps him from using them as often as he should, but the character is more human for it.

The kid was a particular challenge for the player — how would a 12 year old peasant girl living on the streets of Shanghai react to things? She had to reach back to how she thought as a young girl to try and look at what would scare the character, how she would problem solve, and also had to take into account that the girl did not have the strength and training that some of the bad guys had. It broke her out of her comfort zone, but the player was able to come up with some unique solutions to some of the problems presented to her.

In a modern or sci-fi setting, it’s entirely possible for an older man or woman to be adventuring and be just as capable as their companions. Modern medicine, fitness, and diet allow for people to be active, strong, and resilient well into their 60s. They’re still rarely going to be holding the line in a foot race with a young man or woman, but they are realistically able to survive an action sequence. This isn’t so much the situation in the medieval period, where the average lifespan was 40 and hard living and bad diet broke a person much quicker. Bad medicine also meant injuries were more likely to be debilitating.

Thinking about not just the physical aspects of age, but the mental ones, is a good challenge for a player, as well. The youthful arrogance and feeling of invincibility disappears as one progresses through their 20s. The surety of their opinion gives way (if they’re paying attention) to an understanding they don’t know every damn thing. By 40, most folks have had kids and have priorities that match king or country; they also start to learn patience, or at least to tolerate things that might have caused non-career-enhancing actions (as a sergeant once described is to me.) Most of the folks I know over the age of 55 reach a point where, even if they give a shit, they often are willing to sit on the sidelines of an issue and see how it plays out. There’s also a feeling of entitlement that comes with aging, a different kind of arrogance that comes with looking at younger people doing the same stupid crap you did at their age, and knowing that no matter what you say, they’re going to do it anyway.

These kinds of insights that a player could glean from paying attention to the opinions and actions of their elders or the kids coming up behind them, could be useful in crafting an interesting and realistic character.

I’m getting in just under the wire here in the US for this month’s blog carnival, which is being hosted over at RPGBlogCarnivalLogocopyCasting Shadows.

This month’s theme was “Taking Charge”, and I found the various pieces regarding this a bit odd — almost none of them seemed to address what those two words — for me — implied. How and who takes charge in a role playing game campaign or session.

I’m, I suppose, pretty old-school in some ways, when it comes to the role of game mastering an RPG. I started playing around 1979ish (give or take a year; I honestly don’t remember) with the old box set of Dungeons & Dragons. The role of the DM, in those days, was antagonistic toward the players. You crafted a dungeon or other environment in which the players attempted to find treasure, kill monsters, or do some event that was central to the setting. You populated the play space with traps and opponents to challenge the players in what often seemed like a blatant attempt to do their characters in. The players were more the DM’s opponents; the character sheets might have stats, but ultimately, you as a player tried to outthink the DM. However, ultimately, the “DM was God” in those days.

I never really cottoned to the idea of gamemaster (note the shift of term) as antagonist. I wanted to craft situations and plot lines that the characters could respond to  and alter. Our little game group moved quickly out of D&D to Traveller, Gamma World, Top Secret and James Bond — settling in mostly on JB:007. Despite the move to a more narrative style, as some might call it, the GM was still the guy that built the world, presented the adventuring opportunities, and ran the opposition. The GM was still in charge, and the players were still trying to overcome the obstacles he or she set.

The idea of balance of power between the player and the GM started to take a hold in the 1990s, and I found it tied to the White Wolf games of the time, where the gamemaster was more a arbiter, and the bulk of the “action” was interpersonal interaction. This idea of GM as simply a judge or just another player is particularly popular in the indie games of recent years. The players have the power to not just react to the story, but often to use mechanical aspects of the game to change the outcome of events or even the storyline itself. The GM is not in charge. Sometimes, they don’t even exist.

You can imagine what my preference is: I like a strong GM presence or involvement, but ultimately, the players have to do something…and that drives how the story unfolds. So how does a GM take charge without creating, as a recent commenter stated, “hack novelists [sic] shitty drama”?  You can present an interesting setting (in a lot of the bigger games or licensed settings, a lot of that legwork’s been down for you) or atmosphere — something particularly good for sandbox games — and incentivize the players to go after the adventure bread crumbs you drop by tying those adventures to their character’s motivations. If you are playing in a game where the characters are part of a hierarchical organization, this is relatively easy — a character in a military unit, a government organization, etc. has to follow the instructions of their leadership, or they get canned/court martialed/ or similarly penalized. They can riff on how they do something, but they are still running through the scenario.

Depending on what kind of game you are playing, taking charge could mean extensive planning and NPC creation — particularly useful in more crunchy espionage or mystery games. It could be wrangling the players to show up for game. I will usually toss out a “who’s in?” email once a week. We all know we’re playing weekly at a certain time and place, but sometimes schedules change, venues must be shifted. Knowing who is showing up is essential to knowing what you are doing as a GM.

But what about the other players..? How do they take charge? 1) Know your character and play them. Don’t sit on the sidelines (unless it’s someone else’s turn to shine at that moment. 2) Grab onto the clues or opportunities presented to the character and do something. Don’t sit there drinking Mountain Dew and eating pizza…play, Have fun. 3) Sometimes you’ll know where the GM is trying to get you to go. If the players don’t want to go there, try to give the GM some kind of opportunities to help you go elsewhere. If you want to figure out the plot, or get to the big fight scene the GM is trying to get you into…go for it. Embrace the story and the fun that creates will help everyone move the story alone. You won’t have to take charge — it’ll just happen.

 

While it’s unlikely to be something a GM might use in their Battlestar Galactica campaign, I was bored so I statted up the Libran Galleon from our recent session:

Libra, a Galleon of Kobol

A quick sketch i whipped up for the session...

A quick sketch i whipped up for the session…

Length: 4835’     Beam: 1896’     Draught: 1619’     Decks: 65     Crew Complement: Unknown     Max Complement: Est. 40,000

ATTRIBUTES: Agility d4, Strength d12+d8, Vitality d6, Alertness d8, Intelligence d8, Willpower d6

Secondary Attributes: Life Points 30,  Armor 4W, 4S; Initiative: d4+d8, Speed: 3 [SL/JC]

TRAITS: Memorable d4, Rushed Construction d4

SKILLS: Mechanical Engineering d6, Medical Expertise d6,  Perception d4, Pilot d4

AUXILIARY CRAFT: 10-15 transports [est.]

And another quick cross section for the session last week...

And another quick cross section for the session last week…