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!)

Jesus, man, just sit the f#$% down!

Kinda makes you feel insignificant, doesn’t it..?

I’ve not read the book, but it has a spectacularly large fan base, so…

…and more goodness…

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.

The wife says, “Sassy!”

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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.