I felt pretty good about my last blog until I re-read it a few days later. It was dense, jumbled and full of jargon. I tried to do too much and I found it difficult to read. This entry is my clarification for you and an exercise in revision, concision and penance for me. It is a rewrite of the last entry; one that attempts to be readable and helpful.
Essay Begins Here....
In Other Dust, Kevin Crawford specifically invites game masters to make his game their own. The game mechanics he presents are very simple and easy use. The new systems he has built for his setting and genre provide excellent models of how to supplement basic mechanics with innovation. His game is essentially modular and allows for a great deal of modification without touching the core task-resolution/dramatic engine.*
In the Other Dust game that I run, I am going to add a meta-game currency to give the players and I a few more options for the types of situations that they are going to face. I don't feel that it is my job as GM to be objective and impartial. I've read too much Wick and Laws to feel like I am somehow detached from what is happening at the table. However, I have also read enough Wick and Laws to know that simply being an interfering, arbitrary bastard is not the preferred alternative. I want a way to drive the story that is fun for the players but does not turn into Mr. Nelson's Railroad to Story Town.
The two alternatives that I considered were the Game Master Intrusion (GMI) mechanic from Numenera and the Benny system from Savage Worlds. Both are fun systems and both have added a lot of fun to games I have played over the years. I chose the GMI mechanic because it is the more pro-active of the two and because it has the potential to bring some of Other Dust's methods for making characters suffer to the fore more regularly.
Bennies have always bothered me, because they are both given and played reactively. They are awarded for things the players have done, either in or out of character, and are spent to re-roll or reverse some adversity. Bennies are good for shaping player behavior, to be sure, but they hold little potential for advancing the story of the game beyond "I was hurt but now I am not" or "I failed but then I didn't." One of the things that players always want to do is share bennies, but Savage Worlds requires the players to pay for that privilege by taking an Edge** and when they get the chance the usually opt for better skills or cooler abilities. Bennies certainly add a great deal of fun to a game, but there is a better alternative for the kind of fun I would like to see at the table.
With GMI's, the GM pays the player to allow some kind of trouble to befall him or her. Examples of GMI's might be a torn pack strap, having equipment broken or stolen, or treachery from trusted NPC's. GMI's in Other Dust can force saves to avoid conditions like Wounded or Radiated They can jam guns and foul rations. The story can get very juicy very quickly through the use of GMI's; their potential to raise the grain of the rules to ensure the characters a full taste of the dangers of the game world gives me goose bumps.
On the player side, GMI's are immediately a bonding experience because the players are paid two tokens for their trouble, one of which they must immediately give to another player. This cuts off the all-your-bennies-are-belong-to-YOU problem at the knees. GMI tokens can be used for re-rolls, recoveries and reversals like bennies, but they can also be redeemed for explicit, story-driven bonuses that connect the characters with the setting. For example, a character who has been fighting a clan of bandits for a few sessions might redeem a token for a bonus to fight that particular group of bandits. He might also spend the token to recognize a bandit as a former childhood friend or rival, giving the group a new menu of problem-solving strategies.
I am very excited about this. Monte Cook has done something remarkable with GMI's in that he has given players and GM's a story-building tool that does not feel like a plot hammer. The GMI allows a kind of ebb and flow between GM and player control of the action that can only enhance our Other Dust game. I will be sure to report back with the results of this experiment when I have some data. Wish me luck!
*I think the core tension-building questions of most procedural RPG's are "Will this work?" and "Will I live through this?" Answering these questions with random number generation give everyone at the table a jolt of risk-joy that is part of the fun of RP'ing.
**Edges are like feats: special abilities gained via character advancement
Sunday, May 4, 2014
Friday, April 25, 2014
Bolt-on GMI's and why I prefer them to Bennies
One of the things I like about Other Dust and Old School RPG's in general is the explicit call to mess around with the rules. To borrow the best line from a terrible movie, they're really more of a guideline. There is no comprehensive list of combat modifiers; rather, Kevin Crawford just tells us that a -2 penalty will suffice for most situations. There is a mechanic called Conditions through which conditions like hunger, thirst or broken ribs impose cumulative -2 penalties to hit rolls and -1 to saves and skill rolls. There is no comprehensive list of Conditions either. Some are specified in the rules, but there is no table 2.1: Conditions.
This open-endedness is a little scary, but it's also freeing. In the essay Rule 68A, which is written for Traveller but pertains to OD and Stars Without Number, the author suggests that the GM can invent mechanics on the fly without worrying too much about hosing the players unintentionally. Basically, in Old School games, whatever you make up will be fair enough for the situation at at hand.
The line you walk as a GM in those situations is essentially the difference between "something terrible happens to you and there is nothing you can do about it" and "something terrible happens to you; what are you going to do about it?" Resolution mechanics are fine, but sometimes you want to introduce a complication that isn't covered by the rules but doesn't quite feel right to spring on the players without any kind of warning.
Enter the Game Master Intrusion (GMI).
GMI's are an essential component of Monte Cook's Cypher System that is the engine behind Numenera. GMI's are transactional: the GM pays the player in a currency called XP and then does awful stuff to his or her character. Suggestions in the Numenera book include breaking bow strings, dropping weapons, ruined rations, torn pack straps, NPC recovery, more damage to the character, floors or stairways that collapse...in short, mayhem and fuck-with-ery.
In Cypher, the GM always pays the player two XP for the privilege of torturing their characters. The player must then give one of the XP to another player. I think this is brilliant because it creates bonds at the table and players are less likely to be neglected by the XP fairy just because the GM does not remember to mess with them. It also can be a way for players to self-regulate. A player who contributes and displays good table etiquette is more likely to be rewarded by his fellow players than one who is selfish or passive. It also absolves the GM of having to reward players with XP; GMI's are proactive, as are many of the effects of XP.
I prefer this system to the Benny system of Savage Worlds, which is almost entirely reactive. Bennies are usually given to reward player behavior (good jokes, evocative role-playing, effective planning, deck shuffling, pizza-bringing, and anything else that makes the total experience more pleasant for the GM.) This is a great way to shape player behavior, but it does not really relate to the emerging story that the game is creating; in fact, it can pull against it. GMI's, on the other hand, are always story-driven; they are about something happening to the characters rather than a reward for good player behavior.
Bennies are also used reactively for re-rolls, recoveries, and if your GM allows it, for moments of story control ("A baseball? Like the one I happen to have in my saddle bag?") XP can be used a bit more proactively by players to give their characters situational bonuses ("I am now really good at tracking abhumans so I am skilled whenever I am tracking them" or "I have spent enough time in these ruins that I am skilled in perception skills while I'm here"). Players can also use XP to advance their characters, and to eschew GMI's by paying one XP to the GM. Not everyone wants to discover whatever put that evil gleam in the GM's eye, I suppose.
For Other Dust, I'm going to use GMI's and XP (which I'm going to call Bennies just because my players are used to Savage Worlds and because XP sounds like experience points, which are used differently in OD.) The Bennies will be metal washers, which I think are a good fit for Other Dust. GMI's in OD will be the usual things like broken bow strings, dud grenades and spoiled rations or dirty water. To be more fair --and interesting--GMI's will most often provoke saves: a tech save to avoid a jammed weapon, a physical save to avoid a Condition like Ruptured Spleen or Third Degree Burns, a mental save to avoid the psychological stress of a particularly horrific encounter. I can also use the GMI's to subtly give the characters more screen time to be awesome. A character with a good Dex score might make an Dex/Athletics check to avoid falling rubble, while one with a good Luck save might make that instead. In fact, it could be a chance to let a player show off their character's optimal abilities by letting them choose how they deal with the calamity. If a character can find a narrative way out or around without rolling dice, that is just as well.
These Bennies will be used to re-roll damage and saves (not missed skill or to-hit rolls, because these are class features in OD), to eschew GMI's, to throw off Conditions (which may require a save or roll of some sort, depending on the nature of the Condition), to provide situational bonuses (+1 for skills, and they must be very specific) to cheat death and to provide players the opportunity to occasionally intrude on the narrative to their advantage. I hope these GMI bennies will enhance the emerging story without smothering the risky thrill that is the game's true heart.
Tokens like Bennies and XP add a layer of strategy and drama that my players and I enjoy. Pathetic Aesthetic aside, I think they are essential for a game as lethal as OD. Even with a table heavy with washers, there should be plenty of carnage, mayhem and death to go around.
(For a more concise version of this entry, see the next entry.)
This open-endedness is a little scary, but it's also freeing. In the essay Rule 68A, which is written for Traveller but pertains to OD and Stars Without Number, the author suggests that the GM can invent mechanics on the fly without worrying too much about hosing the players unintentionally. Basically, in Old School games, whatever you make up will be fair enough for the situation at at hand.
The line you walk as a GM in those situations is essentially the difference between "something terrible happens to you and there is nothing you can do about it" and "something terrible happens to you; what are you going to do about it?" Resolution mechanics are fine, but sometimes you want to introduce a complication that isn't covered by the rules but doesn't quite feel right to spring on the players without any kind of warning.
Enter the Game Master Intrusion (GMI).
GMI's are an essential component of Monte Cook's Cypher System that is the engine behind Numenera. GMI's are transactional: the GM pays the player in a currency called XP and then does awful stuff to his or her character. Suggestions in the Numenera book include breaking bow strings, dropping weapons, ruined rations, torn pack straps, NPC recovery, more damage to the character, floors or stairways that collapse...in short, mayhem and fuck-with-ery.
In Cypher, the GM always pays the player two XP for the privilege of torturing their characters. The player must then give one of the XP to another player. I think this is brilliant because it creates bonds at the table and players are less likely to be neglected by the XP fairy just because the GM does not remember to mess with them. It also can be a way for players to self-regulate. A player who contributes and displays good table etiquette is more likely to be rewarded by his fellow players than one who is selfish or passive. It also absolves the GM of having to reward players with XP; GMI's are proactive, as are many of the effects of XP.
I prefer this system to the Benny system of Savage Worlds, which is almost entirely reactive. Bennies are usually given to reward player behavior (good jokes, evocative role-playing, effective planning, deck shuffling, pizza-bringing, and anything else that makes the total experience more pleasant for the GM.) This is a great way to shape player behavior, but it does not really relate to the emerging story that the game is creating; in fact, it can pull against it. GMI's, on the other hand, are always story-driven; they are about something happening to the characters rather than a reward for good player behavior.
Bennies are also used reactively for re-rolls, recoveries, and if your GM allows it, for moments of story control ("A baseball? Like the one I happen to have in my saddle bag?") XP can be used a bit more proactively by players to give their characters situational bonuses ("I am now really good at tracking abhumans so I am skilled whenever I am tracking them" or "I have spent enough time in these ruins that I am skilled in perception skills while I'm here"). Players can also use XP to advance their characters, and to eschew GMI's by paying one XP to the GM. Not everyone wants to discover whatever put that evil gleam in the GM's eye, I suppose.
For Other Dust, I'm going to use GMI's and XP (which I'm going to call Bennies just because my players are used to Savage Worlds and because XP sounds like experience points, which are used differently in OD.) The Bennies will be metal washers, which I think are a good fit for Other Dust. GMI's in OD will be the usual things like broken bow strings, dud grenades and spoiled rations or dirty water. To be more fair --and interesting--GMI's will most often provoke saves: a tech save to avoid a jammed weapon, a physical save to avoid a Condition like Ruptured Spleen or Third Degree Burns, a mental save to avoid the psychological stress of a particularly horrific encounter. I can also use the GMI's to subtly give the characters more screen time to be awesome. A character with a good Dex score might make an Dex/Athletics check to avoid falling rubble, while one with a good Luck save might make that instead. In fact, it could be a chance to let a player show off their character's optimal abilities by letting them choose how they deal with the calamity. If a character can find a narrative way out or around without rolling dice, that is just as well.
These Bennies will be used to re-roll damage and saves (not missed skill or to-hit rolls, because these are class features in OD), to eschew GMI's, to throw off Conditions (which may require a save or roll of some sort, depending on the nature of the Condition), to provide situational bonuses (+1 for skills, and they must be very specific) to cheat death and to provide players the opportunity to occasionally intrude on the narrative to their advantage. I hope these GMI bennies will enhance the emerging story without smothering the risky thrill that is the game's true heart.
Tokens like Bennies and XP add a layer of strategy and drama that my players and I enjoy. Pathetic Aesthetic aside, I think they are essential for a game as lethal as OD. Even with a table heavy with washers, there should be plenty of carnage, mayhem and death to go around.
(For a more concise version of this entry, see the next entry.)
Sunday, March 30, 2014
I'll have apocalypse "B", thank you.
Originally this blog was supposed to be about Kevin Crawford's excellent space-opera sandbox game Stars Without Number. (which is available as a free download and well worth a look. Even if you don't want to play, the random generators and tag system for locations are well worth the time of a curious GM.) The kids rolled up characters and...that was it. Daughter was put off by her character's one hit point and refused to play. I tried to explain that this was an Old School game and that character death was part of the emerging story and that one hit point was just God's way of saying "Don't get into gun fights, li'l psychic" but she wouldn't have it. So we moved on to Numenera, because it looked like it would be fun, easy to run and to play and because I didn't want to run d20.
Since then, we have played and enjoyed some Numenera. But to tell you the truth, I kind of don't get it.
I have tried and tried to nail down the role-playing experience and the best metaphor I have come up with is story-telling as jazz. The particular game you use is both the instrument and the style. Some games are three-chord electric blues; some games are smoove jazz with lilting pianos and clarinets, and some games are fast, hard bebop full of brass and drum solos. The commonality is improvisation: everyone understands the structure, but no one really knows how it's going to turn out.
To punish the metaphor: as an instrument of creative play, I like the action of Numenera, but I don't like the tone.
Some people love it. I think it may be an acquired taste.
Stars Without Number, on the other hand, has a tone and action that I deeply appreciate. And it's post-apocalyptic sibling, Other Dust, is just as good. In fact, I think it's better.
That's why I decided to run Other Dust for the grown-ups: I just like it better.
To appreciate the setting of Other Dust, imagine Star Trek re-drawn by George Orwell: an ultra-tech veneer of harmony over a deep, dark well of repression and dread. This anti-Federation is called the Terran Mandate. Imagine that the power to create this far-flung stellar empire comes from humanity's mastery of psychic powers: jump gates, nano-technology, stellar navigation, even common appliances, all powered by the mental energy of a mighty choir of psychics capable of prolonging their own lifespans over centuries and manipulating planetary systems with their minds alone.
Now, imagine that all of the psychics, all at once, go utterly and violently insane.
They rip apart the planet's infrastructure including nuclear power plants and the world-wide nanite cloud that is the setting's internet. They call in orbital strikes to try and kill one-another, deploy the Bright Mirror Orbital Defense System to incinerate any spacecraft that try to get on or off the planet, and re-purpose the nanites meant to keep everyone clean and healthy to a program of twisted genetic engineering that creates terrifying mutants of every imaginable kind.
Two hundred years later, the seven strongest psychics are still alive, Earth has had no relief from the stars, and play begins.
If you are familiar with Numenera, you will notice several similarities right off the bat. The Iron Wind in Numenera is the Dust in Other Dust. Mutants are common in both settings. There is an element of super-science mimicking magic in both settings as well; Crawford's insane psychics are called "The Crazed" and are essentially the Lich-Kings and -Queens of New Terra. In fact, Other Dust is more like the game I thought I was getting when I backed Numenera than Numenera actually turned out to be.
After our first session playing Other Dust, which was great fun, it did occur to me that the whole thing would have been easier in Numenera's Cypher System by far. Numenera runs more smoothly, there's less book keeping, the characters that were generated would have been easily replicated in Numenera. I plan on incorporating a mechanic similar to GM intrusions into this game. Numenera has a lot to offer, especially in terms of mechanics and ease of prep.
Other Dust, on the other hand, resonates truer to me. The creatures are based on real-world animals mutated by the High Shine nanite system. The world before the fall has a history that I can understand and riff from, unlike Numenera which seems to be powered by inaccessibility to the past. The rules for technology--repairing, salvaging and discovering it--all feel more genuine and player-driven than the Cypher System of Numenera which is based on random finds of one-shot items. Finding a flare or a backpack with an old picture and a broken radio in it seems more evocative to me than finding a sphere that can turn your tongue purple or a headband that can shoot a single laser beam before it's useless junk.
Monte Cook says that Numenera is about discovery, but it is equally about danger and daring. Danger and daring are great fun, but the way Numenera presents them feels more like a super hero story than a survival story. Ultimately, it's about being awesome by having awesome powers and going into dangerous, awesome places and doing awesome things to overcome awesome obstacles, collecting awesome loot, and then going back to do it over and over again because it was just so awesome.
I find that...tiresome.
Other Dust is also about being awesome. However, it's about being awesome by being tiny and fragile and smart and brave. It's about having just enough power to not die today, and trying to scrimp together enough to make it through tomorrow. It's about finding favor in communities, making hard choices, scrounging and searching and fighting with a terrible will because you know that each fight could be your last.
Other Dust seems more taut, more rife with tension, more random and because of all of that, more fun for me.
Once the group is through this adventure, maybe we'll try some Numenera, just to see if the tone is as off as I thought it was at first. I might learn to really understand Numenera's groove.
In the mean time, Other Dust is on the table.
Since then, we have played and enjoyed some Numenera. But to tell you the truth, I kind of don't get it.
I have tried and tried to nail down the role-playing experience and the best metaphor I have come up with is story-telling as jazz. The particular game you use is both the instrument and the style. Some games are three-chord electric blues; some games are smoove jazz with lilting pianos and clarinets, and some games are fast, hard bebop full of brass and drum solos. The commonality is improvisation: everyone understands the structure, but no one really knows how it's going to turn out.
To punish the metaphor: as an instrument of creative play, I like the action of Numenera, but I don't like the tone.
Some people love it. I think it may be an acquired taste.
Stars Without Number, on the other hand, has a tone and action that I deeply appreciate. And it's post-apocalyptic sibling, Other Dust, is just as good. In fact, I think it's better.
That's why I decided to run Other Dust for the grown-ups: I just like it better.
To appreciate the setting of Other Dust, imagine Star Trek re-drawn by George Orwell: an ultra-tech veneer of harmony over a deep, dark well of repression and dread. This anti-Federation is called the Terran Mandate. Imagine that the power to create this far-flung stellar empire comes from humanity's mastery of psychic powers: jump gates, nano-technology, stellar navigation, even common appliances, all powered by the mental energy of a mighty choir of psychics capable of prolonging their own lifespans over centuries and manipulating planetary systems with their minds alone.
Now, imagine that all of the psychics, all at once, go utterly and violently insane.
They rip apart the planet's infrastructure including nuclear power plants and the world-wide nanite cloud that is the setting's internet. They call in orbital strikes to try and kill one-another, deploy the Bright Mirror Orbital Defense System to incinerate any spacecraft that try to get on or off the planet, and re-purpose the nanites meant to keep everyone clean and healthy to a program of twisted genetic engineering that creates terrifying mutants of every imaginable kind.
Two hundred years later, the seven strongest psychics are still alive, Earth has had no relief from the stars, and play begins.
If you are familiar with Numenera, you will notice several similarities right off the bat. The Iron Wind in Numenera is the Dust in Other Dust. Mutants are common in both settings. There is an element of super-science mimicking magic in both settings as well; Crawford's insane psychics are called "The Crazed" and are essentially the Lich-Kings and -Queens of New Terra. In fact, Other Dust is more like the game I thought I was getting when I backed Numenera than Numenera actually turned out to be.
After our first session playing Other Dust, which was great fun, it did occur to me that the whole thing would have been easier in Numenera's Cypher System by far. Numenera runs more smoothly, there's less book keeping, the characters that were generated would have been easily replicated in Numenera. I plan on incorporating a mechanic similar to GM intrusions into this game. Numenera has a lot to offer, especially in terms of mechanics and ease of prep.
Other Dust, on the other hand, resonates truer to me. The creatures are based on real-world animals mutated by the High Shine nanite system. The world before the fall has a history that I can understand and riff from, unlike Numenera which seems to be powered by inaccessibility to the past. The rules for technology--repairing, salvaging and discovering it--all feel more genuine and player-driven than the Cypher System of Numenera which is based on random finds of one-shot items. Finding a flare or a backpack with an old picture and a broken radio in it seems more evocative to me than finding a sphere that can turn your tongue purple or a headband that can shoot a single laser beam before it's useless junk.
Monte Cook says that Numenera is about discovery, but it is equally about danger and daring. Danger and daring are great fun, but the way Numenera presents them feels more like a super hero story than a survival story. Ultimately, it's about being awesome by having awesome powers and going into dangerous, awesome places and doing awesome things to overcome awesome obstacles, collecting awesome loot, and then going back to do it over and over again because it was just so awesome.
I find that...tiresome.
Other Dust is also about being awesome. However, it's about being awesome by being tiny and fragile and smart and brave. It's about having just enough power to not die today, and trying to scrimp together enough to make it through tomorrow. It's about finding favor in communities, making hard choices, scrounging and searching and fighting with a terrible will because you know that each fight could be your last.
Other Dust seems more taut, more rife with tension, more random and because of all of that, more fun for me.
Once the group is through this adventure, maybe we'll try some Numenera, just to see if the tone is as off as I thought it was at first. I might learn to really understand Numenera's groove.
In the mean time, Other Dust is on the table.
Friday, March 21, 2014
How I stopped hating and learned to love the Red Box.
Our next gaming session was set up by Son, who contacted all of his friends and made it happen. I was very proud of him. He has made mention of having his own gamer group. Fantastic! I was looking forward to running the game since the last session went so well and I was eager to see how the Doctor and Snake Head would fare against the Golden Dawn-esque cultists in the Vortex.
I had made notes about all of the cultists on a single sheet of lined paper, reviewed the adventure, marked rules in the main Numenera book that I thought might come up or had come up and confused me last time, printed character sheets, and honed and oiled my "How to play Numenera"spiel. I was more than ready to show these kids how it's done.
When the first friend showed up, he greeted me and Son and said, "Well, I guess we'll be playing what's in this backpack."
Hunh?
Then he pulled out a Big Red Box with the label "Dungeons and Dragons Starter Set."
Now, I will confess that I had a kind of brain cramp at this point. I felt kind of like saying "NO, we are not playing THAT, we are playing NUMENERA which is AWESOME and not THAT because it is CRAP, CRAP, CRAAAAAAAP!!"
But I did not, because I am a grown up. Besides, I expected Son to say "Actually, my dad is running a game for us which we started last week, and you guys can join in and play. It's called Numenera and it's awesome."
My son did not say that. He said "Sure! Sounds fun!"
My heart kind of sank, mostly because I knew that what was transpiring was exactly right. Kids are supposed to play with kids. Kids learn a lot from GM'ing games and from figuring out complex systems together. Jack Chick 80's hysteria aside, playing D&D is not the worst thing they could be doing.
But it wasn't Numenera.
Man-oh-Man, was it Not Numenera.
The D&D Beginner's Kit (4th ed based) does Character Generation kind of like a Choose Your Own Adventure book, with each decision point giving you something to fill in on your character sheet. It's easy, but it's not quick and with three boys trying to do it all at once, it took a loooong time. Hours. We had Snake Head up and running in about 20 minutes and that included some rules and setting exposition. It was painful to listen to. One of the boys arrived late and did his Choose Your Own Adventurer while the other boys played video games.
It seemed horribly tedious to me and I half expected them to bag the whole thing and ask me to run Numenera. Truth be told, I kind of hoped they would.
They did not.
Rather, they made it through the funnish slog of D&D character generation, finally got to play, and had a ball. They sounded exactly like a bunch of kids sounds playing D&D: loud, happy, funny, creative-y and completely crazy. The were fighting a Nightmare which they finally defeated with 50' of rope, AT-AT style, which was old-school awesome. Not a word was said about Numenera; D&D 4E was on tap and was enjoyed to the fullest.
I related a very short version of this story on Facebook, and an old friend asked if there was an adult version and when he could join in.
"Um, Hell yes. Have you heard of Numenera?"
Sometimes it's good to be a grown up.
I had made notes about all of the cultists on a single sheet of lined paper, reviewed the adventure, marked rules in the main Numenera book that I thought might come up or had come up and confused me last time, printed character sheets, and honed and oiled my "How to play Numenera"spiel. I was more than ready to show these kids how it's done.
When the first friend showed up, he greeted me and Son and said, "Well, I guess we'll be playing what's in this backpack."
Hunh?
Then he pulled out a Big Red Box with the label "Dungeons and Dragons Starter Set."
Now, I will confess that I had a kind of brain cramp at this point. I felt kind of like saying "NO, we are not playing THAT, we are playing NUMENERA which is AWESOME and not THAT because it is CRAP, CRAP, CRAAAAAAAP!!"
But I did not, because I am a grown up. Besides, I expected Son to say "Actually, my dad is running a game for us which we started last week, and you guys can join in and play. It's called Numenera and it's awesome."
My son did not say that. He said "Sure! Sounds fun!"
My heart kind of sank, mostly because I knew that what was transpiring was exactly right. Kids are supposed to play with kids. Kids learn a lot from GM'ing games and from figuring out complex systems together. Jack Chick 80's hysteria aside, playing D&D is not the worst thing they could be doing.
But it wasn't Numenera.
Man-oh-Man, was it Not Numenera.
The D&D Beginner's Kit (4th ed based) does Character Generation kind of like a Choose Your Own Adventure book, with each decision point giving you something to fill in on your character sheet. It's easy, but it's not quick and with three boys trying to do it all at once, it took a loooong time. Hours. We had Snake Head up and running in about 20 minutes and that included some rules and setting exposition. It was painful to listen to. One of the boys arrived late and did his Choose Your Own Adventurer while the other boys played video games.
It seemed horribly tedious to me and I half expected them to bag the whole thing and ask me to run Numenera. Truth be told, I kind of hoped they would.
They did not.
Rather, they made it through the funnish slog of D&D character generation, finally got to play, and had a ball. They sounded exactly like a bunch of kids sounds playing D&D: loud, happy, funny, creative-y and completely crazy. The were fighting a Nightmare which they finally defeated with 50' of rope, AT-AT style, which was old-school awesome. Not a word was said about Numenera; D&D 4E was on tap and was enjoyed to the fullest.
I related a very short version of this story on Facebook, and an old friend asked if there was an adult version and when he could join in.
"Um, Hell yes. Have you heard of Numenera?"
Sometimes it's good to be a grown up.
Sunday, March 16, 2014
The Doctor and Snake Head save the day!
Daughter having effectively bowed out of the Numenera game with Son, I wondered whether our campaign had any future. Son answered that question by inviting three friends over to play an RPG, run by Yours Truly. Two of the boys had to cancel, so only one came to play. He turned out to be a great role player, and we had a lot of fun.
For the adventure, I chose The Vortex, by Mote Cook. (Spoiler Alert: If you plan to play in this adventure, I'm going to recount everything that happened so don't say I didn't warn you.)
This adventure is structured well, giving the GM lots of moving parts and a few hooks to get the players into the action. The first part of the adventure introduces a disappearing structure called The Narthex that materializes and disappears around the Ninth World like a self-aware TARDIS with an agenda. The players encounter a cult with a charismatic but loathsome leader based loosely on Alister Crowley. I used the hooks from the adventure, and Son and Friend took the bait eagerly.
Friend's character was a Tough Nano who Bears a Sheath of Ice. He said he liked to play "tank wizards" so I thought he made a good choice. He made a sketch of his character, who had a weird snake thing sitting on his noggin. It looked like the snake was trying to swallow the character's head.
Friend explained to me that the character was the snake thing, that he was some kind of psychic parasite snake, and that the human in the picture was just a host. "Ooooohkaaay," thought I, but I quickly put aside misgivings and put on my "Yes, and" hat and said "sure." I figured we would handle any issues that came up on the fly.
So the Doctor and Snake Head, on the way to a small town to investigate some disappearances, witnessed a group of oddly dressed weirdos doing a hand-wavy chanty ritual before disappearing into a building shaped like a football which also disappeared. The weirdo cultists left behind a bag of groceries and a satchel with a pen (they were very excited about the pen) and a journal that predicted that the football would show up again in ten days not too far from where they were going. They made haste to the town.
Friend and Son really enjoyed the role play with the cultists, and Friend said at one point that he "loved" what we were doing. They both seemed to be enjoying the game.
Once the arrived at the town they visited the principle NPC;s, a headwoman and a glaive. More fun RPing ensued. At one point the headwoman said "Boy...you got a snake on your head!" and he was Snake Head from that point onward.
The latest disappearances were two young boys who had last been seen at a lake. The heroes went to investigate and discovered a Mesomeme, a kind of giant crab with long tentacles that protrude from it's back. It sets the heads of it's victims on the tentacles; the heads repeat their last words over and over as a kind of haunting cacaphony. Quote from Friend "That is so WEIRD!"
The duo decided to recruit help from the town and formulated a plan using a desiccating detonation which evaporated water within a certain radius, doing damage to the creatures therein. They then went to the waters' edge with the Glaive from the town, three hunters with bows and clubs, their wits and a decent plan.
They found the creature and rolled for initiative. The Doctor threw his detonation, which I decided did double damage because the creature was aquatic. Snake Head and the hunters then tried to draw the creature out of the muck by shooting arrows at it and generally making it's life hard. I was also playing a character named Jang, a Tough Glaive who Fights with Panache. I decided to play a character to model for the boys how some of the rules work, especially Effort. Jang attacked with his spear, used effort and rolled a 17 for extra damage. I described the hit as Jang's spear going into the creature's eye. Lots of great "Eww's" from the peanut gallery.
We went around a few more rounds. The mesomeme missed it's attacks because of effort put into dodging it's attacks. A GM intrusion had Snake Head's club bounce off the back of the creature and go flying into the lake. The hunters and the Glaive together made a single level 6 creature, which was a good match to the Mesomeme. At one point the Doctor attacked with his dagger and brought it down to one health. Then it was Jang' turn. I asked the boys what they would rater see happen: Jang do the killing blow or the Glaive. They thought the Glaive had better do it so the town could feel safe and proud, which I thought was cool and insightful. The Glaive smashed the creature's life out with a maul, and that was that.
The Doctor found a gas bomb in the mouth of a crow-goblin whose head was mounted on the back of the Mesomeme. (I used a GMI to have it say "Follow the Yellow Robes!" meaning the cult members before it was put to rest.) The party took the mesomeme meat (which they called "crab meat") back to the grateful town. The townsfolk were grateful and told them that they would always be welcome at that place.
We stopped there. It really could not have gone much better. Numenera is easy to improvise with so far; the combat was fun and fluid and the role playing was facilitated by the excellent clues and prompts given in the adventure.
A final note: I use glass beads to represent XP. Having a thing in front of me reminds me to use GMI's, which seems to be a problem for new Numenera GM's. (Several years of Savage Worlds probably doesn't hurt either.) XP are the players' currency of narrative control, so Game Master Intrusions are important just so that the players can advance or use their XP in other cool ways.
For the adventure, I chose The Vortex, by Mote Cook. (Spoiler Alert: If you plan to play in this adventure, I'm going to recount everything that happened so don't say I didn't warn you.)
This adventure is structured well, giving the GM lots of moving parts and a few hooks to get the players into the action. The first part of the adventure introduces a disappearing structure called The Narthex that materializes and disappears around the Ninth World like a self-aware TARDIS with an agenda. The players encounter a cult with a charismatic but loathsome leader based loosely on Alister Crowley. I used the hooks from the adventure, and Son and Friend took the bait eagerly.
Friend's character was a Tough Nano who Bears a Sheath of Ice. He said he liked to play "tank wizards" so I thought he made a good choice. He made a sketch of his character, who had a weird snake thing sitting on his noggin. It looked like the snake was trying to swallow the character's head.
Friend explained to me that the character was the snake thing, that he was some kind of psychic parasite snake, and that the human in the picture was just a host. "Ooooohkaaay," thought I, but I quickly put aside misgivings and put on my "Yes, and" hat and said "sure." I figured we would handle any issues that came up on the fly.
So the Doctor and Snake Head, on the way to a small town to investigate some disappearances, witnessed a group of oddly dressed weirdos doing a hand-wavy chanty ritual before disappearing into a building shaped like a football which also disappeared. The weirdo cultists left behind a bag of groceries and a satchel with a pen (they were very excited about the pen) and a journal that predicted that the football would show up again in ten days not too far from where they were going. They made haste to the town.
Friend and Son really enjoyed the role play with the cultists, and Friend said at one point that he "loved" what we were doing. They both seemed to be enjoying the game.
Once the arrived at the town they visited the principle NPC;s, a headwoman and a glaive. More fun RPing ensued. At one point the headwoman said "Boy...you got a snake on your head!" and he was Snake Head from that point onward.
The latest disappearances were two young boys who had last been seen at a lake. The heroes went to investigate and discovered a Mesomeme, a kind of giant crab with long tentacles that protrude from it's back. It sets the heads of it's victims on the tentacles; the heads repeat their last words over and over as a kind of haunting cacaphony. Quote from Friend "That is so WEIRD!"
The duo decided to recruit help from the town and formulated a plan using a desiccating detonation which evaporated water within a certain radius, doing damage to the creatures therein. They then went to the waters' edge with the Glaive from the town, three hunters with bows and clubs, their wits and a decent plan.
They found the creature and rolled for initiative. The Doctor threw his detonation, which I decided did double damage because the creature was aquatic. Snake Head and the hunters then tried to draw the creature out of the muck by shooting arrows at it and generally making it's life hard. I was also playing a character named Jang, a Tough Glaive who Fights with Panache. I decided to play a character to model for the boys how some of the rules work, especially Effort. Jang attacked with his spear, used effort and rolled a 17 for extra damage. I described the hit as Jang's spear going into the creature's eye. Lots of great "Eww's" from the peanut gallery.
We went around a few more rounds. The mesomeme missed it's attacks because of effort put into dodging it's attacks. A GM intrusion had Snake Head's club bounce off the back of the creature and go flying into the lake. The hunters and the Glaive together made a single level 6 creature, which was a good match to the Mesomeme. At one point the Doctor attacked with his dagger and brought it down to one health. Then it was Jang' turn. I asked the boys what they would rater see happen: Jang do the killing blow or the Glaive. They thought the Glaive had better do it so the town could feel safe and proud, which I thought was cool and insightful. The Glaive smashed the creature's life out with a maul, and that was that.
The Doctor found a gas bomb in the mouth of a crow-goblin whose head was mounted on the back of the Mesomeme. (I used a GMI to have it say "Follow the Yellow Robes!" meaning the cult members before it was put to rest.) The party took the mesomeme meat (which they called "crab meat") back to the grateful town. The townsfolk were grateful and told them that they would always be welcome at that place.
We stopped there. It really could not have gone much better. Numenera is easy to improvise with so far; the combat was fun and fluid and the role playing was facilitated by the excellent clues and prompts given in the adventure.
A final note: I use glass beads to represent XP. Having a thing in front of me reminds me to use GMI's, which seems to be a problem for new Numenera GM's. (Several years of Savage Worlds probably doesn't hurt either.) XP are the players' currency of narrative control, so Game Master Intrusions are important just so that the players can advance or use their XP in other cool ways.
Friday, March 7, 2014
First Adventure: Teen Wolf Angst in the Ninth World
For the kids' first Numenera adventure I decided to run the Beale of Boregal, the first of several adventures in the Numenera book.
Oh. Oh my.
For a first adventure, I found the BoB confusing. It's lay-out, the hooks, the NPC's, all left me with a "Hunh?" feeling that did not give me great confidence in my ability to run it well. However, Numenera is different enough from other games in both setting and mechanics that I did not feel comfortable simply improvising or adapting an adventure from another source.
Everything in the BoB seems to be playing at the same volume. The premise is that the characters are on a pilgrimage, which is described in a great deal of detail that isn't really important to the adventure or to the character's understanding of the world. Those details became a distracting static as I was attempting to prepare to run the adventure. I failed to look at it critically enough to cut out a lot of what amounts to fat and/or fluff. The pilgrimage is essentially a set piece; the player characters could have the same play experience if they had the first encounter while sitting on a stump in a meadow or drinking in a tavern.
The PC's are expected to be invested in the pilgrimage at the beginning of the adventure and then to all but abandon it when the hook appears. To facilitate their investment, there are a list of possible motives for the players to be on the pilgrimage. I failed communicate with the players about their investment in the pilgrimage and to predict how that investment might distract them from the hook.
The kids had rolled their connections to the world and their inter-party connections defaulted to one-another; it looked like their grounding in the Ninth World was a done deal and that they would be playing foils to one-another. Daughter's connection is that Son's character, the Doctor, can talk her down from her lycanthropic transformation; Son's connection is that machines won't "talk" to him when Daughter is near. We worked out ahead of time that he would be interested in helping her in her goal to be rid of (or at least control) her transformations; her interference with machines was a clue that pointed them towards what kind of affliction she actually was experiencing. They both seemed satisfied that they would be aiding one-another and helping each-other towards their goals as characters. However, their attitudes towards the pilgrimage turned out to be a complicating manifestation of their attitudes towards the campaign.
As we unfolded the initial narration, Daughter revealed that for the evening she planned to play not a Learned Jack who Howls at the Moon but a Surly Teen who Eschews Role Playing Hooks. In the adventure, a young girl and her brother approach the adventurers and ask for aid. Daughter was not having it. She was on a pilgrimage, she said, and intended to continue on it until she found whatever she was looking for, which was plainly not an adventure with the Doctor. The Doctor decided to help the girl by taking her to the nearest town which boasted colored springs of healing water.
This threw me. I did not want to split the party and I certainly did not want to run an adventure simultaneously for two different players with two different agendas traveling in opposite directions. However, I had been schooling Daughter on the merits of "Yes, but.." GM'ing, so I only had on choice: to press on.
To buy time, I asked Son what he wanted to do. He lunged at the plot hook and took off with the girl to find help for her mental disturbance. I described next segment of the written adventure, facilitated a bit of role-playing with various townsfolk, and came back to Daughter.
Since neither of us had read the Howls at the Moon focus very carefully, I went along when she decided to leave the Wandering Way to protect the people on the path from her transformed state. Had either of us read the focus carefully, we would have known that she should have been easily able to predict her transformation. Without that knowledge, I was flying blind. Just so she'd have something to do, I sent some bandits her way, and triggered her transformation. Rather than digging into the rules aspect of the transformation, she acted kind of bored and annoyed by them. She easily ripped one of the bandits to pieces, and was compelled by her focus to kill all of them. I don't think that set well with her either.
There, we stopped for the evening.
Later, she confided in me that she really did not want to game with her brother. They have a tendency to bicker, and it often ruins the game for them and for anyone else who sits in. She told me that some of her friends wanted me to run a game for them, without Son. My issues with the adventure were magnified by her decision to passive-aggressively sabotage it.
Son was also fine with Daughter having a separate gaming group. Maybe they will want to play with one-another later, as they see each other having fun with the game. In the mean time, I learned that a subversive player is not necessarily messing with you just to do so; sometimes, there is pain behind the pain that needs to be drawn out before successful play can continue.
For the kids' first Numenera adventure I decided to run the Beale of Boregal, the first of several adventures in the Numenera book.
Oh. Oh my.
For a first adventure, I found the BoB confusing. It's lay-out, the hooks, the NPC's, all left me with a "Hunh?" feeling that did not give me great confidence in my ability to run it well. However, Numenera is different enough from other games in both setting and mechanics that I did not feel comfortable simply improvising or adapting an adventure from another source.
Everything in the BoB seems to be playing at the same volume. The premise is that the characters are on a pilgrimage, which is described in a great deal of detail that isn't really important to the adventure or to the character's understanding of the world. Those details became a distracting static as I was attempting to prepare to run the adventure. I failed to look at it critically enough to cut out a lot of what amounts to fat and/or fluff. The pilgrimage is essentially a set piece; the player characters could have the same play experience if they had the first encounter while sitting on a stump in a meadow or drinking in a tavern.
The PC's are expected to be invested in the pilgrimage at the beginning of the adventure and then to all but abandon it when the hook appears. To facilitate their investment, there are a list of possible motives for the players to be on the pilgrimage. I failed communicate with the players about their investment in the pilgrimage and to predict how that investment might distract them from the hook.
The kids had rolled their connections to the world and their inter-party connections defaulted to one-another; it looked like their grounding in the Ninth World was a done deal and that they would be playing foils to one-another. Daughter's connection is that Son's character, the Doctor, can talk her down from her lycanthropic transformation; Son's connection is that machines won't "talk" to him when Daughter is near. We worked out ahead of time that he would be interested in helping her in her goal to be rid of (or at least control) her transformations; her interference with machines was a clue that pointed them towards what kind of affliction she actually was experiencing. They both seemed satisfied that they would be aiding one-another and helping each-other towards their goals as characters. However, their attitudes towards the pilgrimage turned out to be a complicating manifestation of their attitudes towards the campaign.
As we unfolded the initial narration, Daughter revealed that for the evening she planned to play not a Learned Jack who Howls at the Moon but a Surly Teen who Eschews Role Playing Hooks. In the adventure, a young girl and her brother approach the adventurers and ask for aid. Daughter was not having it. She was on a pilgrimage, she said, and intended to continue on it until she found whatever she was looking for, which was plainly not an adventure with the Doctor. The Doctor decided to help the girl by taking her to the nearest town which boasted colored springs of healing water.
This threw me. I did not want to split the party and I certainly did not want to run an adventure simultaneously for two different players with two different agendas traveling in opposite directions. However, I had been schooling Daughter on the merits of "Yes, but.." GM'ing, so I only had on choice: to press on.
To buy time, I asked Son what he wanted to do. He lunged at the plot hook and took off with the girl to find help for her mental disturbance. I described next segment of the written adventure, facilitated a bit of role-playing with various townsfolk, and came back to Daughter.
Since neither of us had read the Howls at the Moon focus very carefully, I went along when she decided to leave the Wandering Way to protect the people on the path from her transformed state. Had either of us read the focus carefully, we would have known that she should have been easily able to predict her transformation. Without that knowledge, I was flying blind. Just so she'd have something to do, I sent some bandits her way, and triggered her transformation. Rather than digging into the rules aspect of the transformation, she acted kind of bored and annoyed by them. She easily ripped one of the bandits to pieces, and was compelled by her focus to kill all of them. I don't think that set well with her either.
There, we stopped for the evening.
Later, she confided in me that she really did not want to game with her brother. They have a tendency to bicker, and it often ruins the game for them and for anyone else who sits in. She told me that some of her friends wanted me to run a game for them, without Son. My issues with the adventure were magnified by her decision to passive-aggressively sabotage it.
Son was also fine with Daughter having a separate gaming group. Maybe they will want to play with one-another later, as they see each other having fun with the game. In the mean time, I learned that a subversive player is not necessarily messing with you just to do so; sometimes, there is pain behind the pain that needs to be drawn out before successful play can continue.
Tuesday, March 4, 2014
Character creation was a breeze for both kids in Numenera. My daughter is a bit more original in her concept: a scholar who was a member of a cabal of numenera researchers who became a werewolf as a result of some kind of vile experiment. Now she is laying low and trying to find a way to stop becoming a bloodthirsty beast. So she is a Learned Jack who Howls at the Moon.
My son wanted to be the Doctor. As in "Doctor Who" the Doctor. I explained to him that the Doctor is a kind of super hero, and we needed to hone in on whatever aspect of the Doctor he wanted to play. After some discussion of which foci best emulated a sonic screwdriver, we came up with a Clever Jack who Talks to Machines.
The cyphers and oddities they rolled up seemed interesting. Son got an egg that negates smell in a small radius and a desiccating detonation. I remember detonations fondly from Arcana Evolved, and was eager to see what he would do with it.
The kids made their characters at two different times. Each time was a joy: simple, interesting and not too technical. I also made up a character to play alongside theirs to demonstrate how to use effort and other rules. His name is Jang; he's a traveling acrobat and wrestler: a Tough Glaive who Fights with Panache.
A quote from my daughter: "I can make Indiana Jones as a Werewolf? This game is Awesome!!"
My son wanted to be the Doctor. As in "Doctor Who" the Doctor. I explained to him that the Doctor is a kind of super hero, and we needed to hone in on whatever aspect of the Doctor he wanted to play. After some discussion of which foci best emulated a sonic screwdriver, we came up with a Clever Jack who Talks to Machines.
The cyphers and oddities they rolled up seemed interesting. Son got an egg that negates smell in a small radius and a desiccating detonation. I remember detonations fondly from Arcana Evolved, and was eager to see what he would do with it.
The kids made their characters at two different times. Each time was a joy: simple, interesting and not too technical. I also made up a character to play alongside theirs to demonstrate how to use effort and other rules. His name is Jang; he's a traveling acrobat and wrestler: a Tough Glaive who Fights with Panache.
A quote from my daughter: "I can make Indiana Jones as a Werewolf? This game is Awesome!!"
Monday, March 3, 2014
Welcome to Dungeons and Travellers. This blog is about my experiences with Numenera, specifically as it relates to gaming with my children, who are young teens. The three of us are all conversant in Savage Worlds, so you can expect some comparisons.
In addition, I will be exploring the similarities and differences between Numenera and Other Dust, Kevin Crawford's excellent old-school post-apocalyptic RPG. These games manifest many very similar ideas in very different ways.
I also like to go on about things like what hit points mean, but I'll keep those short.
Thanks for visiting! Come back to visit and I think you'll enjoy what you find here.
In addition, I will be exploring the similarities and differences between Numenera and Other Dust, Kevin Crawford's excellent old-school post-apocalyptic RPG. These games manifest many very similar ideas in very different ways.
I also like to go on about things like what hit points mean, but I'll keep those short.
Thanks for visiting! Come back to visit and I think you'll enjoy what you find here.
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