Randomness, I Forgot that I Needed You

I have fond memories of my 2nd Edition Dungeons & Dragons gaming days. Through random encounters, rolling on treasure tables, swingy spell results, and shared adventures I formed friendships that continue to this day.

From high school through college, we played D&D. Then moved for a brief time to Rolemaster, and it’s notorious charts (and critical tables).

From the Stone Giant Smoothy:

In exploring the caverns, the group had turned the corner and at the end of the corridor was a room packed with Stone Giants. We were out of our league. But we attempted a last ditch defense. My priest decide the best option was to drop a blade barrier in the giant filled room. The wizard thought it would be best to run, and opted to create a wall of force that would buy us all enough time to flee. The initiative fell, and the blade barrier went off, then the wall of force. The dimensions of the blade barrier fit the room, and all we could do is stare at the invisible barrier as the frost giants met their doom.

To Ace and Deuce in a short-lived Rolemaster campaign:

Deuce was an accomplished bowman and rogue; Built to be a death dealing archer. Yet, when arrows flew, his first critical hit – D critical – were superficial and his second hit was the killing blow. To aggravate the situation, the other player adopted the moniker Ace after three occasions of one-shot kills. (Thank you Matt for the corrections)

Through a random encounter with a White Dragon:

I rolled a random encounter: A White Dragon attacked the character’s on the permafrost fields; Lucky initiative and some potent spells dispatched the dragon. From there, the party druid cast Find the Path to locate the dragon’s hoard. And a grand session ensued where the party fought tooth and nail with a drow (again random) raiding party who also wanted to loot the dragon hoard.

And:

A Diversion

For the last 5 or so years, I’ve been chasing game systems looking for the right fit (Thank you 4th Edition for the bitter taste you left in my mouth). For a while my system of choice was Dungeon World.

In Dungeon World, I found a system that I could run with little prep and ample room for rulings. But as I’ve reflected, I noticed these games had a subtle yet profound frustration – the initial character bonds.

We would go around the table, establishing bonds and dive into the details of those bonds. From the interwoven bonds, I would improvise our first session. It is a great trick for convention games and short scenarios.

The interwoven bonds create an obvious starting situation. We’d play and during those sessions the situation would begin to resolve. Moves would snowball, but I found that nothing new and unexpected would enter the ecosystem of the starting situation; We would build on what the GM and players came up with.

What was missing was “Things that nobody knew would happen“; the random initiative, critical tables, and random encounters. Those subsystems that inject the unexpected.

I missed the moment when all players at the table would assess and respond to the unexpected. When imaginations fired and creativity responded to the constraints of the new situation.

The Challenge

Here’s a challenge to everyone, pick one:

  • Ask another player who has been playing for awhile to describe their most memorable experience with a Deck of Many Things.
  • Drop a Deck of Many Things in your next session, and roll with the punches.

In my experience, the table comes alive with the Deck of Many Things: The promise of riches and the gamble. A scene with a Deck of Many Things is a concentrated moment of adventure.

That first player who draws a few cards, and all is well. Thus goading others on. Then the desperation as party members begin drawing from the Deck of Many Things not for riches, but to try to undo the drawing of the Void or Donjon by a party member. And there are the treasure maps, fighting death, gaining a keep, and enmity with an outer planar creature.

In 2nd Edition, I had a Dwarf that once drew 5 or 6 cards. He drew the Euryale (-3 penalty to all saving throws vs. petrification). Several sessions later, the group had a random encounter with a Gorgon’s petrifying breath; The -3 penalty made the difference in his failed roll.

I wasn’t there for another use, but I believe a beloved and long running henchman began his career when a player drew the Knight (gain the service of a 4th level fighter).

Postscript

These days I’m looking to Dungeon Crawl Classics as my system of choice. It is a paradox…a rules light system in a massive tome. The majority of the pages are for random things (spell results, dragon powers, critical hits, fumbles, starting occupations, deity disapproval, etc.).

Characters don’t begin with interwoven backstories, they are instead dropped at the start of an adventure with 3 random bits of equipment and some coins. But more on that for another time.

What Should the Game Master Fight For?

I have kicked off lots of campaigns as a GM, and none of them have been completed to my satisfaction.  Some campaigns withered as I grew disinterested, others collapsed as integral players left, and to my recollection none of my campaigns have completed.

I want to run a long-standing campaign, at least 15 sessions, to it’s conclusion.

Typically I spend quite a bit of time thinking about where things should end up – in 10 sessions – and much less focused on the present situations.

I don’t prepare adventures but prefer to act and react with the players and their characters.  Certainly I could create more challenging “set pieces” for the player characters, but I don’t know if that’s in my gamer DNA.

Burning Wheel builds on the assumption that you will “Fight for what you believe.” And the question hit me – What if this imperative is not just for the characters’ players but is for the Game Master as well?

What should a Game Master fight for?

First and foremost, we are all playing a game, and as such all participants should fight for enjoyment.  The short-term enjoyment of a single in-game moment, the medium-term enjoyment of a resolving story-arc, and the long-term enjoyment of character development and narrative closure.

A Game Master should fight to challenge the players and characters.  Guaranteed success is boring. In fact, my most memorable sessions are inevitably where situations spiral out of control, ala Fiasco-style, because success wasn’t guaranteed.  Typically these sessions are also very combat-lite.  A thinly veiled threat of splitting the loot 2 ways comes to mind.

Most systems I’ve played have two possible outcomes for a given roll…Success or Failure.  If I succeed, I am given narrative control.  If I fail, the GM is given narrative control.  There is no negotiation. No compromise.

I believe Apocalypse World gets it so very right by codifying that moves have a third possible outcome: Partial Success. Partial Success is a negotiated success…I get something that I want, but with a cost.  In the case of Apocalypse World, I’m negotiating with the rules.  In the case of Burning Wheel’s Duel of Wits, I’m negotiating with the table.

And lastly fight for what the characters and players believe in.  I struggle with engaging everyone’s beliefs.  In part this is a natural consequence of my failure to help shepherd character creation by not successfully conveying my campaign vision.  Also, beliefs are adjusted and change according to developing goals.  Keeping this information up to date is a challenge…especially if you can’t get confirmation from your game group that you are even playing that weekend.

In summary, understand what your players want then challenge and engage them via the story and the system.