A new year, a new arm, a new foe…

As a blog goes, the update pace on this has been desultory. I make no apologies – the nerve problem in my arm was far too severe as 2009 went on. Anyway, I had the first of two operations just before Christmas and I’m now cautiously optimistic that some degree of normality can be achieved by February. How normal “normal” will be, I do not know, as lifting is likely to be constrained and full control over my right hand has not yet been achieved. But it’s a fantastic start, and the reduction of pain, at least, is bliss.

So, to business.

I’ve tried to keep playing and running whilst I’ve been sick as it gives a focus and something to look forward to. I haven’t always been able to make it – and the guys at the local group/club have been really helpful and understanding in that regard – but it’s been a useful motivator. Seeing and receiving that appreciation, help and understanding has gone a long way to bolster the support and love from my family.

2010 will be better than 2009. It is already. Thank you, guys.

---

But, to business.

It struck me when I was running a game of Dungeons & Dragons the other day just how much we, as GMs, can rely on our regular players picking up on our foibles and tendencies. We were running 4th Edition, a home-brew campaign called “Crag Mountain”, and the style of play I chose for the campaign was very much old school D&D. ‘Old School’, that is, not from the use of huge, sprawling dungeons (which I don’t enjoy as a player or DM), but from the copious use of player-oriented puzzles and their linked traps in an over-arching meta-plot.

I know there’s some argument about the use of complex, player-oriented puzzles rather than in-game problems. The accusation is that they transcend roleplaying and force players into meta-gaming. But from a D&D perspective, that’s how the Old School went. It’s a style of play that’s great fun, doesn’t preclude roleplaying outside of puzzle-solving, and gives the players a sense of achievement. It also allows different players to contribute at different times, as well as the standard role contributions from the characters. And it’s a mental excercise in creating the puzzles.

Some of the puzzles and problems involve handouts, logically or intuitively sorting out the correct buttons to push, or keys to construct, from hints found within the game. Others are in-game issues, such as how to open a door or operate a device by deciphering a phrase or saying previously discovered by the characters.

Some of the puzzles also involve deciphering ancient political issues, the entrapment of horrendous wraiths that possess the living who had accidentally been released back into the world: a “terrible evil”. The players have had fun sorting their abilities out, too – the joy on the face of a player playing a warforged when he worked out that his character couldn’t be possessed was really satisfying. But here’s where I ran into an interesting meta-issue (not a problem, as it didn’t destroy play and actively changed the direction of the story somewhat – a good thing!).

The group were convinced by a wraith they had almost destroyed that it was a good wraith and was misunderstood. It needed their help to release a more powerful ‘leader’ of the ‘good’ wraiths (note the quotes) to help them recapture all the ‘bad’ wraiths. It needed their physical bodies to sort out a trapped puzzle.

OK. Puzzle sorted out. There were warnings over doors subsequently revealed, warnings that the wraith said were misunderstandings; the group had to hurry as the entrapment was killing the leader of the ‘good’ wraiths, his leader. The group ignored the warnings and hurried on down to a magical glass-like ball/cell in which the ‘leader’ wraith was imprisoned. It was simple to release the captured wraith: break the glass.

The in-character leader of the group was someone who has only been playing in my games for a short time; likewise, it was so with two other key characters. Two players were old regulars who’ve played in my games and campaigns before: it seems they now expect odd and interesting twists and become suspicious of over-simplicity. They expressed their misgivings about releasing the wraith; the group should go back and report what they’d found. After a lot of discussion, the character leader decided they should go ahead and release him.

This sort of situation can sometimes split groups. This didn’t: the two who disagreed roleplayed the situation well, as did the others. One, the warforged who had said ages ago his programming was to obey the leader of the group did exactly what he was told and went to break the ball (the group wasn’t completely naive, it seems). The other, who’s character was a stolid, loyal dwarf, stood back with the rest of the group and readied a spell.

OK, you can see it. Ball shattered; leader wraith released; leader possessed (turns out the lesser wraith was lying); found wraith was almost untouchable (4th vs. 15th level!); warden stays back (in-role, despite the risk); survivors flee… a mess.

The point was that, whilst I’d spec’d everything out, I didn’t expect the players to actually release the wraith. I assumed that the players would smell a rat, despite any roleplaying, and would not release an additional threat into the world. It wasn’t until I saw the interaction at the table, some of which was great, in-character roleplaying, that I realised that some of that expectation was based on knowing the more familiar players knew my – sometimes byzantine – style. In some respectes I’d inadvertantly meta-gamed during the design process.

It didn;t upset anything: the campaign now has a new, immediate, mega-threat which I can now use as a BBEG. But the way it happened is a lesson to re-absorb. How much of what we design is based on the players assumptions about us? And where do we draw the line or how do we identify it? It’s virtually impossible to answer these questions, but the fact we’re aware of them can help make us improve our campaign and scenario designs.

And that can only be a good thing.

Happy 2010, everyone.

Advertisement