[BNW] How to role-play as adults (Reproduced from Pyramid Magazine)

[David Fryer <badsign_98@yahoo.com>]

Popular wisdom has it that the gaming habit does not
survive
     adulthood. Many of us who were gamers in high
school and
     college find that, when we get our first
40-hour-a-week job and
     perhaps a mortgage or a marriage, the gaming
habit falls away. It's
     a sad thing to hear the wistful tones of people
who once loved
     gaming but can't find time for it anymore. Often
people will talk
     about having tried it once or twice, but finding
themselves unable
     to sustain it. They mutter something about "you
can't go home
     again" and sadly close the book on a hobby that
once provided a
     great deal of pleasure.

     This doesn't have to happen. But it does far too
often. The reason
     for this, I suspect, is that the conditions under
which most of us
     learn to roleplay -- high school and college --
are ones that afford
     us more free time than we ever see again. As a
result, we tend to
     develop a roleplaying style that involves hanging
out for hours,
     slowly meeting NPCs in town adventures or making
our leisurely
     way through a room-by-room dungeon or a massively
epic
     adventure, secure in the knowledge that whatever
doesn't get
     finished can be picked up next week. After all,
you have the time
     and no one's going anywhere.

     Gaming in this milieu is a form of hanging out
that actually seems to
     invite a time-wasting approach -- one that lends
itself to very
     intricate game worlds modeled on all those bulky
fantasy trilogies
     that have maps at the front, or sci-fi novels
that have the answer to
     every technical question worked out in advance.
The GM
     probably whiles away the idle hours during the
week by adding
     new game-world information for fun, and the
players (if they're
     anything like me and my friends were) make up
characters that will
     never see use, just because they can. Random
events (such as
     wandering monsters and binge shopping spress)
occur all the time, sprinkled into the main action
like pleasant
     detours along a scenic path.

     This is all well and good for that life-stage,
but if you try this as an adult, you're going to spend
a few bored hours
     waiting for the excitement and then going home
wondering if it was all worth the time. Usually it
isn't.

     What you need to do to survive the transition is
to rethink your playing style. This is a fairly major
shift that
     encompasses everything from session length to
genre to player selection. Through the course of this
article, I hope
     to lead you through a system that has worked for
me. It involves a sacrifice or two, but in my
experience the
     payoff is well worth it.

     One: Premilinaries

     Before you even start, you need to tell people
you're starting, and feel out friends who might be
interested. You'll
     also need a time and place. (I've found that
Saturday afternoons -- say, 1-5 or 2-6 -- are
excellent, even for busy
     people, since they've had time to get up and run
some errands, but they can still go somewhere else for
dinner
     dates and such.) Then, while you're looking at
your pool of potentials and selecting candidates, you
need to
     consider the following factors: 

        1.Keep the Party Size Small. In college, when
everyone was simply hanging out, seven players was not
an
          unheard-of size for a party. That won't wash
anymore. Two to four players is all you should need. I
find
          even in four-player sessions that usually
one player doesn't get much to do. A fifth player
should be avoided
          whenever possible, or should be as
low-maintenance as possible to justify their
inclusion. (Someone who
          just wants to show up and roll dice would be
perfectly fine here; a fifth person who wants to be
engaged
          with the game world will be too much of a
time drain, and is bound to be disappointed anyway.)
If you
          don't like turning people away, consider
breaking them up. Running two satisfying three-person
campaigns
          is often much easier than running one
satisfying six-member one. 
        2.Keep Player Expectations Modest. Let people
know you will not be running epic adventures. There
will
          not necessarily be full-color maps, dressing
in character, sound effects records in the background,
etc. You
          will probably not lavish time composing
paragraphs of evocative description to read aloud at
key moments.
          The point is simple social entertainment,
not fictive absorption. 

          In a related note, don't expect this to last
more than three or four weeks. If it happens, as it
often does, then
          great. But it is hard to accomplish, even
with this system, and it's better to keep your hopes
modest than
          make grand plans and feel like a failure.
Pretend your campaign is a mid-season replacement
show. If it's
          popular enough to get picked up for an
additional season, hooray. But a cancellation
shouldn't surprise or
          upset anyone.

        3.Keep the Logistics Flexible. You'll want one
or two people you can count on to show up every week
as
          your core group. (See point 5. below.) But
after that, anything goes. This means that the party
itself may
          not gel like the heroes of old (or, or that
matter, like the ensembles on TV, who are at least
paid for
          showing up). If you have four regulars and
only two can make it one week, fine. Play with two. 
        4.Don't Cancel Unless It's An Absolute
Emergency. I particularly recommend not cancelling for
the first
          three weeks (getting commitments from people
ahead of time helps), and never cancelling two weeks
in a
          row. Ideally, you should have one or more
PCs who are capable of GMing in a pinch, so that even
if the
          GM has to leave town suddenly, the game
itself can continue. This way, you establish a habit
of meeting
          and people learn to trust that the game will
be there if they just remember to show up. 
        5.Have a Core Group. As mentioned in 3. above,
you'll want one or two players you can always count on
          to show up, and who you will play with even
if no one else can make it. Choose people who don't
travel
          for work, don't have family they frequently
visit on the weekend, and so on. Homeowners and people
with
          children (no offense if you're reading this
and you're one of them) are often a bad risk, since
their lives are
          at the mercy of one or more endless
unpredictable sources of emergencies. 

     A Brief Word on Rules

     Once you have your players set up, you'll have to
establish the game system. But since the emphasis of
the game
     is on speed and efficiency, the rule here is
"Simplify, Simplify!" New players will not have time
to read an entire
     Players Manual, and it would be laughable to
expect someone to. Also, the game itself cannot be
permitted to
     devolve into a discussion of whether someone
firing a gun 15 hexes away gets a -1 for every 5 full
hexes of
     distance or a -2 for every 10. In my GURPS
campaign, optional rules such as Advanced Combat and
called
     shots are only used if all the players know them
well enough to agree on most numbers without looking
them up.
     And any rule that slows things down is history,
no matter how official it is. (My rule of thumb: when
all action
     stops while at least two players are thumbing for
a reference, it's time for a GM snap decision.) I try
to limit all
     introductory information to 3-5 typed,
single-spaced pages. Three pages on character creation
and combat, and
     two pages on the actual game world we'll be
adventuring in. I supplement with additional stuff two
or so pages at
     a time every game session, but those five pages
should be all anyone actually needs to know in order
to play.

     Two: The Adventure Proper

     Instead of going to books for your inspiration,
start paying attention to T.V. shows -- particularly
(but not
     exclusively) the fantasy/sci-fi genre shows like
Star Trek, Highlander, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and
the like.
     What makes them good models is that they do the
same thing we try to do as adults playing RPGs: tell
an
     interesting story in a compressed amount of time.
The following guidelines are what I use when writing
adventures
     for my fellow adults. 

     Have An A-Plot And A B-Plot

     Most genre shows (in fact, most shows period)
tell two stories simultaneously. One of these -- the
"A-plot" -- is
     the main story of the episode; what it's
theoretically about. The starship's engineer gets
kidnapped by moronic
     aliens; the agents explore a haunted funhouse;
the hero and the bad guy switch bodies for a few hours
-- all of
     these are A-plots. They give the heroes some
obvious thing to do, and they either succeed or fail.
Either way,
     when the challenge is ended, you know the episode
is over.

     The B-plot is a secondary story that is usually
more character-driven and is where the actual
philosophical or
     emotional resonance comes in. (Read:
roleplaying!) When the hero and the bad guy switch
bodies, the hero learns
     how it feels to be judged on appearances, or sees
life as the bad guy sees it, or has to answer
questions about
     what constitutes identity. While exploring the
funhouse, one of the agents has to cope with an
impending visit from
     an estranged ex-lover, while the other agents
wonder what the ex is going to be like. While the
engineer is busy
     being kidnapped, the rescue party has to face the
fact that the kidnappers have a legitimate grievance
and find a
     way to come to terms. All of these deepen the
original stories by giving the players challenges that
they can't just
     fight, skill, or advantage their way out of.

     I generally make the B-plot an excuse to
emphasize a GURPS character's Disadvantages. This is
where
     someone's Hunted or Dependent NPC come in. This
is where a bout with Alcoholism or a Phobia can become
a
     major plot issue. This is also what the best
shows do: by making every episode relate in some way
to the
     characters -- challenging their personalities or
pasts -- every episode becomes important in some minor
way.
     Your adventures mean more when they're not just
"the time we fought the giant," but "the time we
fought the giant,
     and Grundar the Barbarian discovered who his
mother was."

     If you're going to add a third plot (which some
shows do), make it only take up two scenes or so.
C-plots tend to
     resolve quickly, and are only just sizeable
enough to feel that something has happened. I don't
usually even bother
     with a third plot. PCs tend to create them on
their own when faced with an open-ended situation.
Which leads me
     to my second point . . .

     Have A Loose Structure

     TV shows do not usually have everything worked
out in advance. The first episode presents you with
some basic
     facts (what vampires are like, how space travel
is set up, which kingdom is where) and the unanswered
questions
     are left to be filled out as the show progresses.
Obvious questions should of course be settled in
advance. Less
     obvious questions (such as when a player asks,
"What are the histories of all the rulers of all the
baronies in this
     area?") should be answered with either "you don't
know," or "I can't answer that this week, but
fortunately it's not
     relevant at the moment and I'll get back to you."
In many cases, TV shows have their details worked out,
not by
     the official writers, but by talented fans (such
as Captain Kirk's back story -- like his birth in Iowa
and his middle
     name being Tiberius -- which was fleshed out by
fans and eventually became canonized in the movies).
So when I
     find that a player is particularly interested in
some detail about the game world, I encourage them to
make up
     whatever they think reasonable and show me what
they've done later. A good player's work can save the
GM
     lots of time, and it makes both GM and player
more involved in the game.

     This "loose structure" idea also affects the
individual adventures. On a TV show, although
theoreticaly anything
     can happen, what never changes is that you've got
a teaser (that setup before the title sequence), three
acts, and a
     closing sequence (right before the final
credits). Similarly, I divide every adventure into 3-5
scenes, each of which
     is set up as an improvisation. For every scene I
try to have one thing that must happen (in order to
lead into the
     next scene), and a bunch of variables that I've
only vaguely predetermined. So, for example, if the
characters meet
     a woodsman who bears a birthmark revealing that
he might be the emperor's long-lost twin, and if
that's the core
     of the story I have planned, then of course
there's no point in leaving it to chance: the guy's
sleeve drops open as
     he shakes their hand, someone notices the
birthmark, and we're off. It may look random, but it
isn't: I simply ask
     everyone to make perception rolls, and whoever
makes it most readily is informed of the mark.

     But if that's all the players get, you're going
to waste some time. Each "must" moment should also
contain at least
     one obvious follow-up action -- in this case,
maybe they met an agent earlier who is looking for the
emperor's
     twin, but the players don't know if he wants to
kill the twin, embrace the twin, or try to pull some
Byzantine
     switcheroo. In any event, a return to the inn
where the imperial agent is staying -- either to talk
or to spy -- would
     be the next obvious course. Although it can be
tricky to motivate players, I have found it generally
safe to say that
     most players seek pleasure and avoid pain, and
try to do the same thing for NPCs that they like if
it's not asking
     too much. Don't count on pure altruism to
motivate uyour players or it'll just break your heart,
and don't expect
     them to leap at a fascinating puzzle if it looks
like it'll be hard to solve and doesn't have a sure
and magnificent
     payoff. If your players aren't doing what you
want, you either need a bigger stick or a sweeter
carrot.

     Once they're motivated, don't mess around. Part
of the concept of "structure" involves getting players
where they
     need to be with a minimum of distractions. Do it
like TV: when they decide to go back to the inn, Poof!
-- the
     next scene is at the inn. Don't describe each
individual building as the characters wander through
town, don't roll
     for wandering monsters, don't roleplay the part
where they stop to buy rope on the way, don't deny
information
     until just the right question is asked and don't
randomize a damn thing. You'll just waste time on
irrelevancies,
     which will dilute the impact of your nice story.

     That's the "structure" part; the "loose" part is
that I never presuppose that the players have to get
along with the
     NPCs, or that some player might not do something
disastrous. (Note, by the way, that you can almost
always
     prevent the players from committing a killing by
having an innocent eyewitness show up unexpectedly at
a safe
     enough distance to run away and call the cops.
Happens in the movies all the time.) To cite my
previous example,
     once the players get to the inn, how they aproach
the agent is entirely up to them . . . but one way or
another,
     they're also going to come across a letter from
the emperor's wife, whether he has to leave it in his
room or keep it
     on his body. As long as the one "must" element
occurs, the adventure can continue and things are
happy. If you
     had a really nice dramatic effect that the
players missed, you can always tell them about it
afterward instead of
     shoehorning them into doing what's perfect.

     A final note that deserves separate mention: I
never put any kind of "must" occurrence in the final
climactic scene
     of an adventure. If someone dies, okay. If a
valuable item is broken or lost, that's what happened.
If someone
     manages to reasonably acquire an item of extreme
power, I roll with it. That's a concern for next week.
For the
     purposes of the individual adventure, however, I
try to never have any preconceived notion of how it's
going to
     end. I just try to make the entire situation as
potentially clear to my players as possible and let
them decide how to
     deal with it.

     Establish a Pattern and Then Break It

     Almost every genre TV show spends its first
several episodes establishing the pattern of its
default story. An
     anomaly shows up in Missouri, Mulder and Scully
go and get baffled by it up close, then they go home
and the
     episode ends on an uncertain note. A planet sends
out a distress call, the Enterprise answers, they
correct the
     culture, beam back to the ship, and end with a
joke that provides closure. Whatever your "episodes"
are going to
     be like, you should be trying in your first few
sessions to establish a consistent world and a
consistent way of
     interacting with that world.

     Then, by episode/adventure four, you can start
playing with the players' expectations. The players
encounter a
     member of a "bad" alien race who happens to be
good! Someone invents an exception to the laws of
magic that
     affects a PC wizard! The town that is the
player's home winds up invaded! One of the players
discovers they're
     really a clone! In a long, deliberately paced
campaign, major changes can have terrible impact on
everything the
     GM has been thinking through. In a short-term
campaign where the game world is open-ended anyway,
it's much
     easier to do dramatic things to the entire game
world and not face disastrous consequences. So do it,
and have
     fun!

     An adventure like this is a good time, by the
way, to break another rule: don't worry about doing it
all in one
     session. Think of a major story like this as a
"special two-part episode." But remember that it has
to feel like a
     two-part episode: that is, the first episode has
to build to a climactic, cliffhanger revelation that
leaves everyone
     wondering what the devil is going to happen in
the second adventure. Expanding to a second session
just because
     you made the dungeon too large to get through is
a crappy thing to do to your players. If you have to
interrupt the
     game because of time problems, you'd better make
the halfway point exciting somehow. You want them
tuning in
     next week because of anticipation and wonder, not
out of duty and a desire to get it over with.

     This guideline applies on the individual PC level
as well. Most characters naturally fall into certain
high-concept
     one-sentence patterns: The Strong Guy Who's
Emotionless; The Sneak Thief With a Past; The Wacky
Dilettante
     Who Causes Trouble. When players first make their
characters, the first few adventures ought to
establish exactly
     the expertise that they designed their characters
to exercise. The Brain should be supplied information
readily. The
     Brute should have some wussies to beat up. The
Trickster should be able to trick someone pompous and
     powerful. And all of this should happen fairly
publicly so word gets around about our heroes. Then,
once these
     patterns are established, you can start to mess
with the different characters' self-conceptions and
public
     reputations. TV shows do this all the time --
establishing character stereotypes, underlining them
for a few
     episodes, and then, once the expectations are
established, violating them in some way. But the last
step is only
     entertaining if the character stereotypes are
already in place. The sooner you provide opportunities
for the players
     to perform their characters for each other, the
sooner you'll be able to have fun messing with them
later.

     Give Everyone Something To Do

     This is why the party size has to remain small.
Ensemble TV shows can occasionally afford to let one
or more
     characters take a back seat now and then, giving
them only one line and a brief walk-on. That can't
happen here.
     Since everyone has bothered to take the trouble
and come, the least you can do is make them all
important to the
     story in some way. Combat-oriented characters are
easy to please here -- just throw in some combat and
they're
     bound to shine. (See point 5., below.) But in
practice, what this means is that within each
adventure I try to have
     two reactions rolls and at least two skill rolls
every time -- featuring at least one Contest of Skills
(for all you
     GURPS players) whenever possible.

     Note that this doesn't mean that players have to
be good at something to matter. They can also have
their
     peculiarities and ineptitudes showcased, just as
long as they personally affect the adventure in some
way. What is
     important is that the players be challenged and
happy. Try to have each of them cry "Oh no!" at least
once per
     game ("How can I pick the lock when my hand's in
a cast?"), and then (if appropriate) cheer
triumphantly as all
     the NPCs see how cool they are.

     What this also means is that you, the GM, have to
have options and back-up plans. If you "must" have
someone
     to pick a lock in order for the characters to
continue, and only one player has lockpicking skill,
then when this
     player picks the lock they're going to feel like
they're not really acting on their own, but simply
serving a plot that's
     already outlined for them. And if that's the only
skill they use all adventure, they're not going to be
happy. But if
     the player's skill is optional somehow (the party
has to face the evil cultists anyway, but it'll be
easier if they can
     open a lock and get access to niftier weapons),
then the roll actually matters more. I generally try
to come up with
     three plot options for every reaction roll (bad,
good, terrific) and two options for every skill roll
(success, failure).
     And I never make these rolls central to the
adventure's continuance.

     Always Feature Sex Or Violence

     Perhaps this should read "desire and conflict,"
but the point is the same. Although there is a
tendency for the
     authors of articles like this to go on about the
importance of roleplaying over combat, what's often
overlooked is
     that talky, peaceful, character-driven adventures
almost never work. This is because the episodes we see
on TV
     always feature the gradual revelation of certain
qualities in a character we're trying to get to know.
("Will Amanda
     ever reconcile herself with her grandmother and
yet continue to grow as an artist?") In a gaming
situation, all the
     characters know themselves already, and
self-revelations are unlikely to deviate much from a
character's initial
     conception. Another problem is that dialogue is
tricky to write, and while it's possible to carefully
time a revelation
     or statement when you're in control of every
character, this same power is almost entirely absent
when you're
     simply improvising, and as a result true dramatic
impact rarely happens. It's great when it works, but
as a former
     improv comic, I can confidently state that unless
you have a terrific team that meshes well together,
the occasional
     payoffs are not worth the time spent on misfires.

     This is why I emphasize the importance of
examining genre shows as opposed to mainstream family
dramas.
     (Note, by the way, that even non-genre shows like
hospital dramas, police dramas, and melodramas all
feature
     love stories set on a framework of life-or-death
A plots.) Genre shows tend to have more thinly drawn
characters
     (after all these years, we still know very little
about McCoy's family life, voting record, or taste in
music) and play
     instead to the genre's strengths -- visual
flashiness, the monstrous and the nefarious, big
dangers limned in broad
     dramatic strokes. An episode of Highlander that
doesn't feature swordplay is a true rarity, and Buffy
always fights
     something, even if it's not a major part of the
story.

     In mimicking this, I try to schedule at least two
combats in every adventure: one or two small ones that
last no
     more than two or three rounds, and one climactic
one that can end any way the dice see fit. I try to
make the small
     ones avoidable with the appropriate actions (be
it clever avoidance, capitulation, high reaction
rolls, or bribery). If
     they take too long -- more than three rounds, or
two if it's not a very interesting fight -- then the
bad guys either
     begin to fall easily or run away. (They're
usually not out to kill the heroes anyway; they're
testing their strength or
     sending a message or something.)

     Since this makes combat a little rarer than in
the pre-adult years where you roll dice to beat up
kobolds every half
     an hour, it's worth it to try to make every fight
scene different and specific somehow. Have rain
obscure
     everyone's vision! Make a barrel spill slippery
stuff on the floor! Turn out the lights and put them
near a gas tank!
     Ruin their ammo and force them to pick up a
nearby axe! Anything that affects a character's
competency in a
     battle -- making a sure thing less sure or making
a scary opponent more takeable -- is worth
choreographing.
     Figure out the modifiers in advance so you won't
have to turn to books in the middle of a fight.
Develop an
     environment that enables the players to select
options about how to fight instead of just
automatically doing what
     they always do. They'll thank you for it later.

     I also try to make desire part of every scene --
the characters want something, and the NPCs want
something
     else, even if it's something as simple as wanting
this conversation to end so the NPC can go to the
restroom.
     Actual sexual situations can be tough to pull off
-- especially if you're all straight males and you're
uncomfortable
     adopting cross-gender roles in public view -- but
an undercurrent of sexual attraction is often
surprisingly
     motivating. Playing on disadvantages helps here:
an ugly sorceress will almost never refuse an
invitation for
     dalliance with a blind man who finds her funny; a
greedy gladiator will happily spend the night in a
rich woman's
     room -- and might even countenance an offer of
marriage!

     Generally speaking, however, violence is an A
plot and sex is a B plot. Life and death questions are
the most
     important ones to resolve; after that come
considerations about the quality of that life and who
you'd prefer to
     spend parts of it with. In fact, as relationships
and sex develop over the life of a campgain, fandom
becomes more
     important and helpful . . .

     Encourage Fandom

     Thanks to Star Trek, every genre show with its
head on straight tries to establish a room for fandom
-- often a
     chatroom or e-mail list. This gives the fans a
chance to discuss questions about the characters,
speculate about
     upcoming episodes, trade rumors, and in general
keep love for the show alive in those 167 hours every
week
     when it's not actually airing. This can have a
similar salubrious effect on a campaign as well. I set
up an e-mail list
     for all the players to share, and I try to send
out one update every week -- just a paragraph or two
-- about
     what's happening in the campaign. This includes
announcements that are both "in character" (Castle
Banwyck is
     reported to be under siege 300 miles to the
north) and "out of character" (we're meeting at
Steve's this week but
     his air conditioner's not working so dress
accordingly).

     This is an opportunity both for the GM and for
the players. The GM can fill in game-world information
that would
     be too time-consuming or irrelevant to bring up
in an actual session. (The disposition of current
politics, who just
     got promoted, what the weather's been like
lately.) And the players can communicate privately to
the GM with
     details about their off-time activities (this is
a chance to use GURPS job success tables and training
rules), and
     can role-play things like love scenes and secret
agendas that are awkward or inappropriate for the
larger group. If
     you have a small enough group, this isn't much of
an imposition.

     Obviously, though, this is an idea that asks for
a little more time commitment than usual, and I've
found that some
     players (often those with boring day jobs that
allow them to goof off at their computers) will
overuse the system if
     you give them the merest chance, tying up time
you need for other parts of your life. So I try to
make it clear that I
     will accept only one e-mail per week, and that it
may describe no more than two relatively simple
actions that the
     player is engaging in -- or one complicated
action if it's important enough to work out in a short
mini-adventure.
     (By the way, I never roll dice in a
mini-adventure. I just decide on a narratively
pleasing result and negotiate later if
     the player objects to something.)

     Final Thoughts

     As I mentioned earlier, I plan for three-hour
sessions and accept it if it goes for four. I figure
the length of my
     adventure according to the following rough
formulas: 

          NPC encounter: 15-30 minutes. 
          Short combat: 20-40 minutes. 
          Big climactic combat: 45-75 minutes. 
          Figuring out a plan for wha

=====
"Is this the part where we bravely run away?"
Seamus Harper
Gene Roddenberry's Andromeda

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