The Blog of Roon

The Grand Ellipse update is a mite late this week. I’m not going to have any fingernails left shortly.

I mean, a lawsuit, that damnable wager, questioning of the so-called protesters in Malta, who-knows-what waiting in Bahrain… and I still need to figure out how I’m going to slow Vroomfondel down. I have the germ of an idea, but no more than that.

By the way, after today’s update the Ellipse goes on hiatus for a week, as the GM has to do the Thanksgiving thing. So no update next Monday.

This week’s Game WISH is about what pets and henchlings bring to a game, good and bad.

Well, naturally, they can be a munchkin’s dream if allowed to be. It’s for this precise reason that third-edition D&D insists that the GM, not the player, control companion animals and henchlings.

I think that’s a bit harsh, myself. A good roleplayer can be trusted to use critters and henchlings for the sake of the roleplaying. My current gaming group had a munchkin with a munchkin’s pet tiger and a munchkin’s sentient armor (player is now gone), and has several very appropriately-played henchmen spread among several players (of whom I am not one).

The difference between munchkinism and appropriate henchling usage is responsibility, I think. High-level characters need to bond with their pets and their henchlings, or the GM should flatly disallow said associates. It should be nasty for the character when his or her pets or henchlings get hurt or die. If the character’s player doesn’t ensure that, the GM has to.

Fechan had a pseudodragon familiar at the GM’s insistence (have I mentioned that the GM was a mega-munchkin?), and a giant badger who served as her steed (Digger was my idea). They turned out to be useful windows into her personality; the familiar mirrored her unpredictability, the badger her loyalty. I don’t think they unbalanced the game any more than the GM’s other munchkinny tricks.

I’ve never done the sentient-weapon thing. The dynamic would be rather different from that created by a henchling or a pet, I should think, as the weapon is a possession in a way henchlings and pets are not (slavery aside), and it is significantly more difficult to anthropomorphize and feel empathy with.

This isn’t necessarily bad, but in order to avoid abuse and boredom it does suggest that the relationship between player and weapon needs a certain amount of antagonism (otherwise what is the point of the sentience?), and that the GM must be ready to exercise a little more control.

I find it uncommonly bizarre that Shirley’s character trajectory is recapitulating a genre of Victorian literature that I knew absolutely nothing whatever about, not even the fact of its existence. I didn’t plan any of this, honestly I didn’t—it just happened.

I can’t give details just yet because they’d spoil Shirley’s MacGuffin (what, you thought he didn’t have one?), but rest assured I’ll spill the beans when the Ellipse is over.

Until then, I’m shaking my head in bemusement and putting together a reading list. (Mostly public-domain ebooks, by the way. If some 22nd-century roleplayer recapitulates, say, the Cold War spy, s/he is probably irretrievably screwed.)

And wondering whether this could turn into a novel. I’m terribly afraid it could.

Says Li,

And speaking of the Grand Ellipse, I’ve got players teaming up on me now. Alisa and Dorothea are in the process of trying to “untangle Li’s totally twisted mind.” All I can say to that is that many have tried…

We’ll get you, my pretty, and your little lackey Vroomfondel too. I did figure out the wager terms, didn’t I? Even if I still don’t know who’s got the other side of the bet.

There’s a complicated dance that goes on between GM and players. Li gets copies of all messages exchanged between Ellipsoids, just as a tabletop GM is able to listen in on in-character conversations during the game. It would be possible for Li to yank the rug out from under us, changing her plans on the basis of our conversation.

And in fact she probably will. And should. (And has, drat it.)

Sound like cheating? Yes, but mostly no. Yes, because the people Li is playing aren’t listening in (at least, they’d better not be, not for this particular conversation!), and shouldn’t act on the basis of what we say that they can’t have heard. No, because NPCs are supposed to be intelligent beings in their own right, and they should be able to follow our logic and even outthink us now and again. No, because if our thoughts and actions don’t change the game-world around us, there’s hardly any point to thinking and doing, is there? No, because sometimes the players come up with better justifications for what’s going on than the GM did—after all, there are many players and only one GM!

So I fully expect that the conversation Alisa/Margaret and I/Shirley are having right now will change things. The trick is staying one step ahead of Li’s sharper-than-obsidian-razors mind… coming up with such watertight theories that she can’t twist off in new directions…

This particular conversation (still ongoing) is a blast to do, by the way. Alisa is a fine writer; the style she has adopted happens to blend almost seamlessly with my more-or-less pastiche. (“Hysteria.” Drat. I should have used the word “hysteria.” How could I have missed that? Li, can I edit my stuff—for style, not content—before you post it?) It isn’t NaNoWriMo-calibre stuff (at least, mine isn’t), but I like it anyway.

Waiting with bated breath for the next email from Alisa…

The latest London Times has been posted. Shirley’s little bit of pure devilry (which cannot be traced to him in-game—this is definitely a Good Thing for Shirley) can be seen in the first clip from February 20th.

(Stay tuned. Shirley is currently giving our Mr. Michaels an interview; I don’t know when Li is planning to post it. As for Vroomfondel—keep digging yourself into that hole, old chap, keep digging.)

The Grand Ellipse and a discussion with someone from my gaming group spurred me to ask this week’s Game WISH question, about the group dynamics and social relations in parties of PCs. Unfortunately, I didn’t phrase myself very well. I’m less interested in so-called “game balance” than in how characters justify their presence in parties, and how party members see themselves in relation to each other.

Most parties I have played in are parties-of-social-equals, as I stated in the question. If there is leadership, it arises out of the personal qualities of individual characters or by acclamation; frequently, however, there is no leadership at all, leaving the party to stumble about like a headless chicken, bickering constantly and agonizing over every decision.

(Come to think of it, I’ve been on standards groups that were like that too. Nice to know this isn’t unique to gaming groups.)

I don’t think I’ve ever played in a party where one character was given (or insisted upon wielding) authority by virtue of social status, wealth, or force. How odd and unrealistic is that?

Not only is there often no leadership in such parties, moreover—I often find no connection between characters whatsoever save for (however temporarily) a common goal. Why do players so rarely coordinate backstories with each other?

The Grand Ellipse is a novelty: the characters are competitors, seeking a prize that only one can win. The dynamics thus far have been interesting and rather different. Shirley is currently talking with another Ellipsoid, and though he is being as aboveboard and honest as he possibly can (prig that he is), she does not entirely trust him because they are competitors. Two decent people who cannot (yet) manage to get along together purely because of context. A curious thing. I’m rather enjoying it.

(And I admit I got a huge kick out of figuring out how to stab Vroomfondel in the back. He is so very much asking for it. Which is, I hasten to add, a reflection on the character only, not the person playing him.)

The party-of-equals naturally comes about because players consider each other equals. No player cares to appear domineering; overt bullying can get one kicked out of gaming groups. As with many other things, though, I think that a good gaming group should be able to overcome questions of player precedence in order to vary the social constitution of parties of characters.

Military units. Priestly orders. Guilds of all sorts. Families. Feudal structures. Policing structures. Economic structures. Local authorities all the way up to empires. So many hierarchies available to play with, so little time to game!

Some relations of authority are chosen rather than imposed; these I do find, if not as often as I’d like. Teaching and mentoring. Not a few romantic relationships. Trade (as in “them what has the gold…”). Mercenary service.

Relationships involving responsibility interest me also, and I don’t see enough of them. It seems to me that such relationships are a natural balm for the level imbalances being complained about in other responses. If the high-level characters feel responsibility for the lower-level ones, things should tend to even out—the high-levels can’t go all-out against too-powerful foes because the low-levels will get smashed. They’ll have to work out ways around. And they’ll have to roleplay.

I’ve counterfeited this situation to some extent with Afletana, who despite her substantial cleric abilities is genuinely fragile compared to other party members. It works and it doesn’t. They do try to take care of her, a little bit, but I can’t put it past them to let her die, either.

For all my carping, I like the party-of-equals. It is indeed difficult to portray unequal relationships in a game without causing hard feelings among players. I think the roleplaying possibilities are varied and interesting enough to make it worth a try, though—with all due diligence in the form of meta-discussion beforehand.

It’s been an interesting week on the Grand Ellipse. This weekend’s update should be terrific reading.

All y’all are missing the day-to-day writing, though, and that’s a pity. Li does the best NPCs I’ve ever seen, though I’ve yet to forgive her for “Nicky Finn” and for making little Jimmy Pilkington chief meat supplier for Mrs. Lovett’s pie shop. (I bet Li thought I missed that little allusion. Nah.)

And even I have managed to emit some not completely intolerable Victorian pastiche. I’m sure some of the other players have done at least as well or better.

Li says she’s thinking about condensing some of the Grand Ellipse writing and posting it to her website once the game is over. You should, as I do, urge her to do precisely that.

Not least because Shirley just did something that I think was uncommonly clever and devious (not to mention nasty), and I’d hate for you to miss it.

I found myself in a less-than-ideal gaming situation last session, and handled it less-than-ideally.

The game was a Shadowrun one-off; we’re killing a little time until we can switch campaigns. (Rat is going into storage for the nonce; Afletana will be returning.) Since I don’t own any Shadowrun materials, I asked if anyone would be willing to make a character for me. I rather looked forward to it; the best thing about the GenCon round I played was doing something with a character I’d never seen before.

The GM agreed, saying he’d bring several and let us choose. He showed up with several characters found online. I chose one with an interesting backstory.

I had no idea what the run was going to be. When I found out, it so happened that the character I had chosen had precisely zero reason to want to get involved. And since it was a one-off, it was difficult even to postulate a connection with the other runners.

So I found myself asking the parodic method-actor’s question, “What’s my motivation here?” Whatever motivation I found (it wasn’t much, “survival” mostly), it didn’t seem to satisfy the other players, who occasionally gave me odd looks.

(All right, all right, so I do tend to play characters for whom survival often hits the back burner. Still. I can’t play against type?)

We’ll finish the run next session, and I can then consign Father Jerome to the dustbin of failed characters. Even so, I wonder how to deal with total mismatches between character and plot/setting.

Normally I deal with them by avoiding them in the first place; I don’t bring a character into a campaign who has no reason to be there, and I am careful to build in-game ties between my character and others to smooth over plots that wouldn’t otherwise engage my character’s interest. That’s my responsibility to the game.

When I’m stuck with an unmotivated character through no fault of my own, though, what am I supposed to do?

Not that it’s a big deal for this particular game. But in general.

The London Times has been updated, so check out the latest Grand Ellipse goings-on.

Shirley feels responsible for Jimmy’s death. Jimmy is, of course, the individual Shirley refused to identify to Oliver Harris of the Times, because Shirley was rather more intelligent than Jimmy and Shirley knew quite well that Finnegan and his thugs would turn on Jimmy.

Shirley didn’t tell Jimmy to get out of town, though; he assumed Jimmy was smart enough to think of that on his own. Shirley is feeling very bad about that omission right now.

Addison and his shadowy employer had better watch out, when Shirley gets back to London. A good barrister is hell on the witness stand. And Shirley has a few tricks up his sleeve to cope with any further incidents along the route…

Incidentally, my guess about a wager is holding up fairly well, given recent events. I’m a little less inclined than I was to wholly discount Vroomfondel, but we shall see. We shall see.

Update: Li is just evil. Evil evil evil. I shall have to ponder Shirley’s reaction to the latest revelations (which I did not know about upon first authoring this post).

If you ever have a chance to game with Li, do it.

Li’s chief GMing talent (well, one of them, anyway) is making sure characters are never quite sure what’s coming at them next. A throwaway incident suddenly becomes a major worry.

Yup, Shirley just narrowly avoided another one, how did you guess?

(I wonder if it’ll throw her for a loop for a change if he tosses himself right back into it? We may just have to see.)

Part of Claire Bickell’s response to this week’s Game WISH:

This ties into an idea I feel quite strongly about. I get frustrated when people create characters as ‘popular’ or something. Popular is not a character description; it’s a description of the relationship between the character and the rest of the universe. Now, it’s a subtle distinction and easy to overlook, but I think it can cause problems if the player expects to have that sort of relationship with the universe simply because they described the character that way.

I could not have said it any better myself. Characters respond to their experience of other characters, not to character sheets. If you want a particular reaction, you need to figure out how to get it in-character. Do not wave a character sheet around yelling “But my character’s a sweet, easy-going chap!” when he’s just instigated an unnecessary catfight with the rest of the group. That dog so won’t hunt.

Your character has to take responsibility for his/her actions just as you do. A character sheet isn’t a shield or a get-out-of-doghouse-free card.

Er. Yes, this has been an issue now and then in my current gaming group. How could you tell?