Shift on the Fly

Orc-5e

Gruumsh rarely has someone else’s interests in mind.

Saturday’s session went well. It was a fairly standard rout-the-baddies scenario, with an extra layer of justice on top, as the head baddie had purloined a valuable piece of party treasure a few sessions before. Said baddie then holed up in a mountain stronghold with some surly flunkies. But the party was having none of it, and took it upon themselves to right the wrong.

This session concluded a chapter of the campaign, which I had planned beforehand. As a special reward, I had intended to offer the party its choice from a few benefits, to help frame their accomplishments in the terms of the campaign. You know how it goes — rewards are good and endogenous rewards are best. A little reskinning of some backgrounds shaped up as the following options:

Book One Conclusion: Marks of Prestige

Marque of Jandamere: As the bearer of a Marque of Jandamere, you inspire people to think the best of you. You are welcome in high society, and people assume you have the right to be wherever you are. The common folk make every effort to accommodate you and avoid your displeasure, and other people of high birth treat you as a member of the same social sphere. You can secure an audience with a local noble if you need to.

An Eye for the Land: Having liaised with the original folk of the region, you have earned an excellent intuition for the land, and you can always recall the general layout of terrain, settlements, and other features around you. In addition, you can find food and fresh water for yourself and up to five other people each day, provided that the land offers berries, small game, water, and so forth.

Prince-Bishop’s Sigil: You receive shelter and succor from members of the Church Militant and those who are sympathetic to their aims. You can gain aid from temples and other religious communities in the Prince-Bishop’s service. This help comes in the form of shelter and meals, and healing when appropriate, as well as occasionally risky assistance, such as a band of monks rallying to your side in a fight, or the residents of a cloister helping to hide you when you are being hunted unjustly.

(The middle one is struck through because the players never got around to meeting that faction. But the remaining two still offered a choice, and you can see that they’re all modeled on the backgrounds system.)

Responding to Feedback

As good players do, however, they threw a subtle but excellent monkeywrench into my plans. As they were scourging the mountain stronghold, one of the players casually commented that not only were they getting their treasure back, they were going to get the whole damned mountain fortress as well.

Touchdown!

So at the end of the session, I tossed that into the mix. The players could have one of the previous benefits, or, hell yeah, they could have the stronghold. It would be (at least initially) a non-revenue-generating territory, but it would be a “home base” nonetheless and one that they could develop to reflect their ownership.

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Welcome home!

What that meant for me was that I needed to rework how I would present the ongoing campaign. Previously, it had been constructed as a political thriller, in which the players’ characters moved as agents of influence from location to location in pursuit of artifacts and evidence. A secret faction of rebel nobility had been active, and the players had exposed them, making for the “blow up the Death Star” arc of chapter one. All very cool and satisfying, but now, with the players having a home base, I’ll have to retool much of the campaign and bring relevant events to the players, instead of moving the players to the events. I’ll have to change some of the events proper, too, but that’s fine, because overall, I get a lot out of the deal (assuming they choose to take ownership of the stronghold as their reward).

  • I get to keep reusing the same map. My group is geographically scattered and plays via roll20, so getting more use out of the same virtual tabletop map helps me control my production costs. Maybe I’m secretly a producer at heart….
  • A “home base” creates relatedness, as it gives the players a place in the world they can genuinely call their own.
  • It’s a location that can create rewards but also conflicts. That is, it should generate some ongoing benefits and positive relationships, but those relationships can also inspire new things for players to do and problems to solve.
  • It remains tied to the politics of the region, so the main campaign themes and antagonists remain intact. I have to adjust how the players come in contact with them, but none of the planning needs to be discarded.

But most importantly

  • It was a player suggestion, and a really good one, so the players are even more invested in the progress of the campaign.

So that’s the case for improvising and a willingness to change campaign direction based on player input. We’ll see how it shapes up from here.

Rewards are Beginnings, Not Ends

Here’s a simple encounter model: You have an objective. You undertake a challenge to accomplish that objective. You receive a reward.

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Congratulations! You overcame the obstacle and got the goody!

…Now what?

In a games context, a reward should most often serve as a beginning, not an end. That simple encounter model above is one cycle of a loop, a repeating sequence. Which is to say, that reward can very effectively be used to engage players in what happens next, to encourage them to participate in the next cycle of the objective-challenge-reward loop.

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Let’s look at it in the terms of my favorite toolbox, self-determination theory.

Mastery

This is the big one. In tabletop RPGs, rewards often heighten the sense of heroic competence. The player obtains a better sword, new spells, improvement to a skill, a new Discipline, or better resources. Rewards often take the form of new or improved tools — which players then bring to bear against future challenges. They’re endogenous rewards: They serve to reinforce and improve the function of game systems the players have already demonstrated an interest in using. You like fighting orcs, so you fight orcs, and as your reward for fighting orcs you get a sword that makes you better at fighting orcs. Fighting orcs is intrinsically rewarding, and you just got better at it.

In additional to the improvements to character, players also gain an increasing understanding of their ability to act upon the world. Level-based systems used to take a lot of stick, but their increasing palette of options in fact works very well for keeping players from feeling paralyzed by a breadth of options. As player mastery increases, so does the significance and competence of their interaction with the world, because they learn to manage more options and they develop an understanding of combinations of options. Few players thrive when having everything available to them at once.

Autonomy

Wisely used, rewards open additional options to the player, or otherwise reinforce their volitional decisions. In a timeworn example, the players rescue the princess (objective) by slaying the dragon (challenge) and then gain access to the realm (reward)… where they find a host of new objectives to pursue. This is sometimes referred to as “gating content” (especially in video games), but it serves a greater function as a reward mechanism, and is also often used in onboarding players to new options, which is especially frequent in level-based systems. As the player grows increasingly familiar with their character’s abilities, their understanding of how they can use those abilities expands, increasing autonomy. Now that the realm is open to you, bold adventurers, what next? Now that you’ve deposed the tyrannical Prince, ambitious Kindred, what will you do in the domain? Now that you have the plans to the orbital battle station, you unintentionally noble space pirates, what will you do with them?

Relatedness

I often like to describe relatedness in terms of “the rewards of rewards.” Going back to our example of saving the princess, the players were granted access to the realm — but that’s not all. As they traverse the realm, NPCs they interact with greet them as “the dragonslayers!” and they see firsthand how their efforts have aided the realm: A scorched field showing signs of growth, burned villages being rebuilt, the sanctuary once again opens its doors. One of the intangible benefits of their actions is seeing the meaning of those actions, and understanding the improvement or aspiration that they’ve made possible.

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You find a jar with parts of Stevie Nicks inside it.

Rewards that suggest more to the world satisfy relateness very well. Finding a key suggests there’s a lock somewhere begging to be opened. Finding a map suggests a destination, or perhaps a journey.

Relatedness can also take the form of reputation systems, for example, which lead to future opportunities. This can scale up to a sense of kingdom-building or the expansion of domain, development of “tech trees,” or access to portions of the coterie chart that were closed. Relatedness is part of what makes communities function, so a sense of ongoing betterment of the home base is a very satisfying reward, even if it confers no mechanical benefits. And as that community betters, new objective opportunities open up for it, which feed the players back into the loop.

Inverting the Expectation

One of the default assumptions with rewards is that they’re all rainbows and sunshine for the recipient. That doesn’t have to be true. As a GM, consider over-rewarding the players every now and then… but with certain strings attached, especially if those strings aren’t immediately evident. Sure, you’ve found Excalibur, but now Modred and Morgan La Fay are after you.

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A reward can be a burden more than a boon, or invite new responsibility.

This is a reward technique to be used sparingly, but it’s compelling. In doing this, you must design the reward to be worth the extra trouble, but you don’t want to train your players to dread rewards. In this case, the players are gaining outsized mastery rewards as well as some additional relatedness rewards. Interestingly, there’s some amount of curtailing of their free will (autonomy) at this point, but it may actually increase their sense of volition, as they opt into being the caretakers of this particular artifact. Consequences are interesting after all. And what if the players decide that having Excalibur isn’t worth the added responsibility? How do they get rid of the damned thing?

As a Player

Constructing rewards typically falls under the purview of the GM in tabletop RPGs, but players can use their rewards to stimulate the process, as well. The simplest way to do this is in outlook: The very act of understanding rewards as a staging point rather than a conclusion is important for players to not only take satisfaction in their progress, but to project future goals. (See the previous post for more on goal-setting.)

Rewards can also send clear messages to the GM. If the party chooses to sell the Armor of Fire Resistance, that’s a pretty definitive statement that they won’t be interested in the journey to the City of Brass where they’d have to dance at the whim of the ifrit lord. Readily yielding the identity of the rogue ghoul to the Tremere Primogen is a fairly declarative that the coterie is more interested in the political story then they mystery subplot.

GM’s Craft: Cultivate Player Goals

Without an objective, a game’s choices lack meaning. It’s the function of the gamemaster to communicate the goals (in a more directed or plot-dependent game) or to clearly define the space in which the players can make their goal choices (in a more open game, such as a sandbox-style campaign). Naturally, players will have a lot of input on what a game’s goals may be. A pack of good-aligned monster hunters will have a very different goal than a crew of booty-hunting pirates, whose goals will be different from a band of rebels or escaped slaves.

It’s also the function of most games to provide enough “signposts” that players can gain a sense of progression through understanding the rules. For example, “gain a level” is a perfectly valid goal in a level-based game, while “gain a new dot in a Discipline” is a valid goal for a more open character progression game like Vampire.

Young stylish businessman

In multiplayer games like most tabletop RPGs, it’s also very likely that a group of PCs may be simultaneously working toward a common goal while they individually pursue orthogonal or even opposed goals. It’s possible that the paladin and warlock both want to slay the dragon, while serving rival gods or patrons. And the Ventrue and Brujah may both have a common enemy in the Tremere Prince but very, very different objectives in mind for how to pursue relations with the Anarchs.

But full circle, the game needs to indicate to the player or allow them to choose what’s next. If a player is wondering “what do I do now?” that may be a lack of information communicated by the GM, an underdeveloped progression system, or a lack of opportunity for the player to compare their choices and decide what’s next.

Manage the information at critical junctures — goals are what inform the player’s actions.

Technique: Prompt your characters to detail a goal their characters wants to pursue. It doesn’t have to be elaborate, they don’t have to provide it on the spot, and it can certainly change over time. They don’t even have to have just one; they may have several, of varying degrees of importance to them. Asking them about their goals gets them thinking about those objectives, however (if they haven’t been already), which puts them on the road toward better understanding their characters, and that in turn lets you better tailor the game to the shared story you’re telling.

A Golden Age

We’re living in a golden age for tabletop games.

When I was younger, I lucked into the pastime that became my hobby that became my career. My cousin had a D&D boxed set and ran a game. It was the quintessential old-school gaming experience, elves creeping into an imaginary underground that we envisioned with our minds there among the potato chips, Pepsi, Iron Maiden posters, and “Tom Sawyer” on the stereo. I had had no idea that this world existed, but in that moment, who I would become for the next 30-plus years had its genesis.

And it was pure serendipity. I didn’t even know these games existed. I didn’t seek them out. I didn’t stumble across them in a search for something for which I had a vague longing. It just happened. I got lucky.

[conclude flashback]

Compare that to now:

“Over half of the new people who started playing Fifth Edition [the game’s most recent update, launched in 2014] got into D&D through watching people play online,” says Nathan Stewart, senior director of Dungeons & Dragons.

The Verge

That’s amazing. People are able to find the hobby now. Less and less do they have to wake up surrounded by it like a Dunsanian protagonist.

I write a lot here about satisfying players’ psychological needs, and that’s what much of this points back to. Players have these needs — whether they know it or not — and the tools and channels available to us now not only help them meet those needs, they help them understand and identify those needs sooner. They discover opportunities for mastery, in seeing game systems bloom before them. They understand relatedness by witnessing players cooperating to tackle in-game challenges and growing relationships around the table. They see the autonomy of players choosing their fate and then reaping the rewards (or consequences…). It’s no longer sequestered in the basements of stoner cousins, it’s out there, and it’s beckoning. And more than ever, it’s inclusive. It’s representational. Players are seeing that games are for them, that games are for everyone.

(And in many cases, that relatedness expands beyond the table. People feel connections to other players they’re not even playing with, through the commonality of the games medium and through the ability to interact with those players via social media. Look how many people feel like they belong to various games forums where sharing and discussing ideas is the core activity, or who share a common love for the entertainment format of Critical Role and consider themselves a part of it, even if they’re not on the stream proper.)

A Roman bone dice and gaming counter on a wooden table

It’s not like it used to be, when you used to have to time travel to ancient Rome in order to find fellow games enthusiasts.

It’s absolutely a golden area for the games table, enhanced greatly by the virtuality and accessibility of it all.

So what does this mean for you? This is your chance to be an evangelist. This is your chance to welcome new people to the hobby, to share new stories. This is your opportunity to be someone’s gateway into a lifetime of satisfying hobby games, or the chance to introduce or even be the next great designer, artist, writer, etc. The barrier to entry has never been so low, and the rewards have never been so great.

GM Toolbox: Action Feedback

One of the major differences between interactive and non-interactive media is the concept of feedback. Games, as interactive media, show you the results of choices you make. If you’re running a game, that’s a tremendous boon for you, as understanding them is the key to keeping your players engaged. (And if you’re playing a game, receiving those feedbacks is part of why you’re playing.)

Computer games are very effective at communicating feedback. They pair immediate graphical output with nuanced sound and, in appropriate cases, fanfare that all demonstrate positive, desired outcomes. And in cases where a sub-optimal result has been achieved, or even failure, they can communicate that as well, imparting teachings that can increase player skill (even in their absence).

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There’s little ambiguity about what the player has accomplished here.

Around the RPG table, though, feedbacks are a different beast, and are almost solely the responsibility of the GM. And the GM has a variety of different means to communicate those feedbacks, to keep the players engaged. After all, players play games to make choices, and feedbacks frame the outcomes of those choices.

Granular Feedback

Granular feedback is immediate, showing the sequential, often instantaneous outcome to an action. A dice roll yields instant feedback — you see the number you rolled and you (usually) know whether you succeeded or not, and by how much. A GM description of events can also be granular competence feedback: a description of a combat maneuver’s result, an acknowledgement of having picked a lock, a spell that completely suborns the rancor of a hostile creature. Granular competence feedback is the easiest to convey as a GM.

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Quintessential RPG feedback.

Sustained Feedback

Sustained feedback may be a collection of successive granular feedbacks, but can be more than that in the employ of a skilled GM. Sustained feedback shows the player(s) that they’re on a roll, in the zone, or otherwise achieving an ongoing series of successes. Simple comments like, “The hall is strewn with the unconscious forms of your enemies” can go a long way toward reinforcing a sense of player achievement — they show the player, “Hey, good job, you’ve had a string of successes here.” Pursuit and other forms of extended challenges are great for sustaining feedback. Once the player has achieved the 10 successes required to hack into a database, for example, call out the accomplishment. The individual dice rolls yielding the successes show the granular accomplishment, but finally accumulating the required number is a payoff. Finally eluding a hunter or finally catching up to one’s prey are other strong examples. A bard gradually winning over a crowd, an artist creating their magnum opus, and a codebreaker finally cracking a cipher are other examples. Sustained competence feedback is generally the hardest for a GM to convey, as its circumstances are less frequent than granular feedbacks. But if the GM sets their mind to highlighting these sorts of indicators of progress, they can bridge the granular and cumulative competence feedbacks, and help transition the players from the “little bits” to the “big picture” overall.

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The intrepid adventurers were able to translate the demented sorcerer’s flesh-bound journal.

Cumulative Feedback

Cumulative feedback is that “big picture,” that overall expression of the little outcomes that shape the whole. RPGs are great for cumulative feedbacks. The campaign itself is a form of cumulative feedback, while individual sessions also represent smaller but still “chunky” cumulative milestones. Multiple-session books, chapters, seasons — whatever your terminology for them, they’re longer-form expressions of feedback. When an antagonist escapes the players or is ultimately brought to their just desserts, that’s a cumulative form of feedback, as it demonstrates the ultimate objective that so many of the granular and sustained actions were working toward.

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And everything concludes neatly with no loose ends….

Overall, feedbacks help communicate accomplishment, and accomplishment satisfies player needs. Note that accomplishment doesn’t necessarily equal success! Players may feel a sense of accomplishment through having foiled an antagonist’s plans only temporarily (as with many Call of Cthulhu scenarios). They may feel accomplishment through the relatedness of knowing they have earned the ire of a common enemy.

As well, feedbacks can transcend the game as a framework. While in-game rewards are immediate and satisfying, the game’s rewards aren’t bounded to the duration of play itself. Much like a satisfying book or film, playing a game can leave a strong sense of satisfaction after the experience itself has concluded. And that satisfaction is engendered by — and even described by — feedbacks. Indeed, player satisfaction can be the feedback a GM receives for a game session greatly appreciated by the participants.

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Maps as Flowcharts

In fantasy RPGs, and in some other theme-forward RPGs, maps are often assumed to be one of the high-impact setting artifacts. They’re great for demonstrating production value, they provide valuable in-game information, and they’re good goal-setting tools that inspire their players to seek out far off and challenging destinations. Heck, “map fantasy” is an entire sub-genre of literature.

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This map makes me want to play this game.

A conversation in one of my online communities recently got me thinking about what maps suggest, however. While I don’t have an issue with maps, in general, I often find myself working with with much less precise geography when I run games. I responded that GMs could also use flowcharts instead of maps, and I wanted to explore that more substantially here.

Some of things that come up when discussing maps:

  • When your fantasy campaign/ scenario/ session relies on a map, that document makes many decisions for you, rather than letting them emerge from the gameplay. A savvy GM can deviate from this, but it becomes a little more difficult to account for than changing an antagonist or substituting a faction. There’s a cascade effect of consequences that changing “map truths” has, not the least of which is invalidating some of the visual verity of game materials designed for that very purpose. Certainly, fantasy and games are about imagining “what if?” but if the tools for doing that reinforce a different what if, they’re fighting the player’s sense of authenticity.
  • DJJ7H0IUEAA6s3A

    Hexcrawl nerd nirvana, from Tomb of Annihilation.

    If the mapped area is known, that diminishes some of the discovery incentive for exploring the area. Put in practical terms, there’s a reason that Tomb of Annihilation has a huge number of unknown hexes on its player map. It’s an encouragement to seek the answer to a question the game asks. If the players’ map was filled in, it’s simply an exercise in choosing the perceived optimal route. But when the players are able to fill it in because they found the answer, that’s intrinsically rewarding! They’ve pushed back the unknown themselves, which is extremely satisfying. In a perfect world, your players may be the ones to make the map and introduce it to the world (or keep it secret). But those decisions and outcomes are the stuff of which games are made, yes?

  • Assuming a semi-medieval information state and economy, maps are extremely valuable, and the information they contain isn’t necessarily common knowledge. This is less important in worlds with magic and million-year written traditions and infinite non-exploitative production means, but overall, if your world assumes some historical affections and not others, that makes it more difficult for the players to understand which of the unspoken truths are in fact different. Not a huge issue, but a seeming incongruity with certain assumptions of authenticity.

Again, my intent is not to eliminate map use, but to provide an immediately useful and perhaps more relevant alternative. Especially as a GM, you may need more or different information more readily at hand than a traditional map provides.

DungeonFlowchart

A dungeon arrayed as a flowchart rather than a traditional gridded map. The dotted line indicates a secret passage. The numbers correspond to encounter details on a legend (not depicted). Note the one-way path from the Treacherous Bridge to the Black Idols — reaching the idols this way probably means falling from the bridge!

I’m reminded of an early Robert E. Howard sketch of his fantasy world as he envisioned it*, which didn’t have a map paired with it. rather, it was a description of the various lands and the themes they evoked, but with a very impressionistic description of their locations, largely in relation to the other locations. This seemed to me a clever narrative way of handling things — I know that Area X is off to the badlands of the west and Region Y is mired in the swampy southeast and that’s pretty much all I need because I’m reading about story events rather than planning a road trip to either location.

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This dude is pretty sure he’s within a day or two’s travel from Greyhawk.

In my experience, that’s the most important determinant: Is the destination more important than the journey, in terms of how the game is set up? For example, if the game is planned as a series of narrative events planned at key set piece locations, the actual map geography becomes less important. If the game is planned as a hex crawl or a journey into the unknown, a map is more important — and the players may even be creating a map of their own, perhaps even the only such map that exists in the world! OSR gameplay, for example, often emphasizes travel to the destination, while many more narrative games focus on the planned encounter locations instead of the interstices.

Replacing the Map With a Flowchart

When the fine details of a map aren’t critical to the gameplay decisions, I can set to work building the flowchart. Even “flowchart” implies more structure than is necessary, as it suggests dependent, sequential movement. A simple chart, showing relative position, is really all you need. You can build these with heavy tools like Power Point (not optimal) or Visio (better, as it preserves the spatial relationships and connections). I’ve found, though, that lighter mindmapping programs work best. I use Scapple most often and sometimes MindNode (which I also use to collect campaign details, plot events, and player responses). Different programs should also let you use different shapes and connector types that give you visual cues of different information types.

RegionFlowchart

Here’s a map chart of a local-scale campaign environment. The green location is the starting locale, and probably the one best known to the PCs. The blue entries are the areas that PCs can gain rumors about while asking around the village. The uncolored entries are feature areas — dungeons, buildings, interesting places. The red entry is a planned encounter tied to a specific area proximate to other nearby features. The numbers on the dotted lines are travel distances expressed as times, which can be used for random encounter checks or for time-dependent events.

Things to Include in a Map Chart

  • Spatial relationships of geographical entries
    • Include sequential travel relationships. For example, if you have to go under the mountain to get to the castle on the other side, the chart should depict that dependency
    • This also lets you array the alternate routes. In the example above, it may be safer but longer to travel through the forest to get to the castle, but faster and more dangerous to go under the mountain
  • Distance between geographical entries
    • Stated as a value; will usually fit on connector lines
  • Some differentiation between geographical entries of different types
    • E.g. Region vs community vs geographical feature vs adventure site vs encounter
    • Use different colors to denote different entities (cities in one country all have a blue background, all dungeons with artifacts have a yellow-highlighted header, etc.)
  • References to relevant encounters
  • If you want to get sophisticated and interactive, you can link from the map chart to wiki entries, Trello cards, Obsidian Portal campaigns, etc.

* “Notes on Various Peoples of the Hyborean Age,” “The Hyborean Age,” and “Hyborian Names and Countries,” pp. 375, 379, and 417, from The Coming of Conan the Cimmerian