Encounters

You’ll notice that it has been a very long time since I’ve made a post. That would be because this blog got moved to the back burner, and, as things go, my back burner is filled beyond capacity. But, today I move this back up to the front.

Why the sudden change, you ask? I have found a new driving force; a muse, if you will. When your game has become boring or stagnated, you need something exciting, you need to insert a dangerous element. What could that be..? The ninja.

Oh, come on… Ninjas are sooooo overused. They’re all over the place. There’s still the pirates vs. ninjas debate raging in some areas, and, even after nearly thirty years, you can’t turn on Saturday morning cartoons without seeing some mutant turtles flipping around kicking butt. Bodacious dude…

But muses can be strange things, so I’m going to stick with mine – the ninja.

Now, onto the purpose of the post – Encounters. You’re preparing to create an encounter, or, better yet, a series of encounters. The first question you have to ask is – how does this incorporate into the overall story of the campaign?

This fits perfectly into the story because:
The primary target is the orc horde guarding the mountain pass… It’s an aside to assist with increasing the levels of your characters; it basically fits but doesn’t drive the main story forward… It’s a complete and total distraction that has nothing to do with the main story…

This last is what I’m going to be creating. While a ninja can easily be put into any setting, they have yet to make their first appearance in mine. This makes it perfect for this purpose. There is something mysterious and alluring about the ninja, and I plan to use that to full advantage to spice things up.

There is a warning label that comes with this type of encounter, however. If you’re creating one, or a series, centered on your primary story arc there isn’t an issue, just follow your outline or guidelines. Even the aside is still fairly safe; instead of fighting orcs on the mountains your players are working their way through the goblin mercenaries the orcs have hired to patrol the trails leading to their main fortress. The danger is with the distraction.

It’s obviously a very cool idea, otherwise you wouldn’t have the temptation to use it. In the case of the ninja for my game, there is a certain seductive quality surrounding it; teasing me. Which is where the danger lies. At this instant the players are on a mission – to clear the mountain pass. Things have stagnated, so I’m going to throw some spice in the pan and have them get attacked by ninjas in the middle of the night. Seems simple enough, right? Not with my mind. I have the propensity to let things run wild once I latch onto a new idea. Who are the ninjas? Where do they come from? Why are they there? Are they helping the orcs or an as yet unknown third party? Those questions, and the excitement that comes with them, creates the urge to just run with it.

But… This is a distraction, not a primary plot point – a very important distinction. You might point out that the ninja could just be written in, and that is a valid one, but at this stage my overall goals are pretty set, and this one thing could completely unravel everything else if it were allowed to.

Therefore, there is a line in the sand, something you have to be wary of crossing. On one side is the exciting encounter ripe with potential, on the other is the dark side where the distraction has gone too far. My sage advice is to toe that line. If you enjoy formulating the encounter then odds are your players will too, but don’t allow things to get swallowed up. Ride it to the nth degree, but watch your boundaries so you know when to tighten the reigns. The story is everything, remember.

But, you’ll say, if the encounter is that much fun… You know we’ll eventually cross that line. That is a strong possibility. With a good series of encounters, if they turn out well, illicit strong responses in your players, then you might blow right over that line before you realize what happened. For that reason you have to be ever vigilant to watch what you’re doing while you plan and execute. The overall story is paramount, and, while it can be changed to suit what transpires while you’re playing, maintaining control is the far better in the long run.

Have all the fun you want with this new idea, that’s the whole point. If you have fun, the players will have fun, but keep your eyes on the prize while you do it. If you do that, everyone involved will enjoy themselves, and your game will gain back that spark it might have been missing. In my case it’s a ninja, but in yours it could be anything. Find what it is and run with it.

Story Time, Part I

So, I’ve been nice enough to point out what many will probably consider obvious – A good story is worth its weight in gold. That fact, however, does not put you any closer to creating one. It’s for that reason that I sit down today. I wanted to explain the three different styles that I’ve come up with over the years to construct a campaign storyline. These three are: Novel, Mechanics, and Piecemeal.

When using the Novel approach a person begins removed from the gaming system completely. You’ll write what could be a stand alone story in its own right. You’ll create the enemies, the locations, and even the main characters that the players will later assume. Obviously there will be alterations to make this game ready, but that will come later on.

Mechanics is essentially the opposite of the Novel approach. In this case you’re creating the puzzles, quests, and gaming requirements first. You’ll layout all the hoops you want the players to jump through, and then find a story that will link them all together.

The last style is Piecemeal, which you can probably guess is a combination of the first two. You’ll have cool story ideas; an image of a secret cave submerged beneath the sea that has a hidden city inside it. As well as a handle full of quests; there is an ancient map the players have to piece together to locate a hidden relic. With all these parts to pull from you’ll create a campaign. This is the one that comes most naturally.

All three of these styles have worked well for me in the passed, and are continuing to do so. One reason for this is the way that I construct the campaign around these styles. There is a universal technique that I use no matter which of those three I’ve chosen, which is purely a brainstorming session. A conversation I have with myself while doing mindless tasks, like driving, the laundry, or sitting through a conference call at the office.

I start by asking the almighty question – “why?” Why are the players here? This should be a very simple, generic answer.

The goblin horde has crossed the mountains, and is attacking… A plague has fallen upon the kingdom and threatens everyone’s lives… Someone has discovered a way to resurrect an ancient evil to unleash on the world….

Whatever this happens to be, it is what you shall always return to.

If there is an enemy, why are they doing this?

Monetary gain… To conquer the world… To rescue his suppressed people… Good old fashioned revenge… Simply because he has the evil alignment…

What is a cool aspect of the campaign?

Everyone gains magical abilities over the course of the story… Dragons (they’re just cool)… Pirates (them too)… The players discover they are secretly the chosen of the gods… By the end each player will rule a kingdom…

What is a plot twist they will never see coming?

One of the players dies (clear this with that particular player secretly first)… A god is killed… The players accidently release the ancient evil themselves… The players play the entire game as resurrected souls; their bodies having been long dead (without them knowing it. Hello 6th Sense)…

How does it start?

A meteor strikes the planet… A volcano erupts… The enemy commander has finally gotten his secret weapon finished… The planets are aligned, and the time of the prophecy has come…

This one can be the trickiest simply because you’ll want to include how the PCs form into their group in the first place. Resist that urge. Focus on what causes the campaign to start. The PCs will enter sometime after this point, and you can mull over how to group them up after you’ve gotten the campaign fleshed out.

How does it end?

The enemy commander is killed, and his forces run in terror… The god of light is rescued from his prison, and returns to save the world… A cure is found from the ingredients the players painstakingly located…

This is the most important bit in my mind. This is the exclamation point on your sentence. They will have played through the entire storyline to come to this point, and will have all their anticipations hinging on it. It’s possible to light a fuse and watch the fireworks if done right. It might seem odd to write an ending when you don’t know what course your players will take, but trust me… It pays off.

The idea with this technique is to keep asking yourself questions, and following them up with answers. Start out with generic, wide-spread ones, and slowly hone in on the more specific details. As you decide each piece always refer back to previous answers; making sure the answer fits, or altering the past because the new one is more interesting. In this way everything will remain cohesive and work with itself.

Soon you’ll have the setting, the enemy, his motivations, the solution, key scenes, and surprise twists. A rough synopsis of the campaign will have been created, along with the beginning and end, and, mostly likely, several key plot points in between.

I’ll cover the three styles in upcoming articles, but, even while using those, it is important to continue doing this brainstorming. Think about it… Daydream… Imagine what you’d want to do if you were playing in the game. If you’re excited about, your players will be too.

Content vs. Combat

In the summer of 1985 I sat down with a group of my friends in the dark recesses of my church’s basement, and played my first role-playing game. I’d heard about Dungeons & Dragons before, of course. I’d seen the cartoon on Saturday mornings. Besides that, talk of it floated around as this strange game with complicated rules and cool dice. There was a mysterious quality to it; a dangerous mystique. When we sat down to play with one of the older boys as DM part of me feared I was about to witness someone get struck by lightning. While inside a building no less. That of course didn’t happen, somewhat to my disappointment, but that didn’t hamper the suspense.

Since then I’ve fought monsters roaming deep mountain caves, boarded space stations dodging imperial troops, attacked cyber-ninjas, and sat inside huge battle mechs. I even spent a short stint masquerading around as a vampire.

After more than twenty years of gaming I have come to understand that story is the most crucial of all aspects. As it happens, this most important bit is the one thing they don’t write into the pages of the books you buy. They’ll give you advice on how to create it, some charts to roll to get ideas, or a short write up on the world, but, in the end, that is all left up to you.

There are some that would argue you don’t need much story for a game. Indeed, if you were to reference movie blockbusters, you don’t need more than the barest explanation to hold action scenes together. Nor do you need to stick with the original concepts or characters of the 80’s cartoon you’re pirating to make it. All that is required is a thin thread of story, lots of explosions, an attractive girl running in slow motion, and enough special effects to make you suspend your disbelief, or displeasure, whatever the case may be.

Role-playing games don’t need to be any different. If you pick up any number of premade modules you’d see that the story is contained within four paragraphs of exposition at the front. You can call this section, “reasons to kill the bad guy on the last page.” They’re good, don’t get me wrong, and the modules serve their purpose. I’ve used quite a few in the last several years. I’ve changed, and molded every one of them to fit my needs, but I’ve used them nonetheless. Still, these provide only a piece of an overall story-arc.

To better illustrate my point, I’ll reference a game I played while still in high school. I was visiting my grandfather in Texas one summer, and ended up at one of his friend’s house for a game. I can’t remember how it came about, but I do distinctly remember being surprised that these old people played games, let alone Dungeons and Dragons. As I sit here, some fifteen years later, I realize the error of my ways. I’ll chalk that up to my youth.

That night we played a different type of game than I had before. I dare say it was more refined that I’d constructed to that point. It was certainly different than the ones that my friends had created. Instead of a room to room slaughter-fest, the game was centered on exploration, and thought. We were going through a temple in search of an ancient artifact, and there was barely a monster in sight. The pace of the game was incredibly slow compared to what I was used to.

That isn’t to say I was any less engrossed in what was happening, quite the contrary in fact. The DM had my full attention the entire night.

After the game had completed I commented about this to the DM. He told me this – “We used to play dungeon crawls with constant fighting years ago. I dare say, in our youth. But, we ended up moving beyond that. Fighting will eventually become boring, and routine. The story for the campaign is what keeps it interesting and fun. That’s the bit you have to get right. If you do, everything else falls into place.”

Now, my memory has probably garnished that comment somewhat in the last fifteen years, but the core is still true. Base your campaign on a solid story with twists and turns and memorable characters. The fighting will still be present; it’s a dangerous world out there, but put that in afterward. If you do so, you’ll have a long running game on your hands. You might even have the chance for some punk kid to come over and be surprised old people play too.