Catalyst Castle

Hey, everyone! It's been a while since I posted anything new here. As you know, I started a new blog on gaming almost two months ago, and since then I've been posting new stuff there twice a week. But I've been sorely neglecting my more general blog here.

So, this is actually related to my gaming blog, but it doesn't really belong over there and I thought my friends might find it amusing. It's sort of a "behind the scenes" post, if you will. When I was getting ready to launch Catalyst Games, I knew I had a lot of stuff I could write about gaming, but I was having a difficult time organizing my thoughts to write anything. I mentioned this to my sister and she suggested that I could try making an audio recording of me "talking out" my ideas, and then refer back to that while I'm writing. I tried this and it really helped! I didn't have a device that could make a strictly audio recording, so I ended up using my webcam to record myself. This had the unnecessary effect of making a video recording of my monolog as well. When I watched this later I was really amused by it - it's not too often that you get to watch yourself talk!

This might be a tad narcissistic, but it really had me cracking up when I watched it, so I'm posting the video here for you to enjoy. It is a tad lengthy (about 11 minutes). Also, the audio is a bit quiet, so you may have to turn up the volume on your computer. You can read the resulting article here.

Check out this TED talk about a really cool game a public school teacher created to teach students about world politics and global community. This looks like an awesome activity for kids, and I have to admit I wouldn't mind playing it myself.

It has yet to happen in any of the games I’ve played in or game mastered, but most game systems do provide for the possibility that a player’s character (PC) might die. Many games give characters hit points to measure their staying power in battle, and when those hit points are depleted they might die. Some games measure the number, and severity, of wounds a character receives with too many wounds resulting in death. Other games have other systems for injury and character death.

Some games, however, make PC death all but impossible. Often times, even when the system provides rules for character death, there is an understanding among the players and the GM that the GM will not “let” the PCs die. The reason for this is that players spend time creating a character and then developing that character in play. They become invested in their character through this process and don’t want to see them die. Taking this into consideration, it might seem reasonable that the death of a PC should be off limits. However, is anything lost by disallowing player character death?

Imagine your PC facing down the greatest foe they’ve ever encountered. The thrill of danger raises the hair on the back of your neck. The treat of death gets the adrenaline pumping through your veins. Then, you remember that there is really no danger at all. The GM won’t possible let your PC die. Defeat will mean, at worst, a temporary setback. The moment is lost. What should be an epic contest of cunning, will and might becomes a mundane exercise in rolling dice and comparing numbers. Success is only a matter of time. Even if you fail this confrontation, you know that your character will live to fight another day.

So, how could you maintain the thrill of risking PC death, without frustrating players who have become invested in their characters? Here are a couple of options:

Players Choose When to Risk Death: In the game Dogs in the Vineyard, the system allows for PC death, but the players choose when the stakes warrant the risk of death. Players always have the option to back down from any conflict as soon as they decide that the issue isn’t worth risking their PC’s life. This means that the risk of death is very real when the players decide to give a conflict their all, and they’re up against suitable opposition. But if the players, or their characters, don’t really care about the issues at hand they’re never forced to take that risk. This means that if a PC dies, at least it will be over a matter that their player deemed dramatically appropriate.

Quick Character Creation: Some games have a very simple process for creating PCs. This means that if your PC dies, it’s only a matter of minutes to create the game stats for a new one. This takes some of the bite out of PC death. Of course, it might take longer than a few minutes for players who really want an intricate back story for their character. One drawback to this approach is that it tends to encourage cardboard cutout characters. Players spend less time developing their characters in the initial process and don’t become as invested in their stories.

Multiple Characters for Each Player: At the beginning of the game, each player could create two or three characters. They might play one primarily, with any others having only minor support rolls in the story. However, if their primary character should die, they already have another waiting to step up and take their place. This is a character they’ve already invested some time in, and has already had some minor involvement in the story. By spreading your investment into multiple characters, the loss of one of them seems like less of a tragedy, but it does require more effort up front to develop multiple characters.

What do you think about PC death? Should PCs have to face the threat of death, or should they be immune except at the choice of their player. If PCs do risk death, what would be a good way to mitigate some of the pain of losing your character?

Today I’m starting a new series of articles I would like to continue to publish on a weekly basis. The object of this series is an exercise in creative setting and plot building. I got the idea from a role-playing game product called Instant Game, by Animalball Partners, which is available as a free PDF download here. One of the things Instant Game provides is a system for rolling on a series of charts to randomly select setting and plot elements. The GM and the players are then supposed to connect the dots and turn these elements into a playable game. I thought doing this would be a good way to get the creative juices flowing.

So, here are the setting elements I rolled today:

Setting: Institution/Institutionalized
Tone: Swashbuckling
Things: Mecha, Crash Site
Tech Level: Artificial Intelligence
Place: Ruins

And here are the plot elements I rolled:

Opposition: Political Group
Plot Action: Infiltrate (Illusory) Blood
Plot Action: Rescue (Ancient) Child

Alright, before you read further, I challenge you to take 10-20 minutes to develop these elements into a workable fictional setting and plot, and post your results in the comments below. After you’re done, you can come back and read my interpretation of these elements.


My Weekly World: Musketeers 2201

Civilization as we know it ended in 2101, when Earth was struck by a rain of meteors. This left much of the world devastated and in ruins. Out of the ashes of this disaster civilization arose anew. Today much of the surviving humans are united under one king. The king’s most loyal retainers are brave and gallant soldiers who pilot giant, gun-wielding mecha called Muskets. These Musketeers receive expert training at the renowned Musketeers Academy, built at the crash site of the largest meteor, where they spar with both steel and wits.

The most accomplished recent graduates of the academy receive a special mission. Rumor has it that a secret society of noblemen, calling themselves the High Bloods, is hatching a plot against the king. No one has been able to identify any of the members of this group as of yet. The Musketeers are to pose as political dissenters and attempt to infiltrate the High Bloods. Following clues around the world, most of their leads end up as dead ends. However, while exploring some dangerous ruins rumored to be the hideout of a High Bloods cell, they discover a young child who has been in stasis since before the disaster. As the child gradually shares knowledge of the old world, the Musketeers begin to suspect that the High Bloods do not exist at all, but are in fact a lie propagated by androids who survived the meteor shower in secret. The High Blood conspiracy was a ploy to misdirect the attention of the king and his Musketeers while the androids prepared to launch a massive offensive against the kingdom.

Yeah, it’s a bit convoluted, but what do you think?

Back in November, I said that my weekly time log posts would become monthly time log posts, and I haven't posted about my time log project since. Well, I've still been logging how I use my time, and I thought I'd post an update regarding the month of February.

Last month I spent 130 hours on theocratic activities. That includes 94 hours working with the RBC #10 in Oviedo. I'm really happy that my time spent on theocratic activities has moved to first place (after sleep that is).

Next I spent 76.5 hours on secular work. With the holiday season well behind us my work as dropped to part time hours, which I'm fine with for now. I had been hoping to gain full-time employment this year, but I've changed my attitude somewhat and am planning on putting off working full-time in favor of trying to regular pioneer.

I spent 34 hours reading. That isn't entirely accurate. Because a lot of my "work" with the RBC involves waiting around for materials to be delivered, I actually spent quite a few hours reading while I was there. These 34 hours represent time devoted solely to reading.

Creative pastimes, such as working on this blog and my wiki, creative writing, art, game design, and RPG prep, received 47 hours of my time. I'm pretty happy with that. I don't feel like that's an exorbitant amount of time, and I think I've accomplished a fair amount on my various projects.

Entertainment took up another 47 hours. This includes watching movies and shows, playing card games, board games, role-playing games, and sports.

Lastly, I spent 5.5 hours on housework, errands, and shopping.

Overall, I'm very happy with how I spent my time last month. I'm actually very happy with my life in general. Not that everything is going perfectly, but for the first time in a long time I feel like I'm right where I need to be in life, doing what I need to be doing. And that makes the bumps in the road a lot easier to put up with.

This is part 4 of a discussion I began last month. The object of this discussion is to help myself and those I role-play with get more out of our games.

In part 1 I talked about something called the GNS theory devised by a man named Ron Edwards. If you haven’t already, or need a refresher, you can read part 1 here. The basic gist of the article was that most people tend to gravitate towards one of 3 preferences for play, those being Gamism, Narrativism, or Simulationism.

In part 2 I talked more in depth about Simulationism, my personal preference for play. You can read the article here.

In part 3 I talked more in depth about Gamism. You can read the article here.

Now I’ll give you a summary of Ron Edwards’ article on Narrativism. This essay was perhaps the most well written one of the bunch, probably because it was written after the others. It featured extensive commentary on designing narrativist RPGs, so I’ll try to focus on just the parts that apply to actual play. If you’re interested, you can read the full essay here. (If you want the really short summary, skip to the last 3 or 4 paragraphs of this article.)


Ron Edwards begins by explaining what he means by “story” in the context of roleplaying:

Long ago, I concluded that "story" as a role-playing term was standing in for several different processes and goals, some of which were incompatible. Here's the terms-breakdown I'll be using from now on.

All role-playing necessarily produces a sequence of imaginary events. Go ahead and role-play, and write down what happened to the characters, where they went, and what they did. I'll call that event-summary the "transcript." But some transcripts have, as Pooh might put it, a "little something," specifically a theme: a judgmental point, perceivable as a certain charge they generate for the listener or reader. If a transcript has one (or rather, if it does that), I'll call it a story.

The mere presence of story as the product of role-playing is not a GNS-based issue.

Edwards goes on to associate narrative play with an expression: “Story Now”. He explains it thus:

Story Now requires that at least one engaging issue or problematic feature of human existence be addressed in the process of role-playing.

Can it really be that easy? Yes, Narrativism is that easy. The Now refers to the people, during actual play, focusing their imagination to create those emotional moments of decision-making and action, and paying attention to one another as they do it. To do that, they relate to "the story" very much as authors do for novels, as playwrights do for plays, and screenwriters do for film at the creative moment or moments. Think of the Now as meaning, "in the moment," or "engaged in doing it," in terms of input and emotional feedback among one another. The Now also means "get to it," in which "it" refers to any Explorative element or combination of elements that increases the enjoyment of that issue I'm talking about.

There cannot be any "the story" during Narrativist play, because to have such a thing (fixed plot or pre-agreed theme) is to remove the whole point: the creative moments of addressing the issue(s). Story Now has a great deal in common with Step On Up, particularly in the social expectation to contribute, but in this case the real people's attention is directed toward one another's insights toward the issue, rather than toward strategy and guts.

So, this all sounds interesting in theory, but what does it look like in action? Here’s what Edwards says:

How is this done, actually, in play? It relies on the concept of something called Premise and its relationship to an emergent theme. [Premise is] that "problematic issue" I mentioned. Theme is defined as a value-judgment or point that may be inferred from the in-game events.

Narrativist Premises vary regarding their origins: character-driven Premise vs. setting-driven Premise, for instance. They also vary a great deal in terms of unpredictable "shifts" of events during play. The key to Narrativist Premises is that they are moral or ethical questions that engage the players' interest. The "answer" to this Premise (Theme) is produced via play and the decisions of the participants, not by pre-planning.

A possible Narrativist development of the "vampire" initial Premise, with a strong character emphasis, might be, Is it right to sustain one's immortality by killing others? When might the justification break down?

Another, with a strong setting emphasis, might be, Vampires are divided between ruthlessly exploiting and lovingly nurturing living people, and which side are you on?

Edwards elaborates further on the importance of premise being addressed as a group in narrativist roleplaying:

Premise must pose a question to the real people, creator and audience alike. The fictional character's belief in something like "Freedom is worth any price" is already an implicit question: "Is it really? Even when [insert Situation]?" Otherwise it will fail to engage anyone. […] The Premise's imaginary resolution is up for grabs among the group in role-playing. […] Everyone involved has his or her fair crack at it as one of the authors.

The [premise] is the idea that you wish to explore in the story. It brings unity to the story and is explored throughout the story by the actions of the players and the main characters. Even the obstacle or conflict that forms the plot usually resonates with the [premise]. It is the thread that ties everything together and usually teaches the players [theme].

The actions of the players teach the players something, which becomes non-circular when play actually addresses Premise.

Edwards goes on to address some common misunderstandings about narrativist play:

The number of textual rules involved, as well as how much the rules must be consulted during play, are irrelevant. "Narrativist? Must be rules-light!" is just one of those little humps to get over. […] Focusing on single Techniques to define Narrativism will not yield understanding. For instance, Drama resolution is not in and of itself Narrativist. Nor are the common use of improvisation, trading of narration, and overt Director stance, in and of themselves, Narrativist play. […] Issues of "consciousness" in terms of Premise are collectively a complete red herring. People daily address Premise without self-reflecting, both as audience and authors. There's no special need to say to one another, "This is the Premise" in order to be playing Narrativist. […] Depth and profundity of the Premise and/or theme are false variables. The key issue is whether participants care enough to produce a point, not whether the point is deep.

The essay next addresses what Edwards calls “minor issues with Narrativist play”:

The first minor issue is not really a big deal - simply, not everyone is necessarily a whiz at addressing Premise even when they try. If they were, we'd see a lot more great novels, comics, movies, and plays than we do. Signs of "hack Narrativism" include backing off from unexpected opportunities to address Premise or consistently swinging play into parody versions of the issues involved. I don't see any particular reason to bemoan or criticize this bit of dysfunction; all art forms have their Sunday practitioners.

The second is a recent phenomenon: the "do it right" purists, often recently made aware of GNS or other theories, who then get on their fellow participants' cases during play to accord with some theoretical ideal.

The third was mentioned earlier, based on the tendency for pre-game preparation to develop Situation so far along the process of addressing Premise, that the participants' input during play essentially delivers only the final moments. I call such play "96%-ing," which can be functional, but it tends to play safe to a degree that undercuts the process.

The fourth is maintaining privacy among the participants about what's important to each one, whether about one's own character or the characters of others. Such play might be thought of as keeping Premise personal and close to the vest. That privacy may detract from others' enjoyment.

The final minor problem is to resolve play-Situations rapidly and without developing them much beyond the initial preparatory circumstances: "over before it begins." This typically occurs when people are so floored by the possibility of actually addressing a Premise through play, that they hare off to do so before some RPG god notices and intervenes to stop them. Usually, this sort of play is a short-lived phase as the group builds trust with one another.

After that, Edwards addresses the two biggest problems that may crop up in narrativist play. The first is an overbearing player, who wants to address premise and develop theme, but only where it concerns their character. The second is a controlling, “railroading” GM who forcefully maneuvers play so that premise is addressed the way he wants it to be, and the only resulting theme can be the one he’s already chosen. Edwards continues with this observation:

Going "no system," […], combines the undermining aspects of both of the above two approaches, especially when the author idealizes story as a product rather than Narrativist play as a process. Don't forget, all role-playing has a system; turning it over to "oh, just decide and have fun" merely makes the system crappy and prone to bullying.

Frankly, un-structured Drama turns out to be ill-suited to Narrativist play. It's clear why people turn to it so consistently; years of suffering through task-resolution systems that fail to resolve conflict, with the attendant Simulationist creep of rules-revisions during the 1980s, is enough to put any aspirant Narrativist off of "rules" and "systems."

Like the previous 2 essays, Ron Edwards ends this one with a “hard question” about Narrativism:

Are you Simulationist-by-habit, which is to say, well-trained to this mode by the first group you encountered? If so, is that what you really want? If so, then excellent. But! If not, if you'd rather be addressing Premise, then you have a lot of habits to break - perhaps even those which, in your mind, originally defined the activity.

The second, larger question is much like the Gamist one: why role-play for this purpose? Why this venue, and not some more widely-recognized medium like writing comics or novels or screenplays? Addressing Premise can be done in dozens, perhaps hundreds, of artistic media. To play Narrativist, you must be seizing role-playing, seeing some essential feature in the medium itself, which demands that Premise be addressed in this way for you and not another. What is that feature? If you can't see one, then maybe, just maybe, you are slumming in this hobby because you're afraid you can't hack it in a commercial artistic environment. Maybe you even hang with a primarily-Simulationist group, with the minimal levels of satisfaction to be gained among them, because it's safe there.

But let's say you do answer that question, and hold your head up as a Narrativist role-playing practitioner, addresser of Premise. Fine - now you have to ask yourself whether you can handle artistic rejection. That's right, no one might be interested in you. This is exactly what all aspiring directors, screenwriters, novelists, and other practitioners of narrative artistry face. In which case, you'll have to decide whether it's because your worthy vision is unappreciated and should seek new collaborators, or because your vision is simply lacking. It's not an easy thing to deal with.

Here’s the short summary of what I got out of Ron Edwards’ essay:

Narrativism is playing with the express intent of addressing a premise (“Does might make right?”) and establishing a theme through the process of playing (“Might does make right.” or “Might does not make right.”). The point is to create a story as the object of play, not as an incidental by-product.

An important aspect of narrativist play is making sure that all players have the opportunity to take sides on the premise and impact the emergent theme. Players can’t be railroaded by the GM into expressing a particular theme.

I have to say that after simulationism, narrativism holds a lot of interest for me. The idea of walking away from a game feeling like more than just a series of events had transpired, but that an actual story with a definite message had been told, sounds like a very fun experience. However, I do like that simulationism doesn’t impose the expectation of telling a story with premise and theme. If it happens then that’s cool – but if it doesn’t – oh well, we still had fun.


That raps up my summaries of Ron Edwards more in-depth essays on GNS. Hopefully it’s given people food for thought. With this information in mind, I’d be interested in hearing more from everyone on what they think of each of these modes of play. It’d be nice to get a more thorough understanding of peoples’ preferences.

This is part 3 of a discussion I began last month. The object of this discussion is to help myself and those I role-play with get more out of our games.

In part 1 I talked about something called the GNS theory devised by a man named Ron Edwards. If you haven’t already, or need a refresher, you can read part 1 here. The basic gist of the article was that most people tend to gravitate towards one of 3 preferences for play, those being Gamism, Narrativism, or Simulationism.

In part 2 I talked more in depth about Simulationism, my personal preference for play. You can read the article here.

Now I’ll give you a summary of Ron Edwards’ article on Gamism. This essay was a little less clear than his essay on Simulationism, so I hope I can do a decent job of summarizing it. If you’re interested, you can read the full essay here. (If you want the really short summary, skip to the last 3 or 4 paragraphs of this article.)


Edwards begins by explaining how gamism takes place on 2 separate levels: the out-of-game real people level, and the in-game character level. He says the following about what it means for the real people:

The players, armed with their understanding of the game and their strategic acumen, have to Step On Up. Step On Up requires strategizing, guts, and performance from the real people in the real world. This is the inherent "meaning" or agenda of Gamist play (analogous to the Dream in Simulationist play).

Gamist play, socially speaking, demands performance with risk, conducted and perceived by the people at the table. What's actually at risk can vary - for this level, though, it must be a social, real-people thing, usually a minor amount of recognition or esteem. The commitment to, or willingness to accept this risk is the key - it's analogous to committing to the sincerity of The Dream for Simulationist play. This is the whole core of the essay, that such a commitment is fun and perfectly viable for role-playing, just as it's viable for nearly any other sphere of human activity.

He then explains what it means for the player-characters:

The in-game characters, armed with their skills, priorities, and so on, have to face a Challenge, which is to say, a specific Situation in the imaginary game-world. Challenge is about the strategizing, guts, and performance of the characters in this imaginary game-world.

For the characters, it's a risky situation in the game-world; in addition to that all-important risk, it can be as fabulous, elaborate, and thematic as any other sort of role-playing.

I think the key here is his use of the phrase: “Step On Up”. Imagine a carnival game, such as ring-toss. The game attendant announces “Step on up!” to potential players. When a passerby chooses to “Step On Up”, they are accepting the challenge and putting something on the line. The game will require at least a minimum of skill or good fortune. If they win, they get a prize and they look good in front of their friends. If they lose, they’ve lost the price of admission, or have to settle for a consolation prize. Gamism is about integrating that kind of challenge into roleplaying.

Next, Edwards talks about the role of competition in gamist play:

Competition is best understood as a productive add-on to Gamist play. Such play is fundamentally cooperative, but may include competition. That's not a contradiction: I'm using exactly the same logic as might be found at the poker and basketball games. You can't compete, socially, without an agreed-upon venue. If the cooperation's details are acceptable to everyone, then the competition within it can be quite fierce.

So what is all this competition business about? It concerns conflict of interest. If person A's performance is only maximized by driving down another's performance, then competition is present. In Gamist play, this is not required - but it is very often part of the picture. Competition gives both Step On Up and Challenge a whole new feel - a bite.

How does conflict of interest relate to Step On Up and to Challenge? The crucial answer is that it may be present twice, independently, within the two-level structure.
• Competition at the Step On Up level = conflict of interest regarding players' performance and impact on the game-world.
• Competition at the Challenge level = conflict of interest among characters' priorities (survival, resource accumulation, whatever) in the game-world.

Edwards goes on to discuss competition further and how it might factor into a game in different ways. Players might be competing directly with one another for impact on the game-world. Players may not necessarily be competing, but player-characters might be. Players might compete against a Game Master. Players might cooperate with a Game Master, while the player-characters compete against the Game Master’s NPCs.

Many RPG texts either imply or state outright that “winning” is not part of the game. Edwards explains how this is not really true, or at least, doesn’t need to be:

I'm defining "winning" as positive assessment at the Step On Up level. It even applies when little or no competition is going on. It applies even when the win-condition is fleeting. Even if it's unstated. Even if it's no big deal. Without it, and if it's not the priority of play, then no Gamism.

Because gamism is specifically about facing challenges of one kind or another and either succeeding or failing, the game must provide clear choices for players and player-characters. Choice is important because only through choice can there be consequences.

Edwards give two example of how challenge can manifest in a game, which he calls the Gamble and the Crunch:

The Gamble occurs when the player's ability to manipulate the odds or clarify unknowns is seriously limited. "Hold your nose and jump!" is its battle-cry. Running a first-level character in all forms of D&D is a Gamble; all of Ninja Burger play is a Gamble. More locally, imagine a crucial charge made by a fighter character toward a dragon - his goal is to distract it from the other character's coordinated attack, and he's the only one whose hit points are sufficient to survive half its flame-blast. Will he make the saving roll? If he doesn't, he dies. Go!

The Crunch occurs when system-based strategy makes a big difference, either because the Fortune methods involved are predictable (e.g. probabilities on a single-die roll), or because effects are reliably additive or cancelling (e.g. Feats, spells). Gamist-heavy Champions play with powerful characters is very much about the Crunch. The villain's move occurs early in Phase 3; if the speed-guy saves his action from Phase 2 into Phase 3 to pre-empt that action, and if the brick-guy's punch late on Phase 3 can be enhanced first by the psionic-guy's augmenting power if he Pushes the power, then we can double-team the villain before he can kill the hostage.

The distinction between Gamble and Crunch isn't quite the same as "randomness;" it has more to do with options and consequences. Fortune can be involved in both of them, and it doesn't have to be involved in either.

Edwards has this to say about what might constitute success in an RPG:

So what constitutes "success" at the Step On Up and/or Challenge level during play? Is it the right to keep playing? Improving one's character's effectiveness, begging the question of what for? Getting some kind of "victory points"? The metagame/game relationship between these is phenomenally important. I think that, in Gamist play, the metagame-part is the key one - a completely informal Social Reward (e.g., "Killed more goblins than you!", even in a game-system which confers no consequence for doing so) can easily outweigh an in-game one.

Edwards’ essay also talks about some of the problems that can arise with gamism:

The core problem in Gamist dysfunction is not knowing what the Step On Up is actually about. […] The other, more extreme dysfunction arises from the player who is basically a poor sport, or, "the Wimp," which is unfortunately the most common dysfunctional Gamism.

Reading the essay, and reading a lot of talk from various RPG blogs and forums, reveals that a lot of people look negatively on gamism in RPGs. Edwards defends it as a valid element of roleplaying:

Some folks seem to think that Gamist play lacks variety, to which I say, "nonsense." Scrabble is "always the same," and it's fun; simple games do not mean simplistic, shallow, or easy. What matters is whether the strategy of the moment is fun. Well-designed, multiple-edged Step On Up activities with fully-developed competition are endlessly diverting and provide an excellent basis for friendship. Anyone who thinks that such things in role-playing necessarily cannot be fun and will necessarily destroy social interactions is badly mistaken

Ron Edwards ends his essay with this “hard question” about Simulationism:

Why is role-playing your chosen venue as a social hobby? There are lots and lots of them that unequivocally fit Step On Up with far less potential for encountering conflicting priorities: volleyball, chess, or pool, if you like the Crunch; horse races or Las Vegas if you like the Gamble; even organized amateur sports like competitive martial arts or sport fishing.

Do you play Gamist in role-playing because it doesn't hurt your ego as much as other venues might? Is role-playing safer in some way, in terms of the loss factor of Step On Up? Even more severely, are you sticking to role-playing because many fellow players subscribe to the "no one wins in role-playing" idea? Do you lurk like Grendel among a group of tolerant, perhaps discomfited Simulationists, secure that they are disinclined to Step On Up toward you? In which case, you can win against them or the game all the time, but they will never win against you?

So, here’s the short summary of what I got out of Ron Edwards’ essay:

Gamism is about a figurative “Step On Up!” call. The game presents a quantifiable challenge to the players, the player-characters, or both. Success and failure each have their own consequences. The fun comes from accepting the challenges, having something at stake, and making choices that have real consequences.

Competition may be a part of gamist play, but that doesn’t necessarily have to mean competition between players or between player-characters. Competition between PCs and NPCs is a valid form of gamism, but the challenge has to be real, not just a carefully orchestrated illusion set up by the GM.

In general, I think I prefer to have gamism in my board game and card game experiences, and keep my RPG experiences gamist-lite. I do, however, like the idea of players and PCs being given real challenges where their choices and strategies matter, and success or failure holds real consequences. I also don’t mind heavy gamism in RPGs that are designed to have short runs, such as my Dual of the Fates RPG (currently in beta-testing).

This is part 2 of a discussion I began last month. The object of this discussion is to help myself and those I role-play with get more out of our games.

In part 1 I talked about something called the GNS theory devised by a man named Ron Edwards. If you haven’t already, or need a refresher, you can read part 1 here. The basic gist of the article was that most people tend to gravitate towards one of 3 preferences for play, those being Gamism, Narrativism, or Simulationism.

I hope each of us will be able to get a better idea of what we enjoy about roleplaying, and what our friends enjoy about it. Once we know this, it can help in 2 ways. First, Game Masters will be able to better facilitate the kind of play that their players enjoy. Second, I hope it will encourage tolerance of other play styles. For example, if I enjoy Simulationism but the game is leaning heavily towards Gamism at the moment, at least I know that some of my friends enjoy that; and, hopefully, since the Game Master knows what I like too, some Sim play will be coming around soon.

Now, after my last article there was some further discussion offline that made me think I need to expound a little bit further on what each of these play styles involves. Ron Edwards wrote 3 more essays, each on one of these gaming agendas. Again, it can be difficult to wade through Ron Edwards essays, which are very wordy and full of jargon. So I’ve taken it upon myself to read through these and try to isolate some key points for you. I’ll start with his essay on Simulationism, since I think it could be the easiest to misunderstand. If you have the interest and the patience, you can read his full essay here. (If you want the really short summary, skip to the last 2 or 3 paragraphs of this article.)


In the beginning of the essay he makes these statements in the introduction, quoting his earlier essay about GNS and clarifying what he means by “Exploration”:

Simulationist role-playing has a great deal of power and potential. In the previous essay, I wrote that it "... is expressed by enhancing one or more of the listed elements [Character, Setting, Situation, System, Color]; in other words, Simulationism heightens and focuses Exploration as the priority of play. The players may be greatly concerned with the internal logic and experiential consistency of that Exploration."

Obviously the thing to do is to get as clear an understanding of "Exploration" as possible. It's our jargon term for imagining, "dreaming" if you will, about made-up characters in made-up situations. It's central to all role-playing, but in Simulationist play, it's the top priority.

So, Simulationist play is very much about immersing yourself in a “virtual world”, if you will. It’s about fleshing out an imaginary character and a fictional world in a meaningful way. Edwards makes this observation:

Simulationist play looks awfully strange to those who enjoy lots of metagame and overt social context during play.

“Metagaming” is basically shorthand for treating roleplaying as a game. Metagaming is essential in Gamism, where players discuss strategies out-of-character and create characters that are optimized for success. Metagaming is also essential in Narrativism, where players make a concerted effort to produce a story of critical merit. In Simulationism, metagaming is undesirable because it draws players out of the immersion in the characters and setting. Edwards expounds on this through these statements:

The key issues are shared love of the source material and sincerity. […] it's fun to see fellow players imagine what you are imagining, and vice versa. […] To the dedicated practitioner, such play is sincere to a degree that's lacking in heavy-metagame play […] Sincere shared creativity: all role-playing has to have it. For some, it's the whole point.

However, Edwards goes on to admit that metagaming cannot be completely avoided. Metagame discussion is appropriate if its aim is to further the exploration of the “virtual” characters and world, rather than to further a player agenda such as “winning” (Gamism) or storytelling (Narrativism).

Switching gears, Edwards next makes some specific observations about the contrasts between Simulationist play and Narrativist play. He uses the example of playing a samurai character, or any character with a similarly strict code of behavior, in two different games: Sorcerer (Narrativist) and GURPS (Simulationist). Basically, the point he makes is that in a Narrativist game, the purpose of playing such a character would be to tell a story in which your character will, sooner-or-later, be forced to break their code of conduct or somehow suffer for refusing to do so. What choice they make, and the consequences of that choice, are what create a story of critical merit. In a Simulationist game, the purpose of playing such a character would be that the code itself establishes, to some extent, your character’s role in the setting and the story.

He also points out that enjoying a particular thematic element of the game doesn’t necessarily constitute Narrativism over Simulationism, if it evolves naturally through play rather than being proactively developed.

For play really to be Simulationist, it can't lose the daydream quality: the pleasure in imagination as such, without agenda.

Ron Edwards ends his essay with this “hard question” about Simulationism:

Role-playing is a hobby, leisure activity. The real question is, what for, in the long term? For Simulationist play, the answer "This was fun, so let's do it again," is sufficient.

However, for how long is it sufficient? Which seems to me to vary greatly from person to person. Is the focus on Exploration to be kept as is, permanently, as characters and settings change through play? Some say "sure" and wonder what the [heck] I'm talking about, or perhaps feel slightly insulted. Or, is [a shift in agenda] ultimately desirable? Is play all about getting "it" to work prior to permitting overt metagame agendas into the picture? Some might answer "of course" and wonder why anyone could see it otherwise.

So! Is there an expected, future metagame payoff, or is the journey really its own reward? Is Simulationist play what you want, or is it what you think you must do in order, one day, to get what you want?

I judge nothing with these questions. I think that they're important to consider and that answers are going to vary widely, that's all.

So, in summary, here’s what I got out of Ron Edwards’ essay:

Simulationist play is about diving headlong into a “virtual” character and world, and having fun exploring those without concern for “winning” or telling a story with any special theme or moral. If your characters do manage to get ahead it’s only because that’s what they would naturally try to do in the setting, and if an incredible story does end up getting told it happens naturally and organically, not because anyone planned it that way. While this kind of play might seem a bit aimless, it possesses a certain daydream-like quality that allows the players to just run with the characters and the setting without any concern for overt metagaming agendas.

Honestly, I think I have the most experience with Simulationist gaming over any other style of roleplaying. Most mainstream RPGs seem to focus on this mode of play. I’d probably say I enjoy this mode of play a lot, though I don’t mind dabbling in the other 2 modes either. I especially wouldn’t mind trying out some more Narrativist games because I haven’t done much of that, and I think there could be some good potential for fun there.

Having played various role-playing games with a variety of people over the years, it’s obvious that not everyone has the same tastes and preferences when it comes to gaming. Most people seem to be looking for specific things when it comes to role-playing, rather they realize it or not. This can create tension or dissatisfaction when different people in the same role-playing group have different ideas of what constitutes fun. I’m writing this article (and one or more follow-up articles) with the purpose of exploring why we play role-playing games. I’m hoping that it will draw out some critical thinking and self reflection from my fellow role-players. By better understanding what we ourselves, and our friends, enjoy about role-playing, maybe we can build a better role-playing group in which all of us can get more enjoyment out of our games.

The first place I looked to for ideas on what to write in this article, is a web community called The Forge. On the forums there, a bunch of avid role-players and role-playing game designers really break down role-playing and make a science of the hobby. I’m not sure that such an analytical approach to role-playing is necessary, or even healthy, but some of their theories have a bearing on what I’m doing here.

In an article on The Forge, entitled “GNS and Other Matters of Role-playing Theory”, RPG designer Ron Edwards discusses, among other things, player agendas in role-playing. The article is very wordy, and features a near-doctorate level vocabulary, but if you have the patience to read the whole thing, I would recommend it. I’ll summarize some of the applicable points here.

Ron Edwards discusses something he calls GNS, which stands for Gamism, Narrativism, and Simulationism. Each of these is a term that refers to a specific mode of play which a particular player may especially enjoy. Saying that a particular player is “Gamist”, for example, just means that they typically enjoy playing in a way that involves Gamism. None of these modes of play is superior to any other, neither are they mutually exclusive. A player might enjoy a mix of play modes, but they will usually gravitate towards one over any other.

Now for an explanation of what these modes of play are:

Narrativism is expressed by the creation, via role-playing, of a story with a recognizable theme. The characters are formal protagonists in the classic Lit 101 sense, and the players are often considered co-authors. The characters, system, setting, situation, and flavor of the game provide the material for narrative conflict (again, in the specialized sense of literary analysis).

Some examples of Narrativist play might include:
Exploring the ethical ramifications of your character’s actions.
Cooperating with the other players to produce a story with real dramatic impact.

Simulationism heightens and focuses “exploration” (imagination in action, or the attention given the imagined elements) as the priority of play. The players may be greatly concerned with the internal logic and experiential consistency of their exploration of the characters, system, setting, situation, and flavor of the game.

Some examples of Simulationist play might include:
Exploring questions pertinent to the game itself, such as “What does it feel like to be an android?”, “What would it be like to fight in a war?”, “What are the nobility of this kingdom like, and how do they influence the fate of the world?”, etc.

Note that two or three of these modes of play may overlap in a particular instance of play. For example, beating the bad guys is obviously a Gamist agenda, but the act or methods of doing so may also move the plot forward in a meaningful way (Narrativism), or shed some new light on the game world (Simulationism).

Remember that, as I’ve pointed out before, these modes of play are also not mutually exclusive. Just because you enjoy beating the bad guys doesn’t mean that you aren’t interested in the story, or in exploring the game world. And just because you’re after a good story doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy besting a rival or an enemy.

Myself, I think I enjoy a variety of modes of play, but I seem to tend to gravitate towards Simulationism. I like to have a rules-system with enough detail to support my character concept in a way that makes them distinct, and outlines their specific quirks and abilities. I also like to really get inside my character’s skin and try to explore both him and his surroundings. As a GM, I love tinkering with the rules and preparing game sessions that will introduce the players to interesting aspects of the game’s setting.

So, please participate by giving this article a careful reading and giving me some feedback on it. What do you think of the GNS model? What do you think of the different modes of play? Is there one that you think you primarily enjoy? Any that you don’t particularly care for? Let me know!

Gareth and I missed playing "Times Forgotten" campaign of the Mutants and Masterminds RPG last week, but we finally played out Issue #3 this morning. Issue #3 will be called "Battle in the Web of Darkness" because that's pretty much what it was about. It was a fairly short game, and it basically involved just a single fight scene.


In the last issue, Claas and Lynn were exploring the dungeons underneath Kingstown's massive cathedral. Issue #2 ended with them opening a door into a darker section of the dungeons where the ceilings, walls, and floor were covered in giant black spider webs. As Issue #3 begins, Claas and Lynn delve further into the darkness. Eventually they reach a place where the corridor splits. To the left, they hear the sounds of someone crying out. To the right, they hear the sounds of heavy machinery operating some ways away.

Claas and Lynn choose to go left, looking for Lynn's brother Larry. After traveling down another corridor, they arrive at a large open chamber. Pillars support a high ceiling. Across from the entrance they came in through there is another passageway, and there is a tunnel leading upwards through the ceiling. The chamber is covered in the same dark webs as the corridors, and littered with various medieval torture devices. On the far side of the room they spot Larry. His arms and legs are chained and he's held in a large water tank, with only his head above the water. The water boils around him as he tries in vain to use his powers, and he calls out for help.

Lynn immediately rushes to her brother's aid, but Claas takes a more careful approach, hiding behind a pillar and examining the chamber more carefully. He spots a shadowy figure descending through the tunnel in the ceiling, creeping along the dark spider webs. Claas grabs a couple of torches of the walls and uses his time-slowing run to move along the edges of the chamber, setting fire to the webs on the walls as he goes. Battle quickly ensues, as the shadowy figure on the ceiling moves towards Lynn and Larry, and three hounds come charging out of the other entrance to attack the intruders.

The shadowy figure can soon be identified as a man in black robes, bearing the same symbol that has been seen all over the cathedral, and also appears as the pendant on the necklace Claas wears. From his perch on the ceiling, this mysterious villain begins spraying black webbing at Lynn and Larry, threatening to entangle them. As Lynn struggles against the webbing to release her brother from the water tank, the man drops from the ceiling to inflict a venomous bite on her.

Meanwhile, the hounds chase Claas around the chamber until he comes to Lynn and Larry's aid. Lynn manages to drain the water from the tank Larry is in, allowing him to use his fiery powers. He begins hurling balls of fire at the hounds and their master, and engulfs his body in flames, frightening one of the hounds away. While Claas battles with the spidery villain, his fist begins to crackle with blue energy again. A final blow knocks the man prone, rendering him unconscious and dying with blue energy crackling across his chest where he received the hit.

Claas says that he believes there is more going on in this cathedral than is obvious, and wants to investigate things further, but Lynn and Larry just want to return to their own time. They begin to retreat towards the entrance. To be continued...


So, as you can see, the game basically consisted of one big boss battle. I was pleased that, in spite of this, Gareth said he still didn't get bored. I always worry that combat might become drawn out, but Gareth made things interesting by finding creative things for his character to do in combat. The only thing that disappointed me a little, was that I gave Gareth an opportunity to discover another one of Claas' powers, but he let the opportunity slip by. Oh well, all of his powers will come out eventually, it's just a matter of time.

I have to say that I'm a bit frustrated with how some of the characters' powers work in Mutants and Masterminds. Some of them just seem needlessly complicated. One power, for example, requires that the person using it roll to see if they aimed properly, then the target character must roll to see if they can minimize they effects of the power, and then the target character rolls again to see how much damage they take. It's hard to remember all of that. I practically need a flowchart just to make sense of it, and it seems like it ought to be able to be reduced to just a single die roll. Probably between now and the next time we play, I'll try to see if I can rework some of the powers so that they're more streamlined in how they function.