Character Creation: Trail of Cthulhu

I think it'd be a trail of saltwater and eyeballs.

The Game: Trail of Cthulhu
The publisher: Pelgrane Press
Degree of familiarity: None. Just read the book is all. Oh, and I've played a lot of Arkham Horror.
Books required: Just the Trail of Cthulhu book. 

 

See what I did there?

Anyway, on we go. First thing I should do is talk to the Keeper, but I ain't got one.

So I go on to choosing an Occupation. There's a handy list in the book.

It's very tempting to make an alienist. I read the novel of the same name (by Caleb Carr, and I highly recommend it), and one of the things I really liked was how the investigators were trying things that didn't work because they were experimental and untested (like the whole "last thing a dead dude sees is burned into the eyeball," which shows up in Wild Wild West and is probably the least absurd thing in the movie). But I don't want to make a character too much like the one in the novel.

Hmm. I like the idea of a man from Vienna who did some work wit Freud. The game is set mid 1930s; Freud and his family left Vienna for London in 1938 due to persecution from the Nazis. My character left before that, when Hitler came to power in 1933. He asked Freud to come to America with him, but Freud had family ties, not to mention health issues, keeping him in Europe.

My character, Doctor Ludwig Fuchs, came to America in 1933, and went back to his research. Never comfortable with face-to-face conversations, he is better able to size up a person when observing their interactions with others. As such, his initial idea was to treat mental disorders by employing others to do the actual talking and coaxing information from patients, while he would handle the analysis. He's had trouble getting that started, however.

OK, moving on, I do Drive. This is what motivates Ludwig to investigate the Mythos, once it comes to that. It'd be easy to say that he wants to the know the truth about the deep dark fears of the human psyche, blah blah. But honestly, the bit I keep coming back to is that he saw something bad on the horizon when Adolf Hitler rose to power, and it's that fear and fatalism that I see driving him. There's not really a Drive like that among those listed in the book, so I'm going to call it a nuanced form of Duty - it's not that Ludwig wants to know, it's that he figures someone should.

Now I spend build points on my Abilities. How many points I get for Investigative skills varies based on how many people are in the group. If I were to play this game, odds are there would be at least four players, so let's assume that. That gives me 16 points for Investigative skills and 65 for General Abilities. My Occupational Abilities cost half what other Abilities do. I note those, and I get to pick two Interpersonal Abilities to be Occupational for me. I pick Oral History and Bureaucracy.

OK, let's do Investigative first. The book says it's better to spread out points than hyper-specialize, and I'll believe it. I put one point into Language, making me fluent in English and Latin (and my native German); actually, I'll put one point more in and assume I speak French and Greek, too. I'll put two points each into Oral History, Medicine, Assess Honesty, Biology. I put one point into Library Use, Bureaucracy (those get ratings of 2 because they're Occupational), Anthropology, History, Occult and Interrogation.

Now General Abilities. These are different; instead of getting a pool of points based on the rating, I'll actually be rolling on these traits. So, what've we got?

I put 6 points into Psychoanalysis for a rating of 12. I'll put 5 into Athletics (nice to be able to climb into unholy caverns safely), 8 into First Aid (for dressing wounds), 6 into Fleeing (duh), 9 into Health (I picture Ludwig as a pretty hardy guy), 8 into Sanity and 10 into Stability (just in case I feel like learning magic whee-hoo-hoo!), 3 into Scuffling (not a fighter, but he's got one good punch in him), 8 into Sense Trouble and 2 into Shadowing.

Now I define my Pillars of Sanity. I get one for every 3 full points in Sanity, which gives me 4 (I start with 4 points of Sanity and I added 8). I choose value of intellect (the world is valuable to us only insofar as we can understand it), scientific reality (which we can), human strength and decency (although we're then obliged to use that knowledge correctly and for the good of mankind), and the quest of knowledge (and this cycle repeats).

I also get three Sources of Stability. These are people that help me get through my experiences. You know, fuck it. I'm naming Freud as one. We still write letters back and forth to each other (though I know that Freud dies in 1939 of a morphine overdose, administered by a friend to end his pain; cancer, you see). I'll name a local sanitarium administrator, Dr. Stanley Weiss as a close friend; I knew his family in Vienna. And, finally, I play chess with a strange fellow named Spiro down by the docks. He doesn't speak English, but Ludwig knows enough Greek to talk with him, and he's been all over the world and has a million stories.

And that actually finishes me up. I think playing Ludwig would be fun; he'd encourage the other characters to actually do the talking and then spend Oral History and Assess Honesty to form a profile of them. And, of course, there's the whole "Freud's pen pal" thing, which I kind of like.

Single Serving Adventures

As I get older, I find myself relying on printed material more when running games. I suspect that’s because I’ve only got so many hours in a day, and I can’t devote as many of them to creating chronicles whole cloth the way I used to. That’s fine, because most games have more than enough information to play them for years without ever resorting to making up a thing. In particular, most games have pre-written stories (also called adventures, scenarios or modules) that GMs can run for their groups.

You can’t usually just pick one of those stories up and plug it right into your game, though. There’s definitely a certain amount of skill that goes with running such stories, and in this essay, we’re going to discuss the tips and tricks of doing so.

First Step: Know the Material

If you’re considering running a scenario for your group, the first thing you need to do is read it in its entirety. Read all of the characters and their statistics (if provided), look over the maps, read through the descriptions of the rooms or the events and make sure you understand what the story is about. If the scenario references books or rules you haven’t read in a while, go back and re-familiarize yourself with them.

The reasons for this scrutiny should be pretty clear. For one thing, if there are mistakes in the scenario, either in the rules portions (it’s not uncommon for writers of scenarios to be a little fuzzy on the system parts of the game, so make sure that the numbers make sense) or in the events of the story (plot holes happen, after all), you’ll want to know about them ahead of time so you can correct them.

More importantly, though, you need to figure out if this scenario would work for your group and your chronicle. Some scenarios are meant for beginning characters or, in some cases (such as the demos for Vampire: The Requiem, Werewolf: The Forsaken and Mage: The Awakening) for a specific group of characters. In games that work on a level system, scenarios are usually labeled as being appropriate for characters “of 4^th to 6^th level” or the like, but in games without such yardsticks, you often just have to read the scenario and go from there.

Sometimes the tone or content of the scenario is completely wrong for your purposes, too. The very first book I wrote for White Wolf was Giovanni Chronicles IV: Nuovo Malattia for Vampire: The Masquerade. It included some adult subject matter, asking the characters to procure prostitutes, commit murder and undertake all manner of unseemly actions (and that was before they became vampires). Even a group accustomed to the blood, violence and torment that Vampire can include might balk at some of the material in that book. Likewise, if your players like to throw down, as it were, and the scenario doesn’t include any winnable combat, you need to be aware of it.

Second Step: Customize, Customize, Customize

I’ve run a great number of pre-written scenarios in various RPGs over the years, but I don’t think I’ve run a single one of them without making a few changes. Sometimes it’s just a matter of tweaking a character or two so that they fit better into what I’ve already established, other times I’ve excised whole portions of the scenario because I had my own ideas about where the story should go. After you’ve read and digested the scenario, be willing to pull it apart and put it back together in a form that works for you and your group.

One important point of customization is making the story your own (and by “your own” I mean the entire gaming group, not just the GM’s). That means that if the scenario includes a slimy informant that the characters need to shake down for information and one of the characters in your existing chronicle already has such a contact — wonderful! Use the existing contact in place of the character in the scenario. Some pre-written games actually abstain from detailing non-essential characters, simply mentioning a “leader” or “lawmaker” so that the Storyteller can customize freely.

Customization also has the advantage of preventing a player who has read the scenario from automatically knowing everything that is going on. I personally can’t imagine what benefit there is to reading a scenario before participating in it as a player, but some players become stuck on “winning” the game (which is, as you probably know, not possible in any conventional sense in an RPG).

That said, however, I don’t advocate changing details in a pre-written game solely to “make it different from the book.” If there’s no real reason to alter the material…don’t. Don’t be resistant to the players’ changes to the scenario (because, of course, no game survives contact with the players), but don’t feel the need to change things around pointlessly. I’ve met game-masters who feel lazy or cheap using pre-written scenarios as written. I even endured jibes from a player when I used printed material at all, rather than writing my own games (although she quieted when I pointed out that I’d developed much of the material originally anyway). But using printed material in an attempt to save time and effort is a perfectly acceptable reason for doing so, especially if that material is well-written and appropriate for you game. As the saying goes: If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.

As an expansion on that last point, be careful about pulling the rug out from the under the players, if they have expectations going in. What I mean by that is, if the players have created their own characters, they have a sense of what those characters can do and probably have plans. They might look forward to casting a particular spell or using a particular maneuver or power, or they might just be interested in some aspect of the game. If you turn around and alter things in the game so as to make that power useless or that aspect absent, you might wind up cheating your players.

By way of example, I ran a one-shot game of Necessary Evil, a setting for the Savage Worlds system (you can learn more about Necessary Evil here, and about the game I ran here). The book includes a whole chronicle, not just one adventure, and so I picked the one I liked the best to use as the one-shot. It involved breaking into a dead supervillain's lab, and the way the game was written, it would have involved the characters shrinking down to ant-size to get in to the miniaturized lab. Nothing wrong with that, very in-genre, and if I'd been running the whole chronicle, I'd have used it as written. But for a one-shot, I felt that dumping the players into that situation wouldn't fit their expectations of the game, and that it would detract from the overall feel I was going for. I might be wrong about that, but I figured it was better to be safe than sorry (and anyway, it wasn't a hard fix; the mutated fire-ants just became giant mutated fire ants!).

Third Step: Rehearse

Many scenarios include blocks of text with instructions to read them aloud to the players. Even those that don’t have these helpful sections still include descriptions of rooms, characters and situations that the GM can simply read out of the text. It’s beneficial to read such sections ahead of time, making sure you understand the material being presented and how to pronounce and define all of the terms used, and, of course, checking to see if you want to change any of the details. Reading directly from the page with no rehearsal (what’s called “cold reading” in theatrical terms) is difficult even with training in public speaking. It’s easy to stumble over words, slip into monotone and generally lose your players. The best course of action is to absorb the information that you need to convey and present it in your own words, using natural speech and pausing to see if your players want to ask or do anything during the description.

Expanding further on that last point, another part of the rehearsal (and even the customization) phase is making sure that “cutscenes” (sections during which you’re reading and the players are listening) make sense. If the characters are expected to sit through a long section of dialogue, what’s to stop them from interrupting, or leaving, for that matter? If the characters are slaves on a ship and the scenario assumes that they have been for some weeks, what stopped the sorcerer from magically lifting the keys? This all goes back to knowing the material, but taking the time read aloud pertinent sections of the text will bring to your attention details that you otherwise might have missed, and allow you to make sure that your players’ characters actually fit into the scenario as presented. It would be intuitive to think that all pre-written scenarios are playtested with a group of real gamers, and such kinks worked out (or at least addressed) before the game is sent to press…but that’s not what really happens. Some scenarios are playtested, but other times deadlines intrude, and some game writers don’t actually play RPGs (which still wierds me out). As such, don’t take for granted that the scenario you’re reading will naturally work itself out. Take the time to read it and look for plot holes.

Likewise, take time to consider how your players might approach the problems in the scenario and decide whether you need to change anything based upon that assessment. For instance, if your players have a habit of jumping at plot hooks without bothering to do any investigation, a game rife with red herrings is probably going to be laborious because they’ll pursue any apparent lead. A group that shoots first and asks questions later probably won’t do well in a scenario in which the opponents are all high-powered and bloodthirsty. This doesn’t mean you can’t use the scenario, it just means you have to do some tweaking. In the first instance, trim the red herrings down and make sure that any lead the players can follow serves a purpose in the greater scheme of the plot, or at least has some interest to the characters and might merit revisiting later. In the second, you might consider having the characters hear rumors of how other people have been slaughtered to a man by the fearsome Death-Bears (or whatever), or better yet, have them witness themselves being thusly slaughtered in a portent or vision of the future.

Running the Game

When you actually sit down to begin the scenario, consider how you’ll bring the characters into it. Some scenarios, like the aforementioned “slave ship” situation, have a prearranged beginning point…which might not work for your chronicle. If you’re beginning a chronicle with a pre-written scenario, such an opening can actually be helpful (because pulling a group together is difficult, as discussed in this essay). But if you’re working the scenario in your ongoing chronicle, you’ll have to do some spackling to make sure it fits. A good method for building up to the scenario is to work NPCs from the scenario into your chronicle before the main action start. For instance, if the scenario requires the characters to converse with a morally shady sorcerer, seed some rumors about this person in an unrelated story or have the characters meet him on neutral turf. That way they have some history together, even if it’s just a brief exchange, and you’ve got some practice portraying him.

This is true of the end of the scenario, too. Some scenarios include an “Aftermath” section that discusses what future ramifications the game might have on the world at large, but not all do, and none of them are written with your chronicle specifically in mind. It’s easy for scenarios to feel like sitcoms — at the end, everything is back to normal. That probably isn’t the feel that you want, though, unless your chronicle is meant to have a TV-episode vibe to it. Consider how the events of the scenario are going to change your chronicle, and whether or not you want those changes.

Something to consider is how linear the scenario is. That is, how many different methods can the characters use to get from one plot point to the next? If they need to get through a magic portal to continue with the game, does that portal have more than one key? Can a magic-using character cast a spell to open it? If the pathway through the scenario is too rigidly defined, you’ll have to exert a great deal of control over the characters and their actions in order to keep the game on track, and that feels constrictive and frustrating to the players. The option, though, is to allow things to veer wildly off course, moving away from the plot of the scenario and letting the story evolve on its own.

If you’ve read my other essays, you can probably guess how I feel about that latter course of action. If the players are having fun, if their actions are guiding the plot and they are interested in what their characters are doing, go with it. If you can steer the action back to the scenario’s plot later, fine, but if not, remember the goal (to have fun and tell a compelling story).

Player Issues

I mentioned before that some players don’t like pre-written scenarios or feel that the GM is being lazy by using them. I disagree; scenarios are tools for the GM, and so we’re perfectly justified in using them. The key is to make them work within the chronicle, rather than letting the chronicles themes, tones and history take a backseat to what a book says. What specifically can the GM do to make the players feel as though the story is still about their characters, even when it was written by a total stranger?

• Know the characters. Good advice for GMs in general, but especially appropriate here. If a character is arachnophobic, maybe that encounter with giant spiders isn’t such a great idea (then again, maybe it’s ideal — depends what game effect the phobia has in your chosen system). If a character is married or has a strong love interest, supernatural seduction takes on a quite different tone than for a swinging single.

• Don’t bury your nose in the book. Know the material, know the twists and turns of the plot, know where the stats are and know what comes next. If the players see you reading right out of the book, their eyes will glaze over and they’ll lose interest. I said before that using pre-scenarios is not laziness, but using them in lieu of preparation is. That said, if you're running a system for the first time, of course you're going to be checking rules a little more, and everyone should know that up front.

• Decide on alternate endings. If the scenario is written with the assumption that the good guys (or at least the players’ characters) will prevail, is it even feasible that they might not? If the players make some really bad decisions or suffer a run of bad dice-luck, can you help them salvage victory without relying on NPCs or GM fiat? (This is one reason I’m leery of running stories with world-shattering consequences; if the players screw up in a story in which only their lives or the lives of those close to them are at stake, the world doesn’t change drastically and the outcome matters more to them, to boot.) Figure out ahead of time how things might turn out, and be ready to veer off the beaten path if an outcome not in the book would be more true to your players’ characters.

• Work with the bookworms. Suppose a player has already read the scenario. You could exclude that player (bad idea), you could rewrite the game so that he doesn’t know the details anymore (OK, but unnecessary and a lot of work for you), or you could enlist his help. He might know what’s going on behind the scenes, and he might know which wire to cut (so to speak), but he doesn’t know how the other players will react and he doesn’t know what the dice will do, so there are always some unknown elements. Plus, this puts a player with a good sense of being Conscious in the position to nudge the plot along if it gets bogged down or starts to wander.

• Take notes. You know what might happen, because it’s there in the book. Jot down what does happen. Note how the characters react to NPCs. Heck, note differences in how they’re portrayed in the book and how you played them. Write down what your players did and how it changed the world (on whatever scale). This is good policy for Storytelling in general, but especially with pre-written scenarios, since reading the book as a reminder can be misleading.

In closing, pre-written scenarios can be an overworked GM’s best friend. Even if you can’t just crack the book and run a game, having a plot and supporting cast lightens the load considerably. Just know that it doesn’t take all the work off your shoulders, and you (and the players) are ultimately still responsible for making your own fun.

Character Creation: Midway City

Nyah, see?

The Game: Midway City
The publisher: Z-Man Games
Degree of familiarity: None. I've read the book, that's about it.
Books required: The Midway City book, which I got from Andrea. She got multiple copies in a grab bag of RPGs she bought.

 
Well, let's get to it.

Step One: Character Concept. One of my first choices is race. I can play a human, a blank (artificial people bred for labor), a flip (a mutant), a Kyrhee (the aforementioned bizarrely Asian aliens) or a Gazer (a human/Kyrhee hybrid).

OK, I don't want to play a Kyrhee or a Gazer, because I find them a little annoying. How about we make a flip? Flips live in their own section of the city, pretty much, and are very big on family (and yes, that means they're mobbed up). I think I want to play a flip from a Mob family, but who tried to go straight. He tried to take a job that put him in contact with humans and Blanks and so on, and go treated like a freak. He's not in good with either his family or anyone else just at the moment, a down-on-his-luck flip who's just looking for any break he can get. Sounds noir enough for me.

Step Two: Perks & Traits. There are 30 traits, that look a lot like skills. I start with 30 points, and I've got a rating of 0 in all of the Easy traits and -3 in the Hard ones (0 is about average). So what would I like to be good at?

Well, my flip is from a tough family, so he learned how to fight (Brawling) and how to shoot (Gats). He can drive when necessary (Driving), and he's pretty smooth (Finesse). I think I'll some in Knowledge. Literacy, sure, Moxie, definitely, Perception, Etiquette, Streetwise. Let's see what that looks like.

Brawling 2
Gats 2
Driving 1
Finesse 4
Knowledge 2
Literacy 3
Moxie 5
Perception 3
Etiquette 3
Survival 2
Streetwise 3

I could, if I'd like, lower other traits to give myself more points, but eh. This looks good for now. I would buy Perks from the same pool of points, but none of them interest me much.

Step Three: Sugar. "Sugar" may be one of the weirdest names for a game stat I've ever heard. Anyway, it's kind of the drama point/fate point mechanic. I start with 2 points.

Step Four: Hooks. As in, plot hooks, for the GM (called a "Narrator" in this game) to use to get me into the action. OK. I can pull 'em off a list or make some up. I have some ideas. Hooks have the game effect of giving me Sugar (baby) when they come into play, rather like Flaws in NWoD or, in a way, aspects in Spirit of the Century. And I like that system, yes I do.

I can have up to three hooks. I'll take Stigma (he's a Flip, and it's caused him some problems in the past). My next hook I'll call Black Sheep (he's kind of spurned his family, and when that closes doors with other Flips or mobsters he gains Sugar). And then I'll take Nemesis. When he worked in the central district among all the swells, he pissed someone off. He doesn't know that he did it, but he did. I see this as being kind of a "Martin Blank kills the dog" kind of scenario - it's not really worth the effort that the nemesis is going to put in, but it's still going to make my guy's life very hard.

Step Five: Starting Money and Purchases. Am I the only one who really doesn't enjoy spending money for characters? Any, I start with $50 in my pocket. I can't even afford the Poor cost of living, and that makes me homeless. Sod that. I'll go back and lower my Stealth to -1; my character just isn't very good at staying hidden, that's part of his problem. I'll bump my Numbers up to 1, which means I now have $100. I can afford the Poor cost of living ($75), and I've got $25 left over. I'll spend $5 on a set of brass knuckles and pocket the other $20 for now.

Step Six: Finishing Touches. Here's where I get to pick flips and flops. Flips are positive mutations, while flops are...not. They all have point values and they need to balance out (or else I either get the difference in trait points or pay the difference in trait points, which I don't have). Let's do flops first.

I'll take Burnout. Now, that means I make a Moxie roll when things get stressful or I pass out in a fit. This might seem like I'm gaming the system (note how high my Moxie is), but I figure it's because he's always had these problems that his Moxie is so high. His will is nigh-unshakable, but that's a pretty important "nigh." I'll take Decreased Trait, lowering my Stealth to -2 but getting me 2 more points. My character's skin shimmers slightly, and his fingernails and teeth glow with even the slightest amount of light present (like under a blacklight, you see). That gives me four points to play with.

What the hell, I'll take Wings. My guy can fly at twice his walking pace (so not fast, but being able to fly is awesome). He can't keep it up for long. I think his wings are patagia, rather than actual wings; he has to take off, or at least open, his shirt to use them. He's embarrassed by them, but they do come in handy.

For the remaining point, I'll put it into the Sense of Direction perk. He always knows which way is downtown.

Now I think about appearance and other details. His name is Nevin the Sparrow. Nevin grew up in a family peripherally related to Snake Eyes DiCarlo (a notorious mobster). When he learned to fly, the family figured he'd make a great scout, maybe even assassin, but Nevin wanted none of it. He wanted to go to the central district and be somebody.

But wherever he went, he was Nevin the Sparrow. Poor, skinny, ugly, hunched-over, Nevin. And no one really liked him or respected him. Too late, he realized he could have been respected if he'd stuck to his own kind, but he felt he should be allowed to make his own way. But after getting arrested for vagrancy (again) he went back to the family. He's still useful, but the DiCarlo family doesn't forget a slight, and they don't give him any respect or pay him much mind until it's time to have Nevin swoop in and check things out.

But Nevin the Sparrow is stubborn and patient. And he knows his way around Midway City. He'll find some way to get noticed, oh yes, he will. 

What Makes a Beautiful Player? (Part 4)

We all have goals, and so should well thought-out characters. A character’s goal may range from revenge to domination to leading a normal life, but players don’t always define those goals well enough to pursue them.

A player with Initiative, however, does. These are the players that start trouble among NPCs, that organize raiding parties on the villains: in short, players that are pro-active. Quite a lot of players react; they wait for a situation to present itself or an adversary to act against them. Players with Initiative (the adjectival form would be Initial, I suppose, but that’s a bit much!) don’t wait. They create the situations, in so doing, do much of the Storyteller’s work for them.

As such, it’s a matter of opinion as whether or not Initiative constitutes one of the traits of the Beautiful Player. Some Storytellers like to keep a firm grasp over the plotline of the story and it annoys them when the player come up with their own machinations that matter more than the presented story. I’d like to remind such Storytellers that the point is to have a good time, and if the players are having fun and agreeing on a course of action, you are doing your job by encouraging it. So what if your ingenious and sinister plotline gets thrown by the wayside? Save it, spruce it up and serve it later. Reward the players’ Initiative.

Pro-active players are often the ones that have been gaming a while. They create characters who have agendas and follow those agendas, sometimes to the exclusion of all else. For some Storytellers, who run character-driven games and keep their plotlines loose, this can be a godsend. For others who run a tighter ship and have intricate stories that require the characters to stay focused on what’s presented them, it can be a nightmare.

A player with an agenda will analyze everything the group comes across in terms of that agenda (not unlike real people with agendas). Keep this in mind - you are fully justified, as the Storyteller, in exploiting a character’s drive to achieve his/her agenda. A driven character (and said character’s player) may let little inconsistencies slip by her if she’s focused too much on the proverbial brass ring. That kind of oversight can be the source of some great role-playing later when said oversight causes the Big Plan to fail - or causes all kinds of other problems but aids the Big Plan. At what cost success?

Initiative can apply to situations as well as entire stories, of course. A player who acts as leader in a group (pack alpha in Werewolf: The Apocalypse, for example) is probably someone who inspires the others. She must be perceptive enough to recognize each other characters for their talents and capabilities and decisive enough to utilize those talents. A player with Initiative is often one of those rare individuals who can give out orders and make them sound like suggestions (because while characters may understand the need for a chain of command, players rarely enjoy being ordered around). A Clever player may decide on the strategy before the assault, but it’s the player with Initiative who assumes command when the dust starts flying.

The differences between Cleverness and Initiative are subtle but distinct. A Clever player enjoys problem solving, but a pro-active player cares more for the results than the process. The Machiavellian world of Vampire: The Requiem and the survival-horror milieu of All Flesh Must Be Eaten reward Initiative - those with the courage to act are noticed and rewarded. Those who flinch fade away (or are devoured, in the latter case).

One of the big advantages to having Initiative-laden players around is that they will pick up on your hints and act on them. With such a player in your group, you won’t have to do much prodding to get someone to suggest investigations; the player’s Initiative will provide the motivation. Likewise, this is usually the player to whom you’ll have an NPC make a suggestion or confess a secret to - the player who will take the bait and look deeper. Oftentimes, the player does this out of a desire to find out the plot of the game, and is therefore helping said plot along by investigation (which overlaps a bit with Consciousness, of course).

A pro-active player doesn’t always concern herself with foresight, however. Throw a clue to such a player and she’ll pursue it, sometimes putting her character at risk. Such players’ characters are great stalking horses because they’re easy to lure, but don’t rely on that. If the character picks up on a clue in a way you hadn’t anticipated (an NPC is seen as dangerous rather than intriguing, for example), she may act in ways that derail your plot. Again, about the only thing you can do is be ready.

When a player makes it obvious that she will investigate any clue the Storyteller provides, the temptation arises to exploit that tendency mercilessly and lead the character into all kinds of bad situations. Resist the temptation…to do it too much. Using Initiative as a plot hook works once or twice, but after the fifth time that peeking around a corner after a shadow has resulted in sudden ambush, the character will stop peeking (and her character will stop picking up your cues). Then, you’ve lost a pro-active player, and that definitely is a loss.

Do you take the Initiative?

• Are you the official or unofficial leader of your group?

• Does your character description include words like “curious” and “inquisitive”?

• Do you take notes?

• Does your character often try to stir up trouble for the ruling classes?

• Have you ever uttered a phrase like “Viva la Revalución!” in character?

• Has the Storyteller ever given you OOC information because she knew you’d do the right thing with it?

If you answered “yes” to any or all of these questions, you’re probably quite pro-active.

As you can probably guess, any given gamer is capable of being a Beautiful Player, given time, guidance, and the right circumstances. The “example” players above fit any number of players I’ve had the privilege of knowing over the years, and of course a player’s comparative “stats” can vary greatly from game to game. Also, some stats are more important in some games that in others (you can be as Clever as you like in Paranoia, but you aren’t getting any breaks!).

The overriding theme here, as you may have noticed, is for players to be aware of the game and the group around them. The best moments in gaming, as any “vet” will tell you, are when the group functions well together, and the players leave feeling they all accomplished something. It’s at moments like that when you have not a group of Beautiful Players, but a Beautiful Group of Players.

What Makes a Beautiful Player? (Part 3)

Appearance, or What? I’m Only Three Hours Early!

I’ve long been plagued by non-punctual gamers. I had given it up as a regrettable, if necessary corollary to gaming: people just can get to the game on time. It always starts an hour later than the “official” start time.

Then, I moved to Cleveland, and started a new gaming group. The first few times we met, I tried to make it clear that because we were playing on a Tuesday (school night for some of the players) and because a couple of players had to leave at certain times (work, curfew, etc.) I wanted people there by six. That didn’t seem to help much; I had a couple of problem players who showed up a half hour late consistently. By the third week, I was annoyed, so I took them aside and explained that I was serious about running this game and that if they were serious about playing in it, they would show up on time or at least call if they couldn’t.

They showed up early from then on. I love it when people pay attention.

Appearance has nothing to do with how a gamer looks (mostly, it doesn’t, but we’ll get to that). It has to do with putting in an appearance. An Apparent player shows up on time, with all the necessary accouterments: his/her notebook, a pencil (they disappear real quick around my place), and dice in hand, ready to play. It all goes back to the gaming group being a commitment, and respecting that.

Are there acceptable reasons to be late or to miss a game? Of course, and even the most Apparent player will run afoul of these things sometimes. However, whereas a non-Apparent player won’t call, or waits until the last possible minute to do so, an Apparent player calls as soon as a crisis emerges, so that the Storyteller can compensate. An Apparent player realizes that the Storyteller should never have to play a player’s character because the player didn’t show and the character is too important to sideline. I commonly cancel games or run one-shots instead of the planned game because of one last-minute no-show, just because the missing character was that important to the plot. I have also given characters fates far worse than they deserved because their players weren’t there to save them. (Vengeful, yes, but it’s therapeutic, and even death’s reversible in some games.)

So, showing up, as Minnie Driver says in Grosse Point Blank, is a good start. But there’s more to the Apparent player than simple physical presence. The Apparent player considers the feelings and preferences of the group and tries to work within them.

For example: I hate cigarettes. Anyone who knows me also knows that I’m a total psycho about smokers. I have bad habits, too, and I do unhealthy things to my body, but the difference is that what I do won’t give anybody else health problems. You may smoke, but if even one gamer in your group doesn’t, you should respect her wishes. It is not disrespectful or inconsiderate for a non-smoker to ask a smoker to go elsewhere to indulge; it is inconsiderate for the smoker to do so.

That in mind, the Apparent player does not show up smoking and expect to be let in, if the rules of the house prohibit indoor smoking. Players who smoke should also wait until their characters are not immediately involved in the action or until a break in the game to trot outside to smoke. And, once outside, they should pick up their leavings and throw them away, not leave butts all over the place. Eww.

The Apparent player also knows how to abide by house rules. By “house rules” I don’t mean rules of the game (though that’s a consideration, too) but literal rules of the house. If the Storyteller doesn’t want the player drinking alcohol during the game, the players need to abide by that. If there are players in the group who are underage, this shouldn’t even be an issue. This principle also applies to other mind-altering substances; the Apparent player not only shows up on time for games, but shows up sober, or at least able to function. I knew a fellow who routinely showed up to our games high; I didn't notice until he mentioned it. It's great if you can do that. I can't, I'm a total lightweight, so I don't alter my brain chemistry with anything but coffee during games.

Apparent players must also be aware of their general appearance. I’m not referring to physical beauty or attractiveness, of course. By appearance I mean silly things like hygiene. One of the unpleasant stereotypes about gamers is that they are plump men who don’t bathe and wear the same clothes day in and day out. The Apparent player breaks that stereotype over his knee. Show up for games clean, and using the proper tools of personal cleanliness (toothbrush, deodorant and so forth. And before the female gamers reading this get too smug, I’ll gently mention that the only instance in which I actually had to speak to a player about this involved a female player. I won’t get into detail, but you can probably figure it out).

On the subject of physical appearance, one last note should be made. A lot of younger gamers live with their families, and that might mean that gaming night is held in mom’s basement under her good graces. I was fortunate in that I have parents who didn’t regard gaming as a demonic act and were kind enough to buy us pizza or cook for us quite a lot. However, the Apparent player understands that sometimes parents get freaked out easily and that means that weirdness sometimes needs to get curbed. That can mean not dressing like a total gothed-out freak, going easy on the makeup, turning a piercing so it isn’t visible, and choosing one’s T-shirt with care. It can also mean being careful with language, both in terms of profanity and subject matter. Rant all you want about how folks can be closed-minded and how they don’t understand about gaming but in the end, respect the people to whom the house belongs and try not to offend them. (This is especially true if they happen to be your parents!)

Sometimes, players get a little too zealous. This drives them to show up early (anything more than about 20 to 30 minutes before the established time should merit a phone call), or bring guests along to play or watch.

Some Storytellers might have issues with uninvited guests showing up. I don’t mind so much as long as they abide by my rule for “gaming voyeurs” - which is, simply put, “Stay out of the way and shut up.” If you want to bring a friend along to the game to watch, ask them to bring a book or some homework, in case they get bored. Make sure they understand that you won’t be able to explain everything to them right then, as you’ll be involved in the game. You should probably make sure that the Storyteller doesn’t have a problem with an audience, if for no other reason than it might require an extra chair.

If, however, you want to bring a friend and actually have them play in the game, you must clear it with the Storyteller first. Some games are loose enough to allow a character to float in and out in a single session without wrecking the game’s rhythm too much. Much of the time, however, it’s difficult to suddenly introduce a new character without either leaving the new character largely out of the action or forcing him into it. Neither of these options are good starts to gaming.

If you’ve got a friend who’s interested in gaming but doesn’t wish to or is unable to join an existing group, talk to the Storyteller about running a one-shot or a spin off of your current chronicle. Do not bring someone along and say “We made a character this afternoon. My friend can play, right?” I’ve been put on the spot like this and I’ve turned down such requests. Remember, gaming is communistic, and the Storyteller has to make the decision that works best for the group as a whole. If you make those decisions easier for the Storyteller by giving him/her warning about guests, you’re making a good Appearance.

By the same token, stay off the phone during games. If you’re having family or relationship troubles, don’t try to work them out over the phone during a gaming session. If it’s that serious, apologize to the Storyteller and the group and leave. But don’t put the entire game on hold while the group waits for you to sort things out with your girlfriend. That’s inconsiderate (of both you and her), and it puts the Storyteller in the uncomfortable position of having to either listen to the arguments or wait for them to end.

How’s your Appearance?

• Do you show up twenty minutes early for all games and pass the time chatting with the Storyteller about the ongoing chronicle?

• Have you ever broken a date because it conflicted with a game?

• Have you ever voluntarily missed a concert, play, or other one-time-only event to make a game?

• Do you take notes?

• If other players are short on pizza money, do you cover because “it’ll all equal out sooner or later”?

• Have most of your friends “guest-starred” in the game you’re playing in?

If you answered affirmatively to any or all of these questions, it’s apparent that you’re Apparent.

What Makes a Beautiful Player? (Part 2)

Consciousness, or Sleeping Through the Apocalypse

Gamers love their hobby. Otherwise, they wouldn’t do it. It takes a certain amount of trust (read: masochism) to lovingly craft a character, place their stats with care, design a background, and then hand it over to the maniacal genius that is the GM. Enthusiasm is important. Once you’re at the game, you’re there to game, not to sleep. But there’s a lot more to Consciousness than remaining awake.

A Conscious player remains so during the entire game. She doesn’t nod off on the couch or wander into other rooms to play video games when her character’s involved in a scene. (If the Storyteller is cross-cutting between two groups of characters, of course, this is probably acceptable, but you still might want to ask.) Most especially, a conscious player does not begin chatting OOC with other players during important scenes (at least, not in the same room). This kind of behavior is rude, and belittles the time and energy the Storyteller puts into the game.

Conscious players often take notes, whether or not they are currently involved in the action. I’m of two minds about this. The strict GM in me says, “Nope, if you’re not there, you won’t remember it, so don’t be writing it down.” The Storyteller in me says, “It’s a game, Matthew. Besides, if s/he doesn’t write it down, who will? You?” I usually let it slide except in extreme cases. Besides, if players get in the habit of taking notes all the time, odds are they’ll write stuff down that they think is important. Then, I can look through their notes later (backs of character sheets are good places to take notes, and I always hold onto character sheets) and find out what they thought was important, and adjust the plotline according, if necessary.

Another hallmark of the Conscious player is staying in character, especially during interaction with other characters. Some players route all interaction through the Storyteller, even when the person to whom their characters are speaking is sitting next to them. I prefer dialogue, complete with eye contact and everything, because it’s great role-playing and it’s fun to watch. Conscious players do not drop out of character every other sentence, to quote movies or make silly jokes. To a degree, that sort of thing’s okay. After all, it’s a game, it’s a social situation, you’re here to have fun with friends, right? So what’s the big deal with making a few jokes?

The big deal is when it gets distracting and annoying. A gaming session is not a party; it’s a gaming session. If you’d rather watch a movie, invite the group to your place to do that sometime. But don’t start quoting during an intense scene and don’t slip out of character to make dumb jokes when the dialog train is starting to chug (and by the way, I've seen way, way too many GMs burst in on that dialog train with a setting detail or a correction - don't. Consciousness applies to the GM, too).

An example of what a Conscious player wouldn’t do: I was running Chill a few (well, a lot) of years ago. I ran a game where the group ended up locked in a factory with a huge, spider-like beast called a chimneyrue that lives on smoke. (You can find this creature, and 66 other nasties that work incredibly well for all sorts of horror games, in GURPS Creatures of the Night by Scott Paul Maykrantz.) The thing was stalking them and they didn’t know what could hurt it (they all carried firearms, but were quite used to them not having any effect whatsoever. That’s Chill for you). The factory foreman, standing close to a vent, started babbling about “the ‘rue! The chimneyrue!” He told them to kill it, they asked how. He screamed (I didn’t really screamed, just tensed my voice. Learn to do that; screams in close quarters are bad form), “Kill it with your glack-”. He didn’t finish the sentence because the chimneyrue had crept up through the vent and put one of its claws through his stomach. He meant to say “guns”, of course.

One of the players, however, picked up the cue and finished “glack” with “enspiel!” (Get it? Glockenspiel?) Everybody cracked up. I could have killed him. Until then, everybody was tense, a little shook up, picturing the smoky, darkened factory, the foreman’s sweaty face and darting eyes as he raved…and with that one little joke, it all fell apart. I was pissed. The fact that the joke was funny as hell isn’t the point. A large part of being a Conscious player is being conscientious, and that means not mucking with the Storyteller’s moments.

Staying in character in the face of adversity, including the opportunity to make your fellow players laugh, is a hard task. I appreciate that (and it’s not like I’ve never broken character to lighten things up, either). However, try to have some sense of tact.

On that subject, a Conscious player knows what subjects to avoid. In my essay entitled "When Things Go Horribly Wrong," (which I haven't ported over yet, but it's here for now) I mentioned a number of topics that are sensitive spots for many people (specifically, rape, molestation, drugs, pregnancy, and family member death). These things can and do happen in real life and can happen in a game as well. Understand, however, that you should no more use these topics for their reactionary value that you should slap a player in the face to get a reaction. This goes for players as well - if you know that a fellow players has issues with a topic, avoid them. If you don’t know and someone brings it to your attention, respect that. If you have issues with a given topic, tell the Storyteller as soon as it becomes a problem. Communication is key: be Conscious of that fact.

Another common practice of the Conscious player is helping the Storyteller out. Some players feel that they are going the extra mile by taking actions which result in problems for their characters (or the entire group) and saying, with a pained expression, “But it’s what my character would do.” To that I usually respond, “Nah. It’s what your character might do.”

Think back to the last choice you had to make, important or not. Was there only one decision you could have made, or could have chosen to do several different things for different reasons? People are unpredictable, and you won’t catch any flak from the Storyteller for finding a way to include yourself in the proceedings, even if doesn’t seem strictly in line with your character’s concept at first blush.

Yet another example: I played in a game of Hunter: The Reckoning that probably should have been more structured. The Storyteller really hadn’t considered how he was going to get all of the characters into the action, just assuming that we’d fall into place somehow. That’s a dangerous assumption. One of the characters remained alone at her apartment for most of the game, out of the action, because her player didn’t feel it was “in character” for her to follow the messages she was getting and drive to where the action was. In this instance, while the Storyteller certainly could have planned things a bit better (especially considering he had seven players who weren’t connected in any way, which is a bit much), the player should have been more Conscious. (She did, eventually, decide that the messages and hints drove her to distraction enough that she had to get in her car and drive “wherever”, just to clear her head. That’s a great way to get characters involved, by the way).

Being a Conscious player doesn’t mean you make choices that are totally opposed to your character’s concept simply to further the plot. It means that you don’t go out of your way to make trouble simply because it’s “in character”. It’s a fine line, and a certain amount of self-limitation in the name of concept is a good thing, but at the same time, if the game is obviously straining because people are drifting apart, you might consider taking another course of action that your normally wouldn’t, if only to give the Storyteller a break. (Storytellers, again, reward this behavior.)

The last trait of a Conscious player is the most obvious. They pay attention. That means no sleeping, no chatting, no reading or drifting off to La-La Land while their character is ostensibly present during a scene. No damn laptops at the table, either, or at least keep them closed unless you're using them right at that moment. If you suffer from Attention Deficit Disorder, take your medication. If you’re easily distracted by books, write on a clipboard and keep the books out of arm’s reach. Take notes - it’ll give you something to do with your hands, but keep you in the moment (beware of doodling, though). If you find yourself growing tired, sit up straight, drink a can of pop (soda, to all you non-Ohioans), ask the Storyteller for a stretch-break, whatever. If you find you really can’t remain awake or Conscious anymore, ask the Storyteller to sideline your character (or play him/her as an NPC, which is something I refuse to do) and go home. The other players will find your absence preferable to your unConscious presence.

Are you a Conscious Player?

• Do you write down everyone’s characters names and descriptions, so that you’ll remember when you speak to them in character?
• Do you take notes?
• Have you ever cried in character?
• At 4 AM, when the Storyteller is yawning and getting ready to call it quits, do you encourage “making this an all-nighter so we can get to the bottom of this”?
• Have you ever written down a thought or joke that was funny as hell, but would have completely ruined the moment?
• Have you ever suggested making a spouse, sibling, or good friend character to one of the other player’s characters?

If you answered “yes” to any or all of these questions, you’re probably Conscious.

What Makes a Beautiful Player? (Part 1)

(I originally posted this essay on my website back in 2000 sometime. I like it, though; I think it's one of my better ones, and so I'm starting my transfer-of-essays with this one. It's long, though, so it's in two parts. I've done a little bit of editing, but the content is the same.)

Much of my time and energy goes into being a Storyteller, but not a player. As I’ve mentioned in other essays, it’s task that’s stuck with me for years, and a hat (black, natch) that I wear well. When it comes to role-playing, I prefer, hands down, to be in the proverbial driver’s seat.

But then, it’s nice to get to play, too. Focusing on one character is great, rather than trying to wrangle a bunch of supporting cast. It’s nice to try to decide where to spend experience points, to try to figure out a Storyteller’s next move (dangerous on the best of days).

All of which got me thinking about what makes a good player. The knee-jerk response is “creativity”, but frankly, that doesn’t say a whole lot. After all, a painter can be creative and not be able to role-play his way out of a paper bag. So, to define a “good” player, we need to be a bit more specific. I’ve divided the traits of a perfect gamer into four categories. We could call them Attributes, or Characteristics, or Basic Abilities...

Ahem. The four traits (Traits works, too!) are Cleverness, Consciousness, Appearance (it’s not what you think) and Initiative.

Cleverness, or Oof! No Illusory Walls Here!

We can’t all be geniuses. We all try to come up with witty one-liners, great dialogue, and combat tactics so incredibly simple-yet-effective that William Wallace would smack his forehead and said “Ach!” But it ain’t always so. Some players, however, have minds like steel traps. They seize upon whatever crisis or problem you present, looking for a way to solve it.

A Clever player knows the spirit of the rules, as well as the letter. If a tactic or twist on a rule is theoretically possible but either unlikely, totally out of character, or completely outside of the game’s tone, a clever player will ignore it and think of something else. However, a clever player knows the rules. In fact, it’s the clever ones who say to you, “Hey, I had an idea for a new spell/Gift/Discipline/skill/whatever that my character could learn or create. How do this system look for it?” A marginally clever player will drop the idea, but not bother with the system (which is fine; it gives you free reign to tweak without stepping on anybody’s creative-toes). A very clever player will give you the system and say, “And I know how to work it into the plotline that we’ve got going!”

Clever players are observant, too. They ask questions. Lots of them. They ask for names for any NPC they meet, as well as descriptions. It can get annoying sometimes. Never, ever let it get to you. The clever player asks for informational purposes, not to tax your Storytelling ability. Answer their questions, and be patient.

Tactics are the clever player’s bread and butter. Some clever players enjoy chess or go or other strategy-based games, and enjoy applying that kind of logic to the problems presented in role-playing games. That’s fine. Throw them subtle clues, literary allusions, deviant behaviors in NPCs, and other puzzles. They’ll miss some of them, but that’s why you give them more than one clue. Watch which clue a player picks up on - it’ll give you some ideas as to how the player’s mind works.

Dangers of the Clever Player

Well, the first one should be obvious. Clever folks can sometimes skip to step C without going through A and B. And that can be annoying as hell, if the Storyteller hasn’t thought through to C yet. The only thing the Storyteller can do is try to get a feel for how his/her players think, and try to step one step ahead of them. (Hint: If you’re making it up as you go along, they can’t outfox you. You can, however, outfox yourself, which is fun.) Don’t - repeat, don’t - get annoyed and penalize players who think of ways out of or around your insidious little traps that you hadn’t considered. Reward that behavior. That’s good; it tests your abilities and makes them feel like a million bucks.

Clever players can be excitable, and sometimes they blurt out their assumptions or conclusions even when their characters aren’t present. An example: I ran a Vampire: The Masquerade game wherein one of the characters (Jack), weakened from hunger and stressed beyond belief, knocked on the apartment door of one of the other characters (Nova). Nova’s servant (a ghoul, which means still mostly human) opened the door and Jack immediately flew into a hunger frenzy, pounced on the ghoul, and started drinking. Nova pulled him off, but not before he’d drained most of the blood from the ghoul’s body. Nova’s player (and Nova herself) wasn’t really cognizant of what was involved in creating another vampire, she only knew that her friend was dying, so fed him some blood to try and revive him (this, by the way, is how you create another vampire: drain someone of blood, then feed them some of yours).

Meanwhile, on the other end of the couch, two Clever Players were whispering “Aw, shit, she’s going to end up turning him into a vampire.” I docked them both a point of Willpower. I let them off that light because nobody heard them. If Nova had known that was going to happen, she might have acted differently - or not. But she didn’t, and neither did Nova’s player, and I didn’t want to ruin the surprise.

Note, by the way, that this isn't about keeping secrets from your players. But dammit, you only get one chance to learn that Luke is Darth Vader's son (too soon?). After that, you might appreciate the moment when you see it, but you can't really get surprised by it, and that "gasp!" moment is fun. Don't take it away from other players.

If you get a reference or a clue that no one else does - and your character has no way of saying anything - don’t give it away OOC. Sit there and squirm. Pass a note to the Storyteller if you must. I’ve actually had people leave the room because it was too painful to watch other players struggling with a riddle they’d figured out ten minutes ago. Do whatever you need to do, but don’t give away information your character doesn’t have.

Another problem that clever players tend to have is remembering that the game is about role-playing, not problem-solving. A clever player’s character may be dumb as a box of rocks, but that player still retains her intellect and she forgets to curb it. I recommend not playing characters that you have to dumb down - it’s hard to role-play, and I don’t find it to be a lot of fun. If you’re capable of playing a less-than-bright character, however, and you’d be entertained by that sort of thing, go on ahead. Just don’t be surprised if the Storyteller asks for Intelligence rolls to see if your character can come to the same conclusions you can. (The corollary to this, of course, is not to player characters that are too much smarter than you, but that’s hard to gauge.)

Finally, clever players don’t always ask what they want to know. They’ve got everything pictured in their minds, so when a player asks, “How wide is the alley?” what he might really want to know is, “Do I have enough space to charge the thug and knock him over, or should I just walk up and slug him?” Often, questions aren’t nitpicking, they’re part of a logical chain of thoughts that the Storyteller isn’t privy to. So, if you aren’t really sure how wide a city alley is (24 paces in Cleveland. I checked), ask why the player wants to know.

Are You a Clever Player?

• Does your Storyteller pause between details during descriptions to see if you’ve got anything to ask?
• Do you take notes?
• Within ten seconds of meeting an NPC, do you have her class/clan/tribe/tradition/race/whatever pegged?
• When your Storyteller drops a subtle clue and your character isn’t there to hear it, do you have to bury your face in a pillow and scream?
• Does your Storyteller often glare at you and hold up a gag or roll of duct tape?
• Does your group look to you for rules clarifications more often than the Storyteller?

If you answered “yes” to any or all of these questions, chances are you’re a Clever Player.

Character Creation: Dogs in the Vineyard

Arf, arf, grapes. Actually dogs shouldn't eat grapes.

The Game: Dogs in the Vineyard
The publisher: Lumpley Games, though it's not available anymore
Degree of familiarity: Some. I played in a one-shot, and quite enjoyed it. I bought the book at...GenCon, maybe? No, must have been in Oakland, because I bought it after I played it. Anyway, I own it.
Books required: Just the Dogs in the Vineyard book. It recommends that you wait for the group to get together for chargen, and obviously that's preferable, but only works if you have a group.

 
Last time, I played a very angry, spiteful violent Dog. This time, I'm going to do something different, I just don't know what, yet.

Step One: Choose Background. Last time I took Complicated Community. This time, I think I'll take Strong History. That's if you want "good education, lots of experience, or specialized training." I think my character was from "back East," the civilized part of the country, where the Faith hasn't taken hold and everyone's all corrupt and decadent and so on. I think my character is a Houdini-esque fellow, not a magician, but a debunker of myth and superstition. The faddish seances and Tarot readings that folks take part in back East aren't anything other than attempts to bilk honest folks from their money, and my character kept moving West, exposing such frauds.

And then somewhere along the way, he found a seance that wasn't a seance. This was no money-making scheme, there was actually something happening. But it wasn't what was supposed to be happening; this wasn't a "contact Uncle Harry to make peace," this was "allow something unclean into the world." And my character (named Arthur Stone) exposed it just as he always did, and got shot in the belly for his trouble. Fortunately, a group of Dogs was there as well (just a little late), and exorcised the demon as well as saving Arthur's life. For the first time, he found himself something he could believe in, and it was enough to make him join the Faith. The Steward in the next town over saw Arthur's potential, and sponsored his training as a Dog.

OK, numbers. Second Step: Stats. The four Stats are Acuity, Body, Heart and Will. I see this guy as having decent numbers in Acuity and Heart, but being all-around capable. I have to put at least 2d6 in each one. Divided evenly, that'd give me 3d6 with 1d6 left over. I think we'll do that, and put the extra in Acuity.

Third Step: Traits. I have to say, I really, really like games that arrange traits like this. With Great Power does it, My Life With Master kinda does it, Spirit of the Century and therefore Houses of the Blooded, too. Instead of (or in addition to) taking traits from a pre-assigned list or pumping numbers into skills, I get to tell my character's backstory in a way that has a direct and measurable effect on the game. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy the challenge of coming up with a backstory and then explaining it in terms of the numbers (which is pretty much any game with a point-buy or random system, with the exception of D&D because the characters start so weak that backstory doesn't make much sense), but it's really nice to be able to just make shit up.

With that in mind, I get 3d6, 4d8, 3d10 to define Arthur's traits.

OK, right off, I'll take "I'm a converted Dog" at 1d6. I'll take "Doesn't miss a trick" at 3d8; that's an important thing for Arthur. I'll take "We don't use guns back East" at 1d8, and just to keep that outsider vibe going, I'll take "Unused to Western frankness" at 2d6 (he assumes everyone lies, or at least sugarcoats).

That leaves my d10s. I'll take "Man of the world" at 2d10 and "I can't stand to see people get swindled" at 1d10.

Step Four: Relationships. I have 1d4, 3d6 and 2d8 in Relationships, but I'm supposed to leave most of them unassigned so I can forge them in play. Since I have a d4 here and that's going to complicate Arthur's life, I assign it to "Doctor Wences, Traveling Charlatan." He's a salesman and "medium" who's a total phony, but he does make things hard on Dogs by tempting folks. I'll also give myself a relationship with Sister Sylvia, one of the Dogs that came to my rescue after the incident with the seance-gone-pear-shaped. Finally, I take "Family back home" at 1d8, and that leaves 1d8 and 1d6 available.

Fifth Step: Belongings. You can just assign these as you see fit, with some input from the GM and the other players, neither of which I have. So I'll take my Coat (which I'll talk about anon) at 2d6 because it's excellent, a revolver (1d6+d4, nothing special), a horse (1d6, nothing special), a jar of dirt, the usual. I reckon he's also got a book of tricks - he writes down the nifty cons he's heard and seen. That's significant to require dice, and I think the book is excellent, so it's 2d6.

His Coat was made for him by the family that almost got suckered by the demonic seance. It's not as grand as some other Dogs' coats, and it's nowhere near as colorful, but that's because those folks are a little farther East than most (but now very much part of the Faith, thanks). His coat is mostly black, while, silver and yellow, but it has bits of blue and red in it if you look carefully.

Sixth Step: Accomplishment. Now, this would normally be my first scene, which I can't do because duh, no GM, but I can at least make the statement that would start us off. So, I hope that Arthur learned to ride during his initiation, because he's not used to horses (not as common back East). 

I'm on the Internet!

I mean, you knew that. But I got interviewed or podcasted or whatever the hell it's called over here at Atomic Array. Go check it out!

Character Creation: Geist: The Sin-Eaters

[Originally there was a very heartfelt post about taking my kids to the zoo preceding this character; obviously I'm not going to transfer that bit from my Dreamwidth. Greetings from the future. Woooo.]

The Game: Geist: The Sin-Eaters
The publisher: White Wolf
Degree of familiarity: As much as anyone could, at this point. I helped write and playtest the game.
Books Required: Geist: The Sin-Eaters (of which I have a handy pdf) and the World of Darkness Rulebook. 

 

OK. Now, what I'm not going to do is get philosophical about the character. Well, maybe a little. Let's just jump into this.

Step One: Choose Concept. I'm starting this with a specific idea: I want to make a character whose Threshold is the Prey. I only want to do that because no one played one of them in my playtest group, and so apart from the demo at Origins, I haven't really seen one played yet. I wasn't sure exactly how I wanted to approach this character, but spending the day at the zoo helped.

My character is (was?) a herpetologist. More specifically, he was on the cusp of finishing his PhD, which involved various venomous snakes and how their venoms might be used to enhance certain drug cocktails. He spent a lot of his time "milking" the snakes; he was (is?) something of a perfectionist, and he wanted to make sure he got enough and didn't hurt the snakes. One night, he stayed too late at his lab and got a little too careless with a taipan. The snake struck, biting him several times before slithering off into a dark corner. The scientist tried to call for help, but collapsed, his blood already clotting, and he thought as he died that human beings truly were fragile, for all their intelligence.

He didn't die, however. Hovering nearby was a geist. It had been following him for some time, interested by the man's fascination with poison and using it to heal. The geist found this interesting because it was a creature of the natural world, itself. The Burnt Shaman, it appears as a luminous being smelling of ozone. Its gender is impossible to guess, and it doesn't care anyway. In life, it might have been a holy wo/man, but now, as a geist, it represents humility in the face of the elements. Since the scientist's last thoughts were an admission of humility before nature, the Burnt Shaman intervened.

Anton Crist fell to the floor, dying in terrible pain. What stood up again was Anton Crist and the Burnt Shaman, one of the Prey, the Chosen of the Pale Horseman.

That's Threshold, anyway. As for Archetype, I want Anton to be a helpful sort of Sin-Eater. He's not a Celebrant - he's too driven and task-oriented for that. But certainly not a Mourner or a Pilgrim, either. Making a scientist into a Necromancer is too obvious. I think that focusing on his final (?) lesson, humility in the face of nature, he's an Advocate. He seeks out the ghosts that are anchored far from humanity, be it in the jungle, in the woods, at the bottom of a river, or just in abandoned buildings, and tries to help them move on.

Step Two: Choose Attributes. Mental seems like it should be primary, but actually, I think Anton's a more Physical character, especially post mortem. I'll make Mental secondary, and that leaves Social last.

Physical: Three into Dexterity (he milked snakes, for crying out loud) and one each into Stamina and Strength.

Mental: Two into Intelligence, one each into Resolve and Wits.

Social: Even across the board. I'm not generally afraid of putting one dot into an Attribute, but I don't see Anton as that low in any of these.

Step Three: Choose Skills. Mental Skills are definitely primary, here; much of his training has been in scientific pursuits. Physical's secondary, Social is (again) last.

For Mental Skills, I obviously need a few dots in Science. I'll put two there, and two into Academics, Medicine and Computer. I'll put one into Occult, one into Investigation and the last one into Science.

For Physical Skills, I put four into Athletics. Anton has made himself into a climbing, swimming, running machine after the Bargain. For what he does, he'll need it. I'll put my other three dots into Survival, Firearms and Weaponry.

And, Social. Well, Animal Ken gets two, right off. I'll put one into Empathy and the last one into Streetwise (again, probably acquired post-Bargain).

Step Four: Choose Skill Specialties. I think I better put one into Medicine (Toxins) and one into Science (Zoology). The last one, I put into Survival (Animal Bites).

Step Five: Apply Sin-Eater Template. I've already covered Archetype and Threshold. I've one dot of Psyche, which I may or may not choose to raise. My Synergy starts at 7, and I know I'm not going to lower it; he and his geist and pretty much in synch, at least for now.

I haven't thought about the Burnt Shaman's keystone memento at all, though, so I'll do that, since it'll inform my choice of Keys. The Burnt Shaman smells of ozone, and if you guessed that's because he was hit by lightning, you'd be right. His memento is a long, snake-like coil of fulgurite. It formed around his hand as he died. As a useful keystone goes, it's not as cool as, say, a gun, but Anton could probably whomp someone on the head with it in a pinch. It gives me the Pyre-Flame and Primeval, the Threshold is Prey, and the associated Skill is Survival.

Well, then, let's do Manifestations. I get three dots. I want to consider concept, obviously, but it'd suck to have crappy dice pools, so I want to play to my strengths. Intelligence and Dexterity are my higher Attributes, so what might that give me? Well, none of the Manifestations run off of Dexterity, but the Oracle runs off Intelligence. Hmm. What I'd like is to be able to breathe water, actually. How do I make that happen? Tear-Stained Shroud, of course. Dammit. I'd have to refigure my Keys so I could take Tear-Stained.

No, you know what? I got this. I'll take one dot of the Oracle, one dot of the Marionette, and one dot of the Rage. For Keys, I'll take Primeval and Pyre-Flame. So check it out.

I can astrally project; yes, I've got to set myself on fire to do it, but big deal. I can up my Perception-type rolls, which is fine (I'm not interested in the second dot of the Primeval Oracle, at least not right now). With the Marionette, I can control animals; I don't reckon Anton's activated the Pyre-Flame Marionette yet, because it's an investment and it's better done in play anyway, IMO. And then for the Rage, I can throw freaking fire at people, or make them get attacked by snakes.

But by astrally projecting, I can fly up or down to the places where hard-to-reach ghosts lurk. Now, to do things like Plasmic Infusion, I'd still have to get there, but this was I can chart out my course ahead of time. This is a prudent thing to do, Anton feels (see Virtue, below).

Step Six: Choose Merits. Well, for an Advocate like Anton, I think the Pass On Ceremony is appropriate, so I'll spend a point there. I'll take a dot in Contacts (Academia). I'll take Good Time Management from Asylum; Anton's going to be doing research, and that'll help. Three left. How about Status (Science Center)? Anton can use their lab and even get his hands on poisonous snakes (which he can then control with Primeval Marionette). I'll throw one dot there, since he's not a PhD yet. I'll put the last two into Fast Reflexes; bite me once, shame on you. Bite me twice, shame on me.

Step Seven: Determine Advantages. Synergy's done. I have a max of 14 plasm, and I start with 7. Initiative is 8, Speed is 11, Defense is 2, Size is 5, Willpower is 4, Health is 7.

Anton's Virtue is Prudence. He thinks through problems and tries to plan out his approach. It's man's advantage over nature, after all, and we need that advantage. His Vice might seem to be Sloth, but it's not, for two reasons. One, Anton is actually very driven and likes to be busy. Two, I've played a character with Sloth as a Vice and it's a pain in the ass to play well. I make his Vice Pride - that's what makes that moment of humility more impressive for him. He's actually a little full of himself.

And that's it for Anton, in fact. Enjoy! 

Character Creation: True20

There are plenty of false 20s, after all.

The Game: True 20 Adventure Roleplaying
The publisher: Green Ronin
Degree of familiarity: Not much. I've played Mutants and Masterminds, but I think when so-and-so ran her Animorphs game she used the d20 Modern rules.
Books required: The True20 Adventure Roleplaying book.

 
If I were to play or run a d20 game, it'd be some stripe of True20. The system removes a lot, though not all, of what I find annoying about D&D of whatever edition. The book also includes four sample settings, which is awesome! And, all four of them look like fun. Rather than creating four characters, however, I'll randomly choose one, since that's what I did with All Flesh Must Be Eaten and that's what I'll do with Terra Primate.

Choosing a number from 1 to 4, I get...three! That gives me the Mecha vs. Kaiju setting. Oh, this oughta be fun. Hang on, gotta read it.

OK. As you've probably guessed, it's based on anime and other Japanese media where big monsters fight dudes in suits of mechanized armor. Sadly, we don't get to play the monsters. Instead, you play a member of the Mecha Assault Force (MAF), put into play after a big monster started tearing up Tokyo.

Let's see. Since there's no random chargen here (yay!) I have to consider concept first, which is how I like anydangway. The setting gives a list of archetypes that are common in anime and sentai and so forth, and although I'm not an anime fan per se, I've watched enough to recognize some of them. So I think I shall play a Rebel.

Fox Kai stole a mecha when he was 13. Yeah, he got in trouble, but not before he made a mess of his home town and went on the best joyride of his life. Already an accomplished thief and used to the shit that authority figures do when you beat them, he took his lashes and laughed it off.

And then the monster came to town, and it didn't just knock over a few buildings or snarl a lot. It flattened buildings. It burned them. It ate people. And Fox knew that only a guy behind the controls of mecha would be able to save them.

That guy...wasn't him. He was just a boy, but when the MAF showed up, they did the job. They weren't authority and they weren't there to throw their weight around. They were just there to take care of business. Fox signed up for the MAF as soon as he was old enough. His instructors hated him, for the most part, but he's shrewd and creative, and good behind the controls. He's just waiting for his day in the sun, when he can take care of business. Meantime, he's the same jackass he always was, only now, he's got his own mech.

OK, let's do numbers! Choosing Ability Scores. Characters in this setting get 10 points, not 6, but I can't go over 5 in any one score. I can take scores negative in order to get more points, though. I know I want high Dexterity and Charisma.

Strength +2
Dexterity +5
Constitution 0
Intelligence +1
Wisdom -2
Charisma +4

My Wisdom sucks, but this is a kid that stole a mech when he was in middle school. Not terribly good in the "common sense" department.

Background Features: Already decided that my Archetype is Rebel, and a race other than Human doesn't make any sense. As a human, I get a bonus feat, a bonus skill, and two favored feats, whatever that means.

Role: Not Adept, anyway (which would be a spellcaster, but I don't see it for this guy). Either Warrior or Expert. I think Expert makes more sense for Fox. That means my core ability is Expertise (I can spend Conviction for temporary Skill ranks, which is nice), I get 4 feats (five, because I'm human) from General or Expert, and I get 9 skills.

Characteristics: I'll take Bold as my Virtue, and Impulsive as my Vice. I start with 3 Conviction.

Skills: I get 9 ranks, and I can't go over 4.

I'll take Acrobatics 1; I'm an anime character, after all. Definitely Bluff 1. Computers 2, duh. Knowledge (Streetwise) 1; I'm a rebel, gotta have that. Pilot 2. Stealth 2.

Feats. I get 5, from either General or Expert.

Well, I need Mecha Operation, first off, and I'd better take Mecha Weapons Training so I don't suck in battle. I'll take Evasion; if I make a Reflex Save against an area effect (like, say, Godzilla breath) I take no damage. I'll take Firearms Training; I'm a Rebel, after all. And, uh, Hell yes I'll take Lucky, since that adds my Charisma to all saving throws.

On that subject, I decide to make my "good" save Reflex. That means my Toughness save is +0, my Fortitude save is +4, my Reflex is a whopping +11 and my Will save is a measly +2.

And I think that's basically it, really. If this were a campaign, I'd ask about what kind of mecha we're using, but that's not an assumed part of the setting, so I'm not going to worry about it.